#((she's still gonna be a dancer main))
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tenuuchlegch · 11 months ago
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❃ "Well, I officially now know how to 'clap them cheeks', as they say." And by that, Odtsetseg means she dabbling in the melee arts now.
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hihomeghere · 2 years ago
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Carousel Club | Five Hargreeves / Reader
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Word Count : 3k Summary : After being dropped into 1963, you find work at the Carousel Club as a dancer. While following a tip where Luther could be, Five sees your routine. Overwhelmed by jealousy he sneaks into your dressing room. (I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters.) Warnings/Tags : Smut, cursing, piv, men being sexist (its the 1960s what do you expect?) dom!Five, Aged up!Five. A little bit of angst. Not requested.
You always trusted your husband. He was your constant in a very fucked up world. You knew he would never purposely harm you, or put you in harm's way. Sometimes that meant following him through time and space, other times it meant trusting him to not burn your dinner. So when he said he had a way out of the mess you and your in-laws had caused, of course you trusted him wholeheartedly. 
You grasped Five’s hand tightly in your own, feeling a sense of deja-vu from the last time you two tried to spacial jump. Diego gingerly held your other hand, you looked up at him giving him a curt nod. He returned the nod before looking around at the rest of his siblings. You raised your eyes to the gaping hole in the ceiling, the intricate details of the theater framing the crumbling moon. Five squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him. You gave him a reassuring smile, well as reassuring as you could.
Electricity crackled around the seven of you, wind whipping your hair in front of your face. Five’s grip on your hand was almost crushing, like you were his lifeline. A giant blue orb of energy appeared above your family, growing and glowing. Five strained under the pressure, his face contorting into a pained expression. The blue light enveloped you all, flickering and pulsing. 
“Hold on! It’s gonna get messy!” Five yelled as the ground shook beneath you, shutting your eyes tightly you felt yourself being pulled away from Five and Diego. You only had a moment of panic before you were thrown to the ground.
You groaned sitting up, the blue light of energy blinding you. You raised your hand shielding your eyes.
“Five!” You yelled as you got to your feet. As fleeting as the orb had appeared it disappeared, as though someone had turned an old tv off. Was that a flash, or just your imagination? You shook your head, taking in your surroundings. No Five, no siblings, no briefcase. Where the hell were you? 
You wandered down the alleyway to the main street. Your hip twinged in pain after taking the brunt of your fall. You looked around the street, the lampposts and storefront neon signs were your only light source. You sank down on a bench, letting out a deep sigh. Your eyes wandered to a newsrack, you quickly got to your feet. You ran to it, holding the sides of the glass case. 
August 1st, 1963. Dallas, Texas.
Your heart leapt into your throat. Damn it, Five. Shit, Alison. God, where were the rest of Five’s siblings?
“Honey, are you alright?” A soft voice asked, you turned your head sharply. You were met by a sweet woman’s face, big blond hair and bangs. She had a cardigan wrapped tightly around herself as she reached out to touch your shoulder. You shook your head, still coming to terms with the last five minutes. “Come on, I’m just about to go get something to eat, why don’t you join me?” She said, smiling sweetly.
“I-” You cleared your throat, “I don’t have any money.” You said, shaking your head. “Well then my treat.” She said helping you to your feet. You followed the woman down the streets of Dallas to a quaint diner. You sat down across from her, taking a look over the menu. People chattered mindlessly around you as you came to terms with your situation.
“I’ve seen that look before.” She said, setting her menu down on the table. 
“What look?” You said furrowing your eyebrows.
“That look. Every girl I work with has had that same look.” She huffed thanking the waiter as he set down a coffee cup in front of her. “Small girl in the big city, not knowing where you’re gonna stay or what you’re gonna eat. Believe me, I’ve seen that look before because I’ve felt that before.” She said reaching across the table, taking your hand in hers. “So what’s your story, sweetheart?” You took a breath, choosing your next words carefully.
“My husband and I got separated.” You whispered, “My parents didn’t agree with our marriage and so we ran away. He was supposed to meet me here in Dallas but he didn’t show.” You said, not technically a lie, Five was supposed to be here with you.
“Oh dear,” She tsked, “well you do not have to worry about that anymore. I’m so glad I found you! You can stay with me until you get back on your feet.” You smiled, hopefully Five wouldn’t make you wait much longer. 
“Thank you…” You trailed off, realizing you hadn’t caught her name.
“Autumn.” She answered, holding out her hand for you to shake.
“I’m Y/n.” You smiled, taking her hand.
“You know Y/n, I could put in a good word for you with my boss. He may seem a bit rough around the edges, but we’re always short staffed.” She shrugged. Whatever the job was you would only have it for hopefully a week tops before Five caught up with you, along with his siblings.
“I appreciate it Autumn.” You smiled, patting her hand.
-
When you arrived at Autumn's place of work you wondered if you were a little over your head. You followed Autumn into the back entrance of the nightclub. You passed by many half dressed women, putting on their makeup and outfits. 
“This way sweetheart!” Autumn called, you picked up your pace following her through the dressing room. Once on the main floor of the club you were greeted by the intense smell of cigars. Autumn had all but disappeared, you wandered through the tables. Trying to work your way to the front of the club, while also trying to avoid the men’s wandering hands at the tables. 
“Y/n!” She called from a table, you turned your head. The club was familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You were face to face with Jack Ruby, the man who would put the hit out on Lee Harvey Oswald. You gulped, straightening your shoulders you walked over to them.
“Mr. Ruby, this is Y/n she’s looking for a job.” Autumn said, clasping her hands together. Jack looked you over, a cigar dangling from his lips. 
“Y/n who?” He said leaning back in his chair. You stuttered but only for a second.
“Y/n L/n,” You said with a smile, Hargreeves might get Five or your in-laws in trouble if anyone here caught wind of that name. He puffed his cigar, leaning over to whisper something to the man next to him. He chuckled before nodding, you bit your cheek. Feeling like a piece of meat in front of these men.
“Can you start tonight?” He said, lacing his fingers together. 
“Of course.” You replied, Autumn cheered quietly beside Mr. Ruby.
“Autumn, be a dear and show her the dressing rooms. Tell ‘em I want Miss Y/n to be on stage by tomorrow night.” He said motioning with his cigar in hand. On stage? You turned sharply looking toward the stage of the nightclub, scantily clad women fanning themselves with large feather fans. 
“Yes sir Mr. Ruby!” Autumn giggled, taking your arm and walking you towards the back.
-
You sat in front of your vanity, lined by bright golden bulbs. Brushing glitter onto your eyes before adding your long eyelashes. It had been three months since you had taken on your new job, along the way you had made many friends. You felt for all the girls alongside you, it was a rough profession but it paid well. You pulled your robe close around your body, walking over to the clothing rack. You rifled through the sheer jeweled fabric before your eyes landed on the black and white body suit. You threw your outfit over your arm heading back to your vanity. You were greeted by a beautiful bouquet of red roses, Autumn standing next to them with a coy smile.
“Autumn! Who are these from?”
“A secret admirer,” she cooed her bright red lips pulling back into a smile, “Just teasing! It’s from all of us girls here,” She said as she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. Her cheap perfume floods your senses along with her sweet sweat.
“Y’all didn’t have to do that!” You smiled as she pulled away, she only waved you off.
“You’re one of the best here! Don’t know where you learned all your little tricks.” She said bumping your elbow with her own. She looked down at your costume in your arms. “Need help?” Autumn asked, holding out her hand. 
“Yes please.” You said handing her your suit as you lowered your robe. You held onto her shoulders stepping into the suit, you adjusted your straps as Autumn tightened your corset. You admired yourself in the mirror, since taking on your new job you had become more toned. More than when you had worked at the commission, and these clothes were definitely more flattering than your blue suits you used to wear. You took in a sharp breath as Autumn pulled through the last loops, tying the ribbon with a neat bow.
“Alright sister, you’re ready.” She said squeezing your shoulders.
“Thanks Autumn, now go take your break!” You said waving her off. 
“Y/n! You’re on next!” Shannon called from the stage door. You nodded, quickly stopping to smell the sweet scent of your roses before grabbing your tulle skirt. You tied it around your waist as you walked backstage. You picked up your red feather fans, taking a deep breath. You walked up to the closed red curtains listening to the deafening cheers and whistles. You heard the clink of the ropes being pulled back before you were blinded by the spotlights. You closed your eyes, bowing your head, your body covered by the bright red fans. 
You started your routine, swaying your hips seductively as you pulled the fans back away from your body teasing the audience. You lost yourself in the music, thankfully it was difficult to decipher anyone’s face over the shadows cast by the spotlights. You unclipped the tulle skirt, throwing it off stage. You could make out a certain group of sailors, and a rather large man standing by the bar. 
You teased the audience, covering your body with the fans before flashing them a glimpse of your shimmering body suit. You pulled the fans over your head, rotating your hips in a circular motion as you lowered into a squat. You bounced on your heels before jumping back up to your feet. You smirked as the men whistled and cheered. 
The music slowed, and faded out as you walked behind the red curtain. You dropped off your fans before heading back to your dressing room. You opened the door, shutting it behind you. 
“Who sent the roses?” Five’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. You turned your head sharply, meeting Five’s predatory gaze.
“Five!” You gasped, your heart soaring in your chest. “When did you get here?” 
“I could ask you the same thing.” He said, crossing his arms. Your smile fell off your face, what was his problem? It’s not your fault that he dropped you off in the middle of 1963 with no resources. 
“Three months ago.” You said furrowing your brows, “I’ve been looking for you this whole time!” He scoffed, clicking his tongue.
“Oh really? It looks like you’ve been getting enough attention without me.” He huffed, glaring at the bouquet of roses.
“Excuse me for finding a way to survive here.” You spit pushing past him, knocking his shoulder against yours. You took a seat in front of your vanity, pulling out your makeup kit. He stalked up behind you, towering over you. He gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him through the mirror, effectively smearing your bright red lipstick.
“You’re mine.” He sneered, his lips pulling back over his teeth. You flushed, heat pooling in your core. You stared up at him through the mirror, his fingers squeezing your lips together. “Got it?” He asked. You glared at him, a devilish thought entering your mind. 
You kept quiet, smirking as you watched a shadow pass over his features. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he tilted your head to look him in the eye.
“You must need a lesson.” He smirked, pulling you to your feet, you stumbled slightly in your heels. He kicked the chair away, you jumped as it thudded against the carpeted floor. His arm moved behind you, sweeping everything off of your vanity along with the roses. They crashed to the floor, the vase shattering. He pushed you against the vanity, caging you in with his arms as he slammed his hands against the mirror. He stared down at you with a wolfish grin, you felt yourself flush. Your heart started to beat faster as you squirmed under him.
“Yes sir.” You said tilting your chin up, staring at him through your lashes. He growled spinning you around, your hands splayed out in front of you on the top of the vanity. His hand connected to your ass cheek, letting out a low chuckle as you gasped. He moved your hair off of your back, his cold fingers attacking the strings of your corset. 
“Stupid- fucking- ribbon-“ he said through gritted teeth, you caught the slightly crazed look in his eye through the reflection. Your body felt on fire, three months without him made every touch that more exhilarating. As soon as the corset was loose enough he was ripping it off of your body, along with your panties. You were entirely bare in front of your fully dressed husband. He stepped back, loosening his tie as he watched you squirm in the mirror. 
“Not so confident now, dearest.” He smirked, unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt. You breathed hard, adrenaline rushing through your veins. Your nipples hardened against the cold air in the dressing room. You heard the familiar metal on metal as he took off his belt before unzipping his pants. He walked up behind you, nosing his dick against your folds. You clenched around nothing, pushing back against him. His hand came up to the back of your skull, wrapping his fist through your hair. He stared at you through his darkened gaze, you were breathless, your lips parting slightly.
“Please,” you whined, batting your eyelashes. He forcibly thrusted all the way in, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You let out a pornagraphic moan before you covered your mouth with your hand. He grabbed your hand, pulling it away from your mouth and holding it behind your back.
“Why don’t you let everyone here know who you belong to?” He huffed in your ear, thrusting erratically into you. You gripped the desk, the only thing holding you up as Five plowed into you. “Let them know that I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” You clenched around him as his words seemed to straight directly to your core. He let out a groan, loosening his grip on your hair. “Fuck you like this don’t you?” You nodded enthusiastically, your eyes rolling back into your head as his cock prodded against your g-spot.
“Yes, yes Five!” You babbled tears pricking your eyes, as he bent you over the desk. His hands flew to your hips, pulling them against his own thrusts. You could only lay there as your orgasm came crashing down. You were thankful you were on top of the vanity because there was no way your trembling legs would have been able to hold you up. 
Five’s eyebrows knit together as he arched his neck back, his hips stuttering as his orgasm quickly followed yours. Cumming with a loud shout he collapsed on top of you, your sweat causing his thin shirt to stick to your skin. He pulsed inside of you as he gingerly tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. He pulled away, peeling himself off of you. He kissed your shoulder as his softened cock slipped out of you. Your breathing was slowly coming back to normal as he tried to return your room to the state it was before he had destroyed it and you. He picked up your robe draping it over your shoulders. You sat up, feeling his cum start to drip down your thighs.
“What took you so long?” You asked, tying your robe close around your naked body.
“I just got here.” He sighed, tucking himself back into his pants. “I’m sorry I made you wait.” He turned to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek.
“I’ll always wait for you.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist. He held you against his chest, resting his cheek against yours.
“At least someone will, Luther and Diego weren’t too happy about me dumping them in the past.” Five sighed. Diego and Luther were here, too?
“Where are they?” You asked, turning to Five with wide eyes. Five looked at you inquisitively, a small smile pulling on the corner of his mouth.
“Luther works for Jack Ruby, y/n. I found him in this club before I knew you worked here.” Your stomach dropped. Luther worked for Jack Ruby? That means he must have seen your numbers.
“Oh god.” You said mortified, hanging your head against Five’s chest. He chuckled, shaking his head as he lightly rubbed your back.
“Believe me, he was just as mortified as you are.” He said, “Although I must say I thoroughly enjoyed your routine.” He lowered his voice, his hands trailing down your body to rest on your butt.
“I think I could give you a private showing.” You smirked, wrapping your hand around his tie. You pulled him forward by his tie, smashing your lips against his. His hands gripped your hips, the velvety fabric smooth against his palms. 
“God I’d love that,” He let out a sigh, “but maybe we should wait until after we save the world.” 
Again? It was happening again?
“Vanya?” You asked, pulling away.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He shrugged, “All I know is on November 25th the world ends, again.” 
“Guess it’s time for a family reunion.”
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shrimpybbq · 6 months ago
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the thought of drew and obx actress!reader sweeping award season with their crime drama😍 maybe it’s about 2/3 seasons too to really get their characters yearning…
Hehe they’re on the red carpet at the Emmy’s with the rest of the cast but they’ve split off together to do interviews. The reporters are ecstatic at getting the main actor and actress of the hottest tv show this year in front of them. Ever the gentleman, Drew has his hand resting on her lower back as he guides them through the interview line ups.
“So Drew! Y/N! How are we feeling? Your show is predicted to sweep the awards tonight - what’s that feeling like?”
Drew looks over and obx actress!reader before smirking cheekily. “I mean… I’m honoured,” he drawled, laughing as he received a playful swat to his chest at the now-famous remark. “No, but really, it’s really rewarding to know that people are liking and appreciating our work. Just a big thank you to everyone who has watched our little show. For letting us put two seasons out as well - it’s amazing to see people have faith in us.”
When the reporter turned to obx!actress reader, she spoke too, “Pretty much just echoing Drew, but it’s been quite intense! You know, you always have hope that your project is going to do well, but seeing the way this has blown up and the love from the fans for us and these characters has been incredible!”
Drew nodded alongside her. The cameras caught the way the pair had subtly begun to lean into each other, though it was clear neither was aware of it.
“And guys, coming from Outer Banks to this kind of show, it must be crazy! You two played an on-off couple before, but now for your characters, the stakes are a lot higher. What would you say has been the most important thing to help you portray this different kind of relationship, especially balancing the really challenging scenes you’re filming?”
Drew reached for the mic first, looking towards obx actress!reader momentarily for approval before speaking. “Yeah, I think knowing each other for so long beforehand was probably the most important thing. We would always debrief after scenes and check in to make sure we were both good, just keeping ourselves in good condition.”
He passed the mic to the shorter woman by his side, turning his attention to her.
“When you’re filming scenes that put you on edge and really push you out of your comfort zone, having people you feel safe with is just so invaluable. Pedro was great with that too, and all the cast on the show really recognised the nature of what we were portraying. Drew and I had a routine that each evening after filming, we would go and get ice cream from this place near the set and just chill. It was really great to just sit silently and eat for a while, you know?”
The interviewer nodded, incredibly pleased with the answers she’d managed to get from the pair so far.
“Ok! So my last question before you go is this - who is the best dancer on the set? Drew, I know you love to show off your dance moves, but there are quite a few great dancers in the cast!”
The pair both thought silently for a moment, before obx actress!reader leaned into the mic, “it has to be Pedro! He loves a quick dance party in between takes.”
“I’m also gonna go with Pedro,” Drew chimed in.
The interviewer grinned widely, thanking them quickly as their publicist began to shuffle the actors over to the next interview stand. The camera caught the pair waving goodbye as they moved over, not failing to capture the way Drew’s hand still rested on obx actress!reader’s back. This time though, her hand was resting on his bicep as she turned to talk to him, their bodies pressed closely together. The interviewer thanked her lucky stars that the pair were so touchy because her editor was going to love this.
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evergone · 2 months ago
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The Swordsman and the Singer
Zoro x Musician! Reader
Warnings: Pure fluff, familial bond with the Straw Hats, established relationship with Zoro, reader is referred to as a woman and with she/her pronouns.
Description: Zoro doesn't dance, but when the reader teases him with her voice he can't help himself.
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“This music is too loud, you’re gonna get us caught,” Law murmurs as he notices the sun beginning to descend below the horizon, painting the sky a magnificent display of colour.
“We always do this. Get used to it,” says Zoro.
He takes a swig from his beer before placing it into his lap and leaning back against the wooden column behind him. The music is quite loud, but not so loud that he can’t hear your delighted laughter over the bass, so he’s willing to let it go. In the middle of the deck you’re spinning and twirling with Nami and Robin by your sides, each of you wearing ribbons from your sewing box on your wrists. His eye is trained on you and the way the ribbons circle around your body with such precision and skill that you look like some sort of wind deity.
“You don’t join in?” Law asks looking between Zoro and the women.
Zoro shakes his head, “I’m a swordsman, not a dancer.”
An amused breath leaves Law’s nose in such a way that it seems to say: Amen to that. There’s a beat between the music as Brook passes the guitar to Sanji and picks up his violin, and the two swordsman on their own listen as Brook coaxes Franky and Chopper over to a pair of hand drums.
“Are we doing that song?” You exclaim with a quick glance over to Zoro.
He sighs, defeated, but with the shadow of a smile on his lips, and then he raises his beer to you. The excitement bursts through your veins — he can see it in the sparkling e/c of your eyes, in the jump you do before turning back to the others and accepting a few bells that Robin threads onto your ribbons.
“What song?” There’s a confused frown on Law’s brow.
All he receives in response is silence, and it isn’t the least bit comforting.
The song begins with a soft drum beat, then Sanji joins in with the guitar, and finally Brook brings them all together with the violin in a beautiful introduction to a folk song that Law had never heard before. As the instruments rise in intensity, he expects to hear Brook’s voice open the song despite the rather high key, but he is pleasantly surprised to hear your sweet voice begin the vocals. You sing with a confidence Law has never seen from you before as you have always been quiet around him, and he turns to mention this to Zoro, but stops short upon seeing the look on his face.
Here is one of the biggest pirates in the world, a member of the worst generation, Roronoa Zoro, staring at you with a bright pink nose and slightly less pink — but still rosy — cheeks. His eye is lit up, not by the fairy lights creating the almost fantastical atmosphere aboard the Sunny, but by the absolutely unparalleled eloquence of your voice.
When Nami and Robin sing their part they harmonise so well that they sound like one being. It’s almost as beautiful as your part, the main part, but Zoro’s ears seem to shut off when you aren’t singing so that he can focus on widening his one good eye to get a better look at you dancing. You’re leaping in the air now, the music having complete control over your body as you flip and pirouette and perform all these other feats which every time amazed Zoro more than the last time he saw you do it.
As the pace of the song increases, Luffy and Usopp join the dance, weaving through the three of you girls with a skip in their step and the dance trained into their bodies. Zoro grunts slightly when Sanji stands up, seemingly an expert on the guitar now, and finds himself wrapped up in ribbon like a Maypole.
Nami and Robin are singing about how horrible an idea it is to love a sailor, trying to trap you in their ribbons, and all the while you’re ignoring them, telling your tale about running away from home and right into the arms of your sailor paramour. Zoro can’t help but feel like the song was written for the two of you, even though it’s at least three hundred years old. Every verse, every chorus, every word is a confession of love from you to him.
The instrumental begins and Brook plays this spectacular dance-y tune during which you place your hand on Luffy’s and the two of you perform a partnered céilí dance. He’s stumbling over his feet and laughing as he tries to justify himself to you while you loudly complain that he’s not practising enough (but you’re laughing, too, you can’t stop yourself from enjoying this moment).
And then the tempo slows and the instruments go quiet until the players have nearly stopped entirely. Oh! And here comes Zoro’s favourite part!
You run over to him, your ribbons flowing behind you like a cape and the bells jingling like you’re a fairy. Law is caught off-guard by your appearance in front of them, he pronounces your name and you giggle, telling him to stop being a loser and join in.
“I’m a swordsman and a doctor, not a dancer,” he claims.
You scoff and Zoro turns to Law with a lovestruck grin, his arms are wrapped up in your ribbons and his knees are on either side of your thighs. He’s lost to the music, he’s lost in you.
“I’m sure you know a dance or two,” Zoro says teasingly and elbows Law so hard that he trips right into Luffy’s outstretched arms and is pulled into the centre of what would look like a Bacchanal to any outsider.
“Are you being hospitable to our guest?” You ask Zoro once it’s just the two of you alone and before you’ll be beckoned to start singing again.
“You’re the one who called him a loser, woman,” he chuckles.
You laugh with him and bite your lip, “Are you gonna come dance with me?”
“How could I say no to that voice?”
The bridge erupts from your lungs to serenade Zoro as he stands up and allows himself to be taken by your siren song, dragged into the dance. The song ends with another instrumental, just as powerful as the last, and he escapes your ribbons to raise you up into the air, spinning you around as a prince would a princess. At the very end, you repeat the refrain half a dozen times, each time letting the song fade a little more until there is no more music left to sing or to dance to.
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prettyfilmz · 2 months ago
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SWEET LIKE CANDY 5 • JEY USO
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author's note: hello my loves! we have now reached part 5!! I am not gonna sugarcoat this.. this part is going to make you cry, rage, and question your existence (apologies beforehand😭) the good news is, the storm will pass as quickly as it came. I hope you enjoy💗
synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.
pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise dupree aka candy)
tags: no smut for this part but still 18+ (MDNI) due to sensitive subject matters, angst, arguments, tears, talks of past predatory behaviors, grooming, financial abuse, violence, crashout jey uso™, jimmy and trinity being a good support system for our lovely couple.
word count: 6.6k words
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read part one here!
read part two here!
read part three here!
read part four here!
soundtrack playlist
Three weeks.
That’s how long it’s been since Cherise’s entire world did a complete 180. Since Tremaine showed up at her door, spewing poison from his lips, his words sinking into her skin and refusing to let go.
She hasn’t been sleeping well. Barely eating. Half the time, she’s on autopilot dragging herself through her clinicals, forcing herself to smile for customers at the club, jumping at every shadow and lingering glance. Every night, she double-checks her locks, pulls the curtains tight, and sleeps with a kitchen knife under her pillow because she doesn’t trust that Tremaine won’t come back.
And Jey?
She hasn’t answered a single one of his texts or calls.
Not because she wants to cut him off, but because she doesn’t know how to talk to him without hearing Tremaine’s voice whispering in her head.
You really think he gon’ take you serious? You a stripper. You think you fit in that world? In his world?
So she’s been stonewalling. Avoiding the club on the nights Jey might show up, keeping her phone on silent during clinicals and chucking it to the bottom of her bag so she doesn’t see the “Where you at, baby girl?” texts that make her chest ache.
But tonight, she’s exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. Her babydoll feels like sandpaper against her skin, her feet are killing her, and her nerves are frayed to hell and back. She needs to get home, take a long, hot shower, and pass out for at least twelve hours.
She barely glances up when the dressing room door swings open, too busy wiping off her makeup with shaky hands. Trinity’s reflection appears in the mirror behind her, a knowing smirk playing on her glossed lips.
“Girl,” Trinity drawls, popping a bubble with her gum. “You got a visitor.” Cherise tenses, heart stumbling in her chest. “Who?”
“Who you think?” Trinity raises a brow, chewing lazily.  “Mr. Main Event, ringin’ a bell yet?”
Cherise’s stomach twists. She grips the edge of the vanity, her breath catching. “Trin, I can’t—”
“Nuh-uh.” Trinity holds up a manicured finger, her tone turning stern.  “You better go talk to that man. He lookin’ all sad and shit, like a lost puppy. Don’t make me drag you out there.”
Cherise’s mouth goes dry. Her pulse thrums painfully in her ears, a mix of dread and longing knotting in her stomach.
“Trin, I really can’t—”
“Girl, I ain’t tryna hear that,” Trinity snaps, hands on her hips.  “You got this man comin’ up to the club lookin’ for you after you been ghost for three weeks, and you think you just gon’ hide back here forever?  No, ma’am.”
Before she can protest, Trinity grabs her wrist, dragging her toward the door with zero room for arguments.
“Trin—wait! hold on—”
“Hush,” Trinity says, flipping her curls over her shoulder.  “Go handle that. I’ll cover your set.”
And just like that, Cherise finds herself stumbling out of the dressing room, heart slamming against her ribs as she scans the club for him.
She doesn’t have to look far.
Jey’s by the bar, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, those broad shoulders hunched in a way that makes him look smaller somehow.  His eyes flicker restlessly over the room, like he’s hoping she’ll pop up out of thin air, that small crease between his brows deepening when she doesn’t.
Her breath catches. God, he looks good—black tee stretched tight across his chest, camouflage cargos, chains glittering under the dim lights. But his face…
He looks worried. Confused.
Hurt.
Cherise swallows, guilt twisting in her gut as she takes a shaky step forward.
As soon as he sees her, his head snaps up, relief flooding his eyes.  “Yo, there you are, baby girl.  I been—”
“You can’t be here,” Cherise blurts out, voice sharper than intended.  “Jey, you can’t just show up at my job like this.”
Jey’s brows lift, surprised by the hostility in her tone.  “Damn, mama, I just wanted to talk. You been dodgin’ me for weeks—”
“I know, but—” Cherise glances around, her nerves fraying. “Not here.  You can’t just—shit, Jey, I told you I needed space.”
“Space?” Jey frowns, straightening. “Baby girl, you ain’t said anything. You just been ignorin’ me. How I’m supposed to know what’s goin’ on if you don’t talk to me?”
“I can’t—” Cherise runs a hand down her face, heart pounding. “Look, you need to go.”
Jey’s jaw ticks. “So that’s it?  You just done wit’ me now?”
Cherise’s breath catches, guilt flooding her chest. “I didn’t say that—”
“Then what are you sayin’, Cherise?” His voice is rough, frustrated, but there’s something raw underneath it—something that makes her throat close up. “’Cause I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything,” she snaps, her voice cracking.  “This is—shit, this is why I didn’t wanna do this. This—this whole…thing with you.”
Jey’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I knew this would happen,” she hisses, hands trembling.  “You come in here acting all sweet, making me think this is real, and then you disappear for three months—”
“I explained that,” Jey says quietly, his tone dropping. “I had Mania comin’ up, baby. I was busy. But I came back, didn’t I?”
“And why did you come back?” Cherise bites out, her eyes glassy.  “’Cause you missed me or ‘cause you just wanted to see if I’d spread my legs this time?”
Jey flinches, like she slapped him. “Yo, what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she spits, her vision blurring. “I know how this goes. I ain’t stupid. You saw what you wanted, came back to get it, and now you’re tryin’ to act like you care—”
“I do care,” Jey snaps, stepping closer.  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?  If I ain’t care, I wouldn’t be here right now tryna figure out what the hell happened—”
“What happened is I realized I’m not built for this!” Cherise chokes out, tears burning her eyes. “I’m not built for you, Jey. I can’t..I can’t compete with all the other girls you probably got. I can’t pretend this is somethin’ it’s not—”
“Mama, you the only girl I been thinkin’ ‘bout,” Jey exclaims, voice softening.  “I haven’t even looked at another woman since I met you.  You the only one I been hittin’ up, waitin’ on, thinkin’ ‘bout every night—”
Cherise’s chest heaves, tears slipping down her cheeks.  “You’re lying.”
Jey’s face falls, something breaking in his eyes.  “Damn, Cherise…”
Her voice cracks, her shoulders trembling.  “Please just go.”
For a moment, he just stands there, staring at her with something broken in his eyes. Then he exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
“Aight,” he mutters, voice rough.  “C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”
The drive is quiet.
Not the comfortable kind of quiet. No, this quiet is heavy and sharp, suffocating even, a thick fog that clings to every breath and makes the air feel too thin.
The sky outside is dark, the streetlights flashing past in blurred streaks of amber. The rain has slowed to a soft drizzle, tapping against the windshield in a rhythmic, melancholy patter that matches the hollow ache in Cherise’s chest.
Cherise’s fingers are twisted tight in the hem of her hoodie, her nails digging into the soft fabric, her knees pulled up just slightly in Jey’s passenger seat. Her eyes stay fixed on the window, but she doesn’t see the blur of streetlights and passing cars. Doesn’t see anything but the guilt clawing through her chest and the faint reflection of Jey’s profile—his jaw tense, eyes fixed straight ahead, one hand firm on the steering wheel.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push. Just keeps glancing her way every few blocks, brows knit with quiet concern, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the wheel.
The silence is unbearable.
Cherise swallows hard, her throat raw and aching, eyes stinging with the tears she’s been fighting back since the club. The argument replays on a loop in her mind her voice sharp and venomous, her words laced with accusations she didn’t mean, and Jey’s face when she told him she needed space. The way his eyes dimmed, something in them cracking even though he tried so hard to hide it.
I shouldn’t have said that.
But she can’t take it back.  Can’t undo the hurt she put in his eyes, the pain she heard in his voice when he relented to her demands.
Cherise clenches her jaw, blinking rapidly at the window. The streetlights blur into soft amber glows, her reflection warped and blurry, eyes too bright. She digs her nails deeper into her hoodie, willing herself to hold it together until she gets home.
But then the car slows to a stop, and she looks up, breath hitching slightly.
Her apartment building looms just ahead, the soft glow from the porch lights spilling across the cracked pavement. Familiar. Safe.
Jey pulls into the lot and shifts into park, the low rumble of the engine fading into silence. For a long, heavy moment, neither of them move.
His hand flexes over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, but Cherise can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he inhales slow and deep like he’s fighting to keep his own breathing steady.
The rain taps softly against the window, and Cherise swallows around the tightness in her throat, her voice small and shaky when she finally speaks.
“Thanks… for the ride,” she mumbles, eyes fixed on her lap.
Jey exhales slowly, the sound soft and tired. “Ain’t nothin’, mama,” he murmurs, voice rough but warm. “Just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
The tenderness in his tone makes her chest ache.
Cherise glances down, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, words thick and heavy on her tongue. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.
But the words don’t come.
She can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes or the way he might look at her if she tries to explain why she’s been pushing him away.
So she just nods, fingers tightening on her bag, and reaches for the door handle.
But Jey’s already moving, pushing open his own door and circling around to her side before she can even process it. The chill night air slips into the car, cool and sharp against her warm cheeks, and Cherise blinks, startled, when the passenger door swings open.
Jey stands there, one arm braced casually against the doorframe, eyes warm and soft beneath his lashes. He offers a hand, palm up, brow quirked like he’s daring her to refuse.
Cherise hesitates, breath catching slightly. Her eyes flick from his hand to his face—open, patient, waiting for her to make the choice.
And against her better judgment, her fingers slip into his.
His palm is rough and warm, his grip gentle but firm, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he helps her out of the car. Cherise exhales, her eyes fixed on the ground, but she doesn’t pull away not even when he keeps her hand tucked in his as they walk to the building.
The silence stretches long and heavy between them, only broken by the soft scuff of their shoes against the cracked concrete. Jey’s fingers are warm, soft, wrapped firm around hers like he’s afraid she might slip away if he lets go.
The drizzle is cold, prickling her skin, and Cherise huddles into her hoodie, shivering slightly as they walk inside the building and into the elevator.
When they reach her door, Cherise fumbles for her keys with a shaky breath, her hands unsteady, throat tight. Jey lingers just a step behind, his gaze steady, watching her with that quiet, patient warmth that makes her want to cry.
Her hands tremble so bad she nearly drops her keys, and Jey steps forward instinctively, his palm settling warm over hers.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft, thumb brushing gently over her wrist.  “S’okay, mama. Take your time.”
Cherise’s breath hitches, her eyes stinging. Her fingers fumble with the lock, her vision blurred, and Jey’s hand moves instinctively, steadying hers, guiding the key with a tenderness that makes her chest ache.
The door clicks open, and Jey’s hand falls away slowly, lingering a second longer than it needs to.
Cherise swallows hard, her throat tight, guilt twisting sharp and ugly in her stomach. Her hand lingers on the door, but she doesn’t move, can’t make herself step inside, not yet.
She sucks in a shaky breath, blinking down at her sneakers. “Jey, I..”
“I know,” he murmurs, voice soft and warm. “It’s alright, baby girl.”
The gentle reassurance breaks something inside her.
Her vision swims, a tear slipping hot down her cheek, and she ducks her head quickly, wiping at it with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I-I’m sorry,” she chokes, voice cracking. “I-I didn’t mean to—fuck, I’m sorry, Jey, I—”
Jey’s hand rises instinctively, thumb brushing away a stray tear, warm and careful. “Hey, hey,” he soothes, voice soft, thumb tracing slow over her cheek. “Don’t do that, mama. Ain’t gotta apologize.”
And then, he reaches over, tugging the hood of her hoodie up over her damp curls, his fingers lingering for half a second longer than they need to.
“There,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost like he’s talking to himself.  “Can’t have you catchin’ a cold, baby girl.”
His eyes flicker down to hers, warm and honey-soft. “Take care of yourself, aight?” he murmurs gently, his thumb brushing slow circles into her back one last time. “I…I’ll be around, if you need me.”
Cherise’s breath shudders, her eyes glistening. Her fingers tighten on the hem of her hoodie, guilt twisting sharp in her chest. She doesn’t deserve this…his patience, his warmth, the way he’s still so gentle even after everything she said.
But Jey just offers a small, soft smile, his thumb brushing one last time over her cheek.
“Night, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice warm and tender.
And then he steps back, hands sliding into his pockets, lingering just long enough to make sure she gets inside safe.
Cherise watches him go, her breath shuddering, vision blurred with tears.  The door clicks shut behind her, and she crumbles—knees weak, hands trembling, guilt clawing through her chest until she can barely breathe.
She sinks to the floor, fingers clenching tight in the fabric of her hoodie, tears slipping silent and heavy down her cheeks.
Because she’s ruined it.
Because the look in his eyes said he’d wait for her as long as she needed, even if it killed him.
And God, it makes her chest ache.
The fluorescent lights in the bursar’s office were harsh, too bright for the dull ache thrumming behind Cherise’s eyes. The chill of the air conditioning bit at her exposed arms, but she barely noticed, fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse as she shifted from foot to foot.
The line moved slowly.
She shouldn’t even be here. Not really.
Rent was late. Her phone bill was past due. Groceries were low. She should’ve been saving every dollar, stretching it thin until the next shift at the club. But if she didn’t make a down payment by the end of the week, her classes would be dropped. And after everything she’d been through, everything she’d sacrificed, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen.
The line inched forward, and Cherise’s stomach twisted.
She tried to breathe past the tightness in her chest, tried to ignore the ugly lump of guilt that had taken up residence in her throat since that night outside her apartment. Since Jey’s eyes, soft and warm, and the way his thumb brushed a tear from her cheek without a single ounce of judgment.
A week.
It had been a week since she’d last seen him, since she’d told him she needed space and watched him walk away with her heart still clenched tight in his hand.
Cherise’s fingers dug tighter into her purse strap, nails pressing hard enough to leave half-moon indents in the leather. Focus. She was doing this for herself, for her future.
“Next!”
She exhaled sharply, reaching the front desk.
The woman behind the counter, an older lady with kind eyes and tight gray curls, smiled at her.  "Hi there, how can I help you?"
"I’m here to make a tuition payment," Cherise said, forcing a polite smile. "For the current semester."
"Alright, sweetheart, what’s your student ID?"
Cherise rattled it off, fingers already gripping the strap of her bag like a stress ball.
She watched as the woman typed into the computer, her expression shifting as she scanned the screen.
She knew her balance was ugly—$87,350 for the rest of the semester alone, not even touching next year. There was no way she could pay all of it today, but even a partial payment would keep her enrolled, would buy her time to figure the rest out.
Then—
A small, warm smile.
"Oh, Ms. Dupree, you actually don’t have an outstanding balance anymore."
Cherise blinked. "I—what?"
"Your tuition has already been covered," the woman said, still smiling like she had just delivered the best news in the world. "For the rest of your program, actually."
Cherise felt like the floor had tilted.
Her stomach dropped. "I’m sorry, what?"
"Yes, your remaining semesters have been fully paid off. Looks like it was handled earlier last week."
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the transaction details, and Cherise’s breath hitched at the number glowing on the screen.
$965,852.
Her brain lagged. It didn’t make any sense. Usually the financial aid office would send an email in advance to let her know they’ll cover her expenses but this? It seemed way too generous. 
"Who paid for it?" she blurted out, her voice tight.
The woman clicked through a few screens, then looked back at her with an apologetic smile. “It appears to be an anonymous donor but..they did leave a note for you.”
Cherise’s breath caught.
The woman leaned down, rifling through a stack of envelopes behind the counter before pulling out a plain white one. Her name was scrawled in neat, slanted handwriting across the front—no return address, no sender.
With trembling fingers, Cherise took it.
She hesitated, breath shallow, and carefully slid her nail under the flap, tugging it open.
A single sheet of paper slipped out, cream-colored and soft to the touch, folded once. Her heart pounded heavy and thick as she unfolded it, eyes scanning the inked words in that same familiar handwriting.
Keep going, pretty girl. You deserve this and more.
— J
And at the bottom, sketched in careful, intricate detail, was a butterfly.
Cherise’s breath hitched, her eyes blurring, fingers trembling so bad the paper nearly slipped from her grasp. She traced the wings with unsteady fingertips—delicate, detailed, every line shaded with painstaking precision.
She’d recognize it anywhere.
The butterfly inked inside Jey’s bicep—beautiful and intricate, woven with tribal details. A reminder of transformation, of growth.
Cherise’s breath hitched.
Anonymous.
But she knew.
She knew exactly who it was.
And it felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
The woman’s voice was softer now. "Whoever it was… they must really believe in you, Ms. Dupree.”
Cherise’s throat closed.
She barely muttered a "thank you" before turning away, practically stumbling out of the office, her heart pounding in her ears.
The door swung shut behind her, and Cherise stumbled into the nearest hallway, her back hitting the cool concrete wall.  Her breath came out in short, broken gasps, the note clutched tight in her hands, her vision blurred and swimming.
And then the tears came.
Hot and heavy, slipping silently down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with each ragged breath. Her fingers twisted tight in the note, her eyes squeezed shut.
Why would he do this?
After everything she said—after the way she pushed him away, accused him of lying, told him she needed space—why would he do this?  Why would he give her something so precious, so selfless, and not even ask for credit?
Not even ask for her thanks.
A soft, broken sob slipped past her lips, her knees threatening to buckle.
Because Jey didn’t want anything back. He never did.
And that hurt the most.
Cherise curled into the corner of her couch, knees drawn to her chest, Jey’s hoodie wrapped tightly around her body like it could somehow keep her from falling apart.
Trinity sat beside her, one leg tucked under the other, watching her carefully. She hadn’t said much since she arrived, just letting Cherise breathe—because Lord knew she hadn’t been doing enough of that lately.
The only sound in the apartment was the occasional sniffle from Cherise, the soft hum of the city outside, and the rhythmic tap of Trinity’s acrylic nails against her thigh as she waited.
Waited for Cherise to talk.
Cherise inhaled shakily, staring at her hands. "He paid off my tuition, Trin."
Trinity didn’t react with shock. She had already suspected it. But now that she had confirmation, she let out a slow breath, shaking her head. "Damn."
"Yeah."
Cherise bit the inside of her cheek, her throat tight. "And I treated him like shit."
"You did." Trinity’s voice wasn’t harsh. Wasn’t judgmental. Just… honest.
Cherise’s eyes burned. "I don’t even know why he would do that, Trin.  After everything I said to him, after how I shut him out—"
"Because he cares, dummy." Trinity sighed, rubbing Cherise’s back.  "Jey ain’t the type to do something for no reason. He ain’t lookin’ for credit, he ain’t tryna make you owe him. He did it ‘cause he wanted to, Cher."
Cherise swallowed hard. "I don’t deserve that."
"Who told you that?"
Cherise flinched at the sharpness in her tone. "I—"
"Who told you that, Cherise? ‘Cause I know damn well it wasn’t Jey.  And it damn sure wasn’t me."
Cherise pressed her lips together, gripping the sleeves of Jey’s hoodie so tight her fingers ached.
Trinity nodded like she had her answer. "That man got in your head."
Cherise’s whole body stiffened. "Don’t—"
"Tremaine." Trinity said his name with nothing but venom. "That bastard got in your head, Cherise. And you let him."
Cherise winced. "I didn’t—"
"You did, babe.” Trinity’s voice was softer now, but the words still stung. "And I get it. I do. You been through so much, Cher. More than most people can even imagine. You lost your mama before you even had a chance to know her. You lost your daddy before he could see you graduate. And then Tremaine? That low-life groomed you.”
Cherise flinched.
The word hit like a slap to the face.
She had never said it out loud.
Never called it what it was.
She had been young. Eighteen, fresh into the world, thinking she had all the answers. And Tremaine had fed on that. He had made her believe she was making choices for herself—that stripping was her decision, that he was just "helping" her get on her feet.
But now, looking back?
She had never been in control of it.
He had chosen her name.
He had chosen when she danced, what she wore, how much she made.
And when she had finally started standing on her own—
He took everything from her.
Trinity’s fingers squeezed her hand. "He made you feel like you weren’t worthy of love.  Like you weren’t worthy of somebody wantin’ you for more than what’s between your legs. And that’s why you keep pushin’ people away, Cher."
Cherise’s throat closed.
"It’s why you never let people stick around."
Cherise hated that she was crying now.
"It’s why the second Jey showed you he cared, you ran."
Cherise wiped at her face furiously, shaking her head. "I just—I don’t know how to do this, Trin!"
"I know, baby." Trinity pulled her into a hug, rubbing slow circles on her back. "You never had anybody stay before. But that don’t mean you can’t learn, Cherise. And that damn sure don’t mean you let a good man slip away just ‘cause you scared."
Cherise buried her face into Trinity’s shoulder, body trembling.
"I think I already lost him." Her voice was small, broken.
"Then go find him."
"What if he don’t wanna see me?"
Trinity snorted. "Girl, please. Jey ain’t built like that. He likes you, Cher. Hell, I think he loves you and just ain’t said it yet."
Cherise froze.
Her stomach flipped. "Don’t say that."
"Why?  ‘Cause it’s true?"
Cherise clenched her jaw. "Trin—"
"Nah, let’s be real."* Trinity leaned back, looking her dead in the eyes.  "That man ain’t lookin’ for no lil’ fling. He could have that at any time. But he chose you. He came back for you. He spent time with you. He paid your tuition without even tellin’ you. Who does that, Cher?"
Cherise bit her lip.  "Jey."
"Exactly." Trinity gave her a knowing look. "And you need to talk to him."
Cherise sniffled, wiping her face again.  "What do I even say?"
"You apologize. And you tell him what happened. No more runnin’."
Cherise swallowed hard.  "And what if he don’t want me after that?"
Trinity smirked. "Then I’ll slap the shit out of him."
Cherise let out a watery laugh, shaking her head.
Trinity squeezed her hand.  "Lucky for you… I know exactly where he is."
The iron clashed and clattered with every rep, the clang of weights echoing through the empty private gym, sharp and loud against the low hum of hip-hop vibrating from the speakers.
Jey pressed the barbell back onto the rack with a grunt, his breath ragged, muscles burning, but the tight knot in his chest stayed coiled and heavy, refusing to ease.
“Damn, Uce,” Jimmy drawled from where he leaned against the bench press next to him, arms crossed. “You alright? Ain’t no way you goin’ that hard just ‘cause.”
Jey exhaled, dragging a towel over his face, jaw clenched tight. He leaned back, the metal of the bench cold through his hoodie, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles.
“It ain’t nothin’,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice said otherwise.
“Mmhmm.” Jimmy snorted, one brow arching high.  “Aight, tell that to them weights. You been actin’ on edge all week. You gon’ tell me what’s goin’ on or you gon’ keep lyin’?”
Jey scowled, tossing the towel aside. “I said it ain’t nothin’.”
Jimmy huffed, lips quirking in a smirk.  “Uce. You can’t tell me it ain’t nothin’ if you been punching that bag over there like it’s a dude for the past hour. What’s really goin’ on?”
Jey’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing over his knees.
But Jimmy was patient. He didn’t push, just folded his arms and waited, eyes steady and knowing, like he could see right through Jey’s bullshit which, to be fair, he probably could. Twintuition and all.
Finally, Jey exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s… it’s Cherise,” he admitted, voice low, gruff.
Jimmy’s brows shot up.  “Ohhh. That explains a lot,” he said with a low chuckle. “Y’all beefin’ or somethin’? Ain’t seen her at the club in weeks. Trin said she been quiet.”
Jey’s jaw ticked. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “One minute she cool, the next she… I don’t know, she just flipped on me.  Said she needed space. That things was movin’ too fast.”
Jimmy whistled low.  “Damn,” he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly.  “And she ain’t tell you why?”
Jey shook his head, frustration simmering hot beneath his skin. “I been tryna give her space, but it don’t make no sense,” he muttered, fingers drumming restlessly against his thigh. “She was fine, then outta nowhere she just… shut down. Said shit that didn’t even sound like her. Like she ain’t trust me or somethin’.”
Jimmy was quiet for a moment, lips pursing. “Aight,” he said slowly.  “You sure it was outta nowhere, though?”
Jey’s eyes flicked up, narrowing. “What you mean?”
“I mean,” Jimmy drawled, lifting a brow, “you ever think that maybe she ain’t just flip out for no reason? That maybe somethin’ happened?  Or somebody got in her ear?”
Jey stiffened, something cold sliding down his spine.
He’d considered it—hell, it was the only thing that made sense. But if somebody was fuckin’ with Cherise, who? And why?
“I been thinkin’ that,” he admitted, his voice low, strained. “But I don’t know who the fuck it could be. All I know is she been different.  Jumpy.  Scared. Like she waitin’ for the other shoe to drop or somethin’.”
Jimmy hummed, tilting his head. “You try to talk to Trin about it?”
“She don’t know shit,” Jey muttered, irritation bleeding into his tone.  “She said Cherise been duckin’ her calls too.”
Jimmy blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Damn, Uce,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s rough.  But…”
“But what?”
“But maybe you gotta think about what made her like that,” Jimmy said carefully, eyes steady. “I mean, look, I ain’t sayin’ it’s cool that she went off on you, but you don’t know what kinda dudes she been with before you, uce. She a dancer. You know she done seen some grimy shit.”
Jey’s hands clenched, his teeth grinding. He knew that. Knew it from the way she flinched at loud noises, the way her eyes darted around the club, always watching, always guarded.
The way she never talked about her past.
“Yeah, I get that,” he bit out. “But damn, uce, I ain’t them. She gotta know that by now.”
Jimmy huffed. “But does she?” he challenged, lifting a brow. “Jey, I been watchin’ y’all for months. That girl likes you. But she act like somebody waitin’ around the corner to pull the rug out from under her.  That ain’t no regular trust issue shit. That’s trauma.”
The word landed heavy in the air, settling in the space between them like a weight.
Jey’s hands flexed, guilt churning hot and sick in his gut.
Because Jimmy was right.
Cherise didn’t just have trust issues—she had scars, old and deep, the kind you couldn’t just kiss away, no matter how bad you wanted to.
And maybe he’d been too busy wanting her to notice how much she was still bleeding. 
“Shit,” Jey muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, Uce?”
Jimmy smirked, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Easy,” he said with a shrug. “You go find your girl, you tell her the truth, and you let her know you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Even if she push you away.”
Jey exhaled slowly, the tightness in his chest easing just slightly.
Maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe Cherise just needed to see that he was in this for real, that he wasn’t running just because she got scared.
Before he could respond-
“Yo,” a voice drawled, smooth and low.  “Can I spot you?”
Both Jey and Jimmy turned toward the voice.
A man stood there.
Maybe early to mid thirties.
Lean build. Average height.
Something about his stance rubbed Jey the wrong way—too easy, too confident.
Like he thought he was somebody.
Jey nodded once, grabbing his towel off the bench.  "I’m good, man."
But the dude didn’t leave.
Just smirked, tilting his head slightly.  “I’m Tremaine. Y’all the Usos, huh?"
Jimmy let out a short chuckle. "Damn. We can’t go nowhere without bein’ recognized."
Jey, however, didn’t like this dude’s energy.
Didn’t like how he was lingering.
But he played it cool. "Yeah, somethin’ like that."
"Man, y’all killin’ it right now," he continued, nodding. "That Bloodline run? Big fan.”
Jey didn’t drop his guard, but he responded anyway. "Appreciate it."
"You trainin’ for ‘Mania?"
"Somethin’ like that."
Tremaine let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Man, must be nice.  Bet y’all got all kinds of perks. Travel, money… women."
Jey’s expression didn’t change.  “It’s cool.”
But something about the way the dude said that statement made his skin crawl.
“Aye, you be at that club off 17th, right?” Tremaine asked casually, racking weights. “The one with all them thick-ass strippers?  You ever had that lil’ brownskin one? Candy, I think her name was…She used to be mine.”
Jey went still.
His eyes darkened.
And his fingers curled into fists.
"That so?"
"Hell yeah." Tremaine let out a short chuckle. "Back then?  Man, she was soft. She ain’t know shit about how the world worked. She just wanted to go to school, get her lil’ nursing degree, be a good girl or whatever. But life don’t work like that."
Jey stayed still, adjusting the tape around his wrist. “Word?”
"Mmm-hmm." Tremaine chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head like he had won something. "Man, that girl… whew. You seen her, right? All them curves?  She was built for this. Wasn’t even her idea to strip at first, but I knew she’d be perfect for it."
Jey froze.
"You put her onto it?" he asked, his voice even.
"Hell yeah.” Tremaine let out a short laugh. "She was young. Fresh.  Had no idea what to do with herself. But I saw the potential, y’know?  Saw what she could be. She ain’t wanna do it at first, but… all that shyness? It don’t mean shit when rent due, right?"
Jey’s knuckles cracked.
Jimmy tensed beside him. "Uce—"
Jey ignored him. "So what, you was takin’ care of her?"
Tremaine smirked. "Man, I was doin’ more than that.  I was makin’ her. Taught her everything.  How to move, how to talk, how to pull the big spenders. I even gave her that name—‘Candy’."
Jey’s jaw tightened.
"Yeah?"
"Mmm-hmm." Tremaine shook his head, grinning.  "Ain’t it fittin’?  Sweet, soft, melts in your mouth, drippin’ when you touch it…"
Jey’s vision blurred.
The restraint it took to keep his hands at his sides was inhumane.
Tremaine kept going.
Kept digging his grave.
"She used to cry about it, though," he said, shaking his head with fake sympathy. "Said she ain’t wanna do it, said she ain’t like how men looked at her.  But you know how it is. They all say that at first. You just gotta… break ‘em in."
Jey stilled.
His fingers curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms.
"She ain’t start feelin’ herself ‘til I taught her how," Tremaine continued, voice smug.  "Got her all comfortable. Had her thinkin’ she was makin’ moves. Even let her keep her little cut. ‘Course, I had to take mine. Ain’t fair otherwise."
Jimmy was watching Jey now.
The slight shake in his shoulders.
The way his breathing had gone shallow.
"Uce—"
Tremaine wasn’t done.
"She was real loyal at first, too," he mused, shaking his head like he was reminiscing. "Had that ride-or-die shit. But then she started getting ideas. Thought she could run shit on her own. Thought she could keep all that money she was makin’."
Jey’s breath was short.
He could feel fire curling under his ribs.
Tremaine smirked.  "So, I had to humble her. Remind her how good she had it with me."
Jey’s teeth gritted. "How you do that?"
"Oh, you’d love this one." Tremaine leaned in, like they were just two guys catching up.
Jey waited.
"You ever see a girl really break?" Tremaine asked, tilting his head.  "Not just cry, not just sniffle, but completely break?  It’s a hell of a sight, man. And let me tell you…Man, she really thought we was just goin’ out. Had her all dressed up nice, lookin’ real pretty, thinkin’ we was on some date night shit."
His smirk turned into something cruel.
"One of my boys was gettin’ married, so I got her a nice lil’ gig at his bachelor party. The look on her face when she walked in and saw all my boys sittin’ there, just waiting for her? Priceless." He laughed. "I never seen a girl look so fucking helpless in my life."
Jey stopped breathing.
Jimmy froze.
"She looked at me like I stabbed her in the back," Tremaine went on.  "But what the fuck was she expectin’? That was her job. Her purpose.  She wanna be a stripper, but she wanna pick and choose who she dance for?  Nah, man.  Ain’t how it works."
Jey’s fingers curled into a fist.
"She ain’t dance at first." Tremaine leaned in slightly, his grin widening. "So I had to make her. Told her if she ain’t get up and do what she was good at, then she wasn’t gon’ have a place to sleep that night."
Jey’s entire body tensed.
"She did it, though," Tremaine continued, laughing under his breath.  "Shaky as hell, but she did it. And by the end of the night?  Shit, she learned real quick. She learned how to shut the fuck up and play her part."
Jey felt his blood boiling.
But he let him keep going.
Because he needed to hear how far this motherfucker was willing to go.
"Shame, though," Tremaine said, shaking his head.  "She ain’t learn fast enough. Started thinking she was bigger than me. Thinking she ain’t need me. So, y’know, I had to remind her again.”
Jey’s chest rose and fell steadily. "And how’d you do that?"
Tremaine grinned. "Took my cut. Took her cut, too. Took all that money she was stackin’ for school and got the fuck outta there."
Jey’s fingers twitched.
"Left her with nothin’." Tremaine exhaled, shaking his head. “Told her it was what she deserved. ‘Cause, man… girls like her?  They don’t get no fairytale endings. She ain’t built for that."
Jey’s blood turned to ice.
His pulse pounded, ears ringing.
Jimmy shifted uneasily, eyes flicking between them. He knew somebody was going to be leaving on a stretcher and it sure as hell wasn’t him or Jey.
Tremaine grinned. "But damn, I do miss that body, though.  That girl was tight, boy. Made the sweetest lil’ sounds when she—"
The first punch flew.
CRACK.
Tremaine’s head snapped back, his body jerking as the force sent him stumbling.
But Jey wasn’t done.
Before Tremaine could even react, Jey grabbed him by the collar, dragging him down to the gym floor, his fists slamming into his face again and again and again.
Jimmy shouted, trying to yank Jey back.  "Uce!"
But Jey wasn’t listening.
This was beyond anger.
This was rage.
This was vengeance.
Jey’s vision was tinted red, his hands coated in Tremaine’s blood, the sound of fists connecting with flesh ringing in his ears.
“Josh, chill!” Jimmy was pulling at Jey’s shoulder now. "You gon’ kill him, man!”
"Maybe I should!" Jey snarled, rearing his fist back again.
Jimmy yanked him back, arms locked around his chest. “Joshua, enough!”
Jey struggled, his chest heaving, his blood still roaring in his ears. Tremaine gasped on the ground, coughing up spit and blood, his eye already swelling shut. Jey’s entire body was shaking. His fists ached.  His breathing was ragged.
Then the sound of a door swinging open.
"Joshua?!”
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
Jey’s head snapped up.
And there she was.
Cherise with Trinity in tow. Standing in the doorway, eyes wide, frozen in place as she took in the scene that previously unfolded.
Jey, chest heaving, knuckles bloody with a busted lip from one of Tremaine’s cheap shots he barely felt due to the adrenaline.
Tremaine, curled on the floor, bruised and broken.
Jimmy, looking exhausted as he tried to hold Jey back.
Her breath caught. "What…what the hell is going on?"
Jey stared at her, heart pounding.
Tremaine laughed, his voice wet with blood. "Damn, baby… even after all these years, you still got niggas out here fightin’ over you."
Jey snapped again, lunging forward, but Cherise moved fast.
"Joshua, no!”
Her hands caught his face.
And just like that—
Everything stilled.
His rage froze.
His breath hitched.
And all that existed was her.
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ronearoundblindly · 11 days ago
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'Babygirl'
Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader (platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader)
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part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)
Summary: You get possessive while watching Sharon flirt with Steve.
Warnings for being short, bit of teasing Steve, but nothing else. WC 638
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He’s not into you. Move on.
Steve arrived at Bucky’s with a ‘friend’ tonight. She was sweet enough, at first, but now she’s really making you mad. ‘Sharon’ won’t stop flirting with Steve, who seems especially uncomfortable when her hand brushes down the length of his back.
Steve’s neck tenses slightly as she whispers something in his ear. His body stiffens each time she laughs and rests her head on his shoulder. He does not move his hand over hers once she lays hers on his thigh to lean forward in conversation.
She leaves it there.
Her hand, just sitting there, on Steve’s lap, and he’s clearly not into it.
You hop onto the coffee table and swat at Sharon’s hand before she suddenly moves to touch you.
“Awww, Steve, look. I think she’s jealous of us,” she coos.
Sharon flips to scratch at your cheek, which feels good, then she says exactly the wrong thing.
“Don’t worry, babygirl. He’ll still be around to pet you.”
No one—no one—calls you that but Steve.
Your fangs are out instantly, claws spread on both front feet as one raises into the air, and both Steve and Bucky pounce to stop you. Sharon, however, is the fastest to grab the scruff behind your neck and lift you to arm’s length.
“No, Alpine, we don’t attack friends,” Bucky soothes.
“Bad kitty,” Steve bites from behind bared teeth. “Stop that.”
You fall limp in Agent 13’s hold, eyes wide and questioning to the handsome blond man whose honor you were protecting, but after a moment of silence, Bucky cracks up, doubled over with near tears in his eyes.
Sharon breaks next, gently placing you in Steve’s lap as he settles back onto the couch, a dejected look on his face.
You don’t understand. You think they are laughing at you, so you growl in annoyance.
“Well, at least somebody bought it,” Sharon chides Steve. “Can’t say your performance will work on anybody else.”
“The point is for the mark to believe you two are a couple, punk. I barely believe you’re friends. You look so uncomfortable.” Bucky shakes his head, sweeping over your haunches before returning to his seat.
Sharon scratches your butt, and your head whips around to give her the stink eye from behind the tucked forearm of Steve. She smiles, almost proud of your fighting spirit.
“Don’t worry,” she loudly whispers to you. “We’ve kissed before, and let me tell you, there is nothing there.”
“Hey,” Steve grumps, “it wasn’t that bad.”
Bucky makes a face. “He…tried. Gonna have to try a hell of a lot harder to convince a new gang in Madripoor—“
“I know, but it’s not really me, is it?” Steve pulls you a little closer, holds you a little tighter in his defense.
“The photostatic veil cannot make you a believable boyfriend just like it cannot make you a good dancer,” Bucky points out.
“Woah, now,” Sharon chuckles, “baby steps. Literally. Rogers has two left feet.”
Steve looks down at you gazing up at his handsome face. “Alpine has faith in me,” he mutters.
“We’ll have faith in you after you practice. Put down your real girlfriend and come dance with your fake girlfriend so we don’t all die in two days!”
He just buries his fingers in your fur, talking about how soft you are in hushed tones. You don’t like how stressed Steve looks, and you wedge your face into the crook of his elbow in an effort to console him.
Bucky clears his throat.
“No, you may not take my cat into a sting operation—” he stretches his arms toward you to take over “—not until she’s had some training at least.”
“Absolutely,” Sharon bursts. “Train her up! Bring her everywhere—that’s safe—because I like her. She’s feisty.”
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[Next Part: Outing]
[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]
@hisredheadedgoddess28 @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @yenzys-lucky-charm @irishhappiness @fallenxjas
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jihyoruri · 2 years ago
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OBVIOUS bada lee x reader
warnings: yn is a member of twice, everybody is out here embarrassing yn, fluff
yn leaned into her seat as she watched the dancers, she was so focused that she didn’t even realize monika lean over to her.
“yn.” she whispers, the twice member hums in response her attention still ahead of her, “she was staring at you hard.”
that’s what gets yn’s attention, she snaps her head towards her fellow judge, “who?” she whispers back.
“you know who.” the girl whispers back as yn looks at her confused, she really didn’t know who monika was talking about. “you’ve been keeping your eyes on her the whole time as well.”
yn tenses finally realizing who monika was talking about, she turned her gaze back in front of her, “I’ve been keeping my eyes on everyone.” she replies, shrugging nonchalantly.
“oh, right..” monika trails off nonchalantly, “so you haven’t been taking quick glances at that tall one over there, what’s her name again?” she asks sarcastically.
“bada.” yn replies quickly before cursing at herself as monika’s smile grows big.
monika raises her brow teasingly as yn shakes her head, “shut up, leave me alone.”
“does the great yn have a crush?” monika whispers, laughing to herself as yn shakes her head, “or is it the other way around, cause she’s been staring a lot.”
it was true, of course yn didn’t notice much because she was focused on the other girls, well at least tried to, but monika noticed, she noticed how the dancer stared at yn when she was introduced as a judge and how she always took glances at yn when she wasn’t looking.
yn glared at her before letting out a deep sigh, “you’re talking out of your ass.” she said adjusting herself in her seat, “how about instead of being the person that causes me stress, focus on the dancers, and think about what you’re gonna say.”
“oh I definitely know why you wanna focus on the dancers.” monika teases as she looked ahead of her to see the main topic of the conversation come to the middle. “look at her all tall for you.”
yn looked down in her lap, trying her best not to burn into flames, she’s really regretting taking up momo’s suggestion for this,“how about you shut up and watch kirsten and bada dance for us, please and thank you.” yn says softly, she loves monika but gosh does she love to tease yn.
“one of them is definitely dancing for you.” she teases again before shutting up and putting her attention towards the two girls in front of them.
yn felt monika side eyeing her the whole time as they watched the girls dance but she kept a poker face, there was no way she was letting a tall attractive girl get in her way of her being the “intimidating judge.” that she wanted to be.
even though her face and demeanour didn’t fit the part, yn was always pretty serious when it came to dance, she never even held back when it came to correcting her members, she was always stern and straightforward and yn was proud to say a dancer has never made her flustered or tripped up.
well…
not until now.
when the two girls finished dancing, everyone clapped and cheered for them, the judges stood up, monika making sure to grab yn’s arm pulling her to stand up with her as they clapped, as she cheered she leaned over to yn muttering a “your face is red.”
yn forced a smile as she clapped but her eyes told it all when she side eyed monika as they proceeded to sit back down.
yn zooned out for a little, her gaze set on the dancer in the racer jacket, but was snapped out of her daze, when she hears bada’s name being called and cheers filling her ears.
she nodded and smiled as her fellow judges talked and praised bada completely forgetting that she’s gonna have to talk soon.
as soon monika finished what she said she turned her attention to yn with a neutral look but yn could see the mischief in her eyes, monika nodded towards yn as a way of saying your turn making everyone else turn and look at the twice member.
yn looked ahead of herself making direct eye contact with the dancer before clearing her throat and looking back down at her lap and picking up her microphone, “hold on wait one sec.” she says making everyone laughs at her flustered state.
“you look a little red yn.” mike says pointing to yn’s face making everyone laugh even more, including the person who caused this whole thing.
yn shakes her head in embarrassment before bringing the mic to her lips, “bada..” she starts, “you stood out to me very fast.”
“I was like oh my gosh who’s this girl.” yn continues, finally having the confidence to keep her eye contact with the girl, “but now I definitely know who this girl is wow.” yn says brightly gesturing up and down with her hands at the dancer as bada bows at her.
“you’re already killing the game and showing people how much of a good dancer you are and I can’t wait to see more of you.” yn finishes smiling at bada who thanks her as everyone claps.
“wow! I’ve never seen you praise someone so much yn.” monika says shaking one of yn’s shoulders, it was both true and wrong, yn will praise anyone for doing the bare minimum when it comes to rapping and singing but with dance it takes the person a lot for her to be so praiseful.
“do you have a favourite already?” she jokes, laughing when yn rests her head on her mic as everyone once again laughs at her, she shakes her head when she feels mike pat her shoulder as a sense of comfort as he joins in on the laughs.
this is gonna be a long season.
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yn walks through the hall her face deep in her phone as she texts nayeon ranting about how all her fellow judges embarrassed her today.
yn was to into her phone to realize the tall figure walking in front of her, but she’s hit with the harsh reality when she slams right into the dancers back.
yn tenses as she looks up from her phone, turning it off quickly before putting it away, “I’m so sorry”
the girl looked down at her brushing her apology off, “nah it’s okay.”
yn feels multiple buzzes from her phone and takes it out, “well, I’ll see you around.” she says quickly before walking past bada.
“whoa wait.” the taller girl said as she pulled yn back, “you seemed pretty flustered earlier.” she says to yn pulling the girl closer to her.
“I wouldn’t say flustered…” yn trails off looking into the side.
“umm” bada hums in faux understanding tone, “I’m a pretty big fan of twice you know?”
“oh, thank you.” yn says awkwardly.
“and I think it would be cool to hang out with my bias sometime.”
yn nods before shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t think I’m aloud to hang out with contestants, you never know what they’re really hanging out with you for.”
“nobody has to know.” bada says as she leans against the wall.
“sorry, I’m not the type to get in trouble.” yn says before turning around and proceeding to walk away.
she feels a presence walking behind and an arm thrown around her shoulder, “you know, I don’t appreciate my girlfriend rejecting me and acting like she doesn’t know me.” bada says teasingly as she looks down at yn and pulls her into her side.
yn laughs feeling her face heat up as she leans into the taller girls side, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“you’re not my girlfriend anymore? is this how you break up with me?” bada jokes as she takes arm from around yn and pretends to walk away.
yn laughs as she grabs the taller girls arm and pulls her back to her, “okay okay, im joking.” she says wrapping her arms around bada’s mid, “you did good today.”
“thank you.” bada replies putting her chin on top of yn’s head, “you coming to my place.”
“I’m meeting up with nayeon unnie.”
“then come over to night.”
“that’s what I was planning on.”
“good.”
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eternalsams · 8 months ago
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Call My Name ⇴ J.Seresin
pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader
warning/content: 18+, sexualization of women, cursing, stripper!reader, nudity, allusions to sex, innuendos to porn, reader's stage name is Bambi, reader is described to have beautiful legs
summary: the Daggers met Bambi that night, but you met Hangman Hungman
word count: 1.1k
a/n: English isn't my first language so please take that into consideration.
masterlist
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Jake knew coming to this club with his friends wasn't the best idea of the year but he also knew they'd have a good laugh in a few years when they'll remind themselves of their youth. The bright pink neon lights are inviting and calling Jake's name like he belonged to this place. "Gentlemen, welcome to paradise on Earth!" He exclaimed as he pushed the doors to reveal two stages with two exotic dancers. Two beautiful young women were dancing, never leaving the patrons' eyes as they swayed their hips sensually and smiling like Hollywood actresses whenever a dollar bill was throw onto the stage. The loud music was blasting through the speakers but you could still hear the men shouting for more and whistling.
Jake could see Mickey's ears and cheeks turn red as he realized how much skin he was gonna see tonight. The blond laughed and wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders. Javy was already on his way to get a good table for the four of them. There was only Jake, Javy, Mickey and Bradley on this boys night. Reuben had some plans with his wife and Bob immediately declined when Jake started talking about a strip club. Bradley was just following the group, discovering the place but not shocked a second. Javy waved them over and Jake thanked his best friend when he saw how close to the main stage they were. A young woman came over to them and asked what they wanted to drink. Mickey froze like a seventh grader discovering boobs for the first time on his dad's computer when he made eye contact with the barely dressed woman. He asked for a shot of tequila and Jake's eyes widened. "We'll take eight of them! My treat." He gave the woman his credit card with a charming smile and she thanked him with an even more charming one, making his heart swoon with pride. Oh, how he loved women.
"Gentlemen! Make now a round of applause for our beautiful and sweet Bambi!" A man's voice announced and there you were, pushing the curtains of the main stage open with your leg. Whistles started even before you could show your face of at least your upper body. The defined curve of your calf was enough to make those men go crazy for you. Your high heels were only accentuating your long legs. Jake was as mesmerized as the other men in the room, carefully watching you appear from behind the curtains. Then he saw your fingers curl around the hem of the curtains and your face appeared. And then he can't remember hearing or seeing anything else. All the whistles faded away as your doe eyes scanned the patrons, stopping a single second on Jake's table. The clear dress you had on hid nothing you were wearing underneath, the baby blue lingerie matching perfectly with the darkness of your eyes. But if you were to ask Jake, he couldn't even tell if your eyes were brown or blue because all he saw was the reflection of the neon lights of the club in your irises.
One step after another, you got closer to the center of the stage and a small smile stretched your lips as you saw the first dollars throw onto the stage. You knelt down on one knee, then on both and Jake could've sworn he felt his heart pick up when he noticed the arch of your back as you leaned on your hands. "Give me my wallet." He waved his hand in front of Javy, not even looking at him. "It's in your fucking pocket." The man huffed as he pushed Jake's hand back. The blond man cursed under his breath and took out his wallet, not even able to tell what time it was anymore, his only thoughts going to you in that perfect outfit. He blindly took out two dollar bills and slid them onto the stage, never looking away from you.
You noticed the delicacy of the man and grinned at him as you stood up and walked over to the side of the stage where his table was. You crouched down and picked up the bills. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw the two fifty dollar bills and quickly got yourself together for your act before blowing a kiss to the man who couldn't take his eyes off of you. You stood back on your feet and untied the ribbon keeping your dress closed before slipping the sleeves off. You let the dress fall onto the stage and directed your signature doe eyes to the howling crowd. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his friends teasing him and clapping his shoulders but the man's focus was on you and you only.
"I'm gonna marry that girl." Jake finally said when you finished your act and left the stage. The others looked at him as if he just grew another head before bursting out laughing. "Oh, fuck off!" He snapped before grabbing a tequila shot and downing it with a grimace. "Hello, gentlemen." A feminine voice called the pilots and jake almost spit back out the alcohol as he made eye contact with you, standing right next to him. He hardly swallowed his shot and smiled at you. "Hi! You were... very pretty on stage." He could only say, all his flirting and charming lines leaving his body. You slightly giggled and looked at his friends who were trying hard not to laugh at his lovesick look. "I'm Bambi." You offered your hand for him and he looked at it like it was made of diamonds. "Hungman." Was the first thing that came out of his mouth before he placed a kiss on your knuckles.
You chuckled and looked down at his crotch after hearing his name. "Oh, a fellow dancer I see!" You smiled and looked over at his friends once more. They didn't really look like the part, except for the tall colored man who was trying his hardest not to laugh at Hungman. This one had the shoulders of a stripper. And the one with the mustache definitely belonged behind a camera with two pretty ladies asking for more. You quickly glanced over your shoulder and saw two colleagues waving you near the backstage. You nodded at them and turn back to Hungman with a flirting smile. "Well, I hope I'll be able to see one of your acts these days." You winked at him and left the table, trotting back to your colleagues. Jake watched you leave with a sigh, already planning on what diamond cut would fit your finger.
"Hungman?" He then heard Javy's voice, popping his fantasy bubble. "Shut the fuck up, I'm a stripper from now on." He hissed and took his second tequila shot and looking back to the door where you just disappeared, his friends already planning on telling everyone at work he might switch careers because he fell in love with a stripper.
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taglist:
@hardballoonlove @blue-aconite @callsign-hummingbird @roosterforme @jessicab1991 @atarmychick007 @callsigns-haze @els-marvelvsp @djs8891 @senawashere
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f1-mcmuffin · 27 days ago
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YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL | II |
Part of "The Villain of F1" story, a Lando Norris Fanfic
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒱𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝐹𝟣 Masterlist
| Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist |
Author note: Lando finally makes his little appearance
Previously
----------
“𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓌𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇?”
“𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓌𝑒’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒?”
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(FLASHBACK) Early 2006 –  LA, America 
The dance studio in downtown LA was packed for the regional showcase. Parents lined the folding chairs, coaches murmured last-minute instructions, and young dancers in glittery costumes flitted between dressing rooms and the warm-up floor. (y/n) stood in the corner, bouncing slightly on her toes, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her sparkly blue costume making her look like a little star.
Matteo was sitting near the front row with their parents, swinging his legs and clutching a small bouquet of tiny daisies and paper-wrapped chocolate truffles. He had insisted on picking them himself for (y/n)—“Because real winners like chocolate more than flowers,” he’d said.
When her name was called, Matteo sat up straighter, clutching the bouquet tight. (y/n) took the stage, tiny and focused, her arms already posed as the music began.
She danced her heart out.
Every spin, every leap—she nailed it. At least, it had felt that way. She’d smiled, she’d pointed her toes, and she’d remembered every count. But when the results came in, and the scores flashed on the screen, her name wasn’t first. It wasn’t even second. She’d placed third.
Third.
It felt like the ground had dropped from beneath her. Her little hands clenched at the hem of her skirt, her coach giving her a pat on the back and telling her it was a strong showing for someone her age.
(y/n) barely heard any of it. Her lip wobbled as she stepped down from the stage, eyes searching the crowd until they landed on the one person she needed.
Matteo was already on his way to her.
She didn’t say anything. She just walked straight into his open arms and buried her face into his shoulder, her tears already wetting his hoodie.
“I didn’t win,” she whispered. “I messed up the landing. They didn’t like me.”
Matteo held her tight, even though she was still glittery and smelled like hairspray and sadness. He didn’t say anything at first. Just let her cry. After a while, he pulled back and looked at her. “You were amazing,” he said with complete certainty.
“But I didn’t win,” she said again, more bitter this time.
Matteo reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out the tiny bouquet and chocolates. He held them out like a peace offering. “These are still for you. Even if you didn’t win ’cause you’re still my favorite dancer in the world.”
(y/n) blinked at him, her cheeks flushed and damp. “Really?”
“Really-really,” he said, handing her the flowers. “You were the sparkliest one up there. And you didn’t forget your steps. I saw.”
(y/n) gave him a small, wobbly smile. “I thought I’d get first.”
“You will next time,” Matteo said firmly. “Or the time after. And if not, then I’ll sneak you the biggest trophy anyway.”
(y/n) laughed—just a little—and hugged him again. “You always think I’m gonna win.”
Matteo grinned. “’Cause you’re my sister. And you’re awesome. And when you win, I win.”
They sat together on the edge of the stage, her holding the chocolates, him kicking his heels softly against the wood, and the world felt a little less disappointing. Because even on the days they lost, they still had each other.
(FLASHBACK) 2006 –  Genk, Belgium.
The sun was beginning to set over the small karting track just outside of Genk, Belgium. The air smelled of fuel and rubber, and the sounds of engines were giving way to the murmurs of packing tents and clanking tools.
Matteo sat on an overturned crate near the pit wall, his helmet resting between his knees, his cheeks streaked with sweat and dirt—and a few silent tears.
Max Verstappen, just three years older but already a force on the track, had crossed the finish line seconds ahead of him. The gap hadn’t been much, but at five years old, every second felt like a lifetime. It wasn’t just about the podium—it was about winning, and Matteo had believed, so surely, that today would be his day.
(y/n) stood a few feet away, still in her red team jacket that matched Matteo’s. She hadn’t raced—today, she was just there to watch, bouncing around the paddock and waving homemade signs with his number scribbled in glitter marker. Now, her excitement had quieted. She walked up slowly, her pigtails lopsided, and plopped down next to him.
“You were fast,” she said softly, bumping her shoulder into his.
Matteo didn’t answer. He rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his race suit.
“I should have won,” he mumbled, voice small and thick. “I messed up the corner. He passed me like I was nothing.”
(y/n) frowned and looked toward the track as if Max Verstappen might magically still be there, and she could scowl him into giving Matteo the trophy.
“You’re not nothing,” she said, as if that settled it.
He sniffled. “But I didn’t win.”
(y/n) thought about that for a second. Then she reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the slightly crushed snack she’d been saving—a pink-frosted cookie shaped like a trophy. She held it out to him.
“You can have this one,” she said. “It’s better than the real one anyway. Real ones don’t taste like strawberry.” Matteo looked down at the cookie, then back at her. He almost smiled.
“You sure?”
(y/n) nodded. “You’ll beat him next time. Or the time after that. Or maybe he’ll fall in a puddle and spin out, and then you’ll fly past him.”
Matteo finally laughed—a short, hiccuping sound—and took the cookie.
“You always think I’m gonna win,” he said.
(y/n) shrugged. “’Cause you’re my brother. And you’re fast. And when you win, I win.”
He looked at her for a long second, the way only twins did, a silent understanding passing between them that no one else could read. Then he broke the cookie in half and handed her a piece. They sat there, side by side, munching on cookie trophies, dirt on their cheeks and hope in their hearts. And even though the podium had gone to someone else, at that moment, neither of them felt like they’d lost.
Early 2007 – Melbourne, Australia
The Melbourne skyline sparkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city humming softly in the distance. Inside the penthouse, the apartment had finally gone quiet. The twins were tucked into bed, Luca was on a call with friends in his room, and Leone was knocked out on the couch, a magazine still resting on her chest.
Iseul stood in the kitchen, arms folded, as she leaned against the counter, staring at the kettle as it clicked off. She didn’t move to pour it right away.
Behind her, she heard footsteps. Giovanni.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, opened the cupboard, and grabbed two mugs.
“She’s not going to let it go,” Iseul said finally, still not looking at him.
Giovanni set the mugs down gently. “No,” he agreed, calmly. “She’s not.”
There was a long pause.
“I thought maybe... it was a phase. A fun thing she did with Matteo,” Iseul murmured, her voice quiet but edged with emotion. “But she looked me in the eye and said she knows what she’s getting into. She’s seven, Gio.”
“She’s also (y/n),” he said softly. “You know how she is. She doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”
“That’s what scares me.”
He moved closer now, leaned against the opposite counter, facing her. The room between them was filled with warmth and love—but also the heaviness of being parents to children who were fearless in ways that felt both admirable and dangerous.
“I don’t want to lose her to it,” Iseul admitted. “Not to the track. Not to the pressure. Not to the world we know chews people up—even the best of them.”
Giovanni’s gaze dropped for a second, knowing exactly what she meant. It happened to him. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm just a bit cracked. “I know.”
“She’s a child,” she went on. “She still sleeps with her bunny when she thinks no one’s looking. She cries when she sees old people sitting alone. She loves glitter and sequins. I don’t want that to get hardened out of her because she wants to keep up with the boys.”
“Iseul.” Giovanni stepped closer now, hands out, palms up, like he was holding the thought carefully. “She wants this. Not because Matteo does it. Not because of me. But because she loves it. You saw her face. That wasn’t a game.”
Iseul looked up at him, eyes glassy but determined. “And what happens the first time she loses and no one tells her she’s still enough? What happens when the paddock doesn’t take her seriously? When she’s too fast for their comfort, or too loud, or too bold, too emotional, or just... too (y/n)?”
Giovanni smiled softly, not mockingly, but in deep understanding.
“Then we tell her she’s still enough. Every single time. We teach her how to take up space and take the hits. And when it gets hard—and it will—we’re there.”
Iseul exhaled slowly, eyes on the kitchen floor.
“She’s not the fragile one,” she said after a beat. “I am.”
Giovanni stepped forward and gently pulled her into his arms, tucking his chin over her head.
“I know,” he said. “You’ve always been the one keeping us soft. And that’s what makes her strong.”
They stood there in silence for a long moment.
“She can start,” Iseul whispered, finally. “If she’s serious. And if you promise to protect the parts of her that racing won’t.”
Giovanni pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.
“I promise,” he said. “She’s our girl. We raise her our way.”
Iseul nodded. “With a lot of glitter.” Giovanni grinned
They stayed like that a little longer, the sound of the city below settling into their bones, before Iseul finally poured the tea.
The next morning
The early morning light spilled in soft gold across the hotel suite, casting long shadows across the carpet. Melbourne was just waking up—cars humming below, birds chattering softly outside the windows. Inside, the apartment was still quiet, the rest of the family asleep or just beginning to stir.
(y/n) sat cross-legged on the floor of her parents’ room, still in her pajamas, brushing her doll’s hair with slow, distracted strokes. Her usually chatty self was quiet, like she was waiting for something.
Iseul came in, carrying two cups—one with coffee for herself and one with warm milk for (y/n), just the way she liked it: a little bit of honey and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
She set the cups down and sat beside her daughter, her robe falling gently around her legs. (y/n) didn’t look up. She just kept brushing the doll’s hair, slower now.
Iseul waited a beat before speaking.
“You were very brave last night,” she said gently. “Asking what you asked.”
(y/n) finally looked up at her mom, eyes wide and still a little unsure. “Was it okay that I asked?”
Iseul reached over and tucked a loose strand of (y/n)’s hair behind her ear. “Yes, baby. It was more than okay.”
(y/n) swallowed, her small hands curling in her lap. “I really mean it, Mama. I don’t wanna just watch anymore. I wanna race. For real. Not just pretend in the garage or go around the parking lot with Papa.”
Iseul looked at her daughter—the fire behind those big eyes, the steadiness in her voice, and the softness she still carried like armor under it all.
“I know you do,” Iseul said quietly. “I see how much you love it. And I see how serious you are. You’ve never said anything like this and not meant it.”
(y/n) held her breath. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Iseul whispered. “I’m not mad. I’m scared.”
(y/n) blinked. “Why?”
“Because when you love something this much, it means your heart is out there too,” Iseul said, placing her hand lightly over (y/n)’s chest. “And it means people might not always understand you. They might say you’re too small. Or too loud. Or that racing isn’t for girls.”
(y/n) straightened, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can do it.”
Iseul smiled, her throat tight. “I know. And I’m going to let you.”
(y/n)’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really-really,” Iseul said, stealing the phrase that (y/n) and Matteo always used with each other. “But only if you promise me something.”
(y/n) nodded quickly, already bouncing in place.
“You have to stay you. All the glitter. All the heart. All the feelings. Don’t trade that for trophies, okay?”
(y/n) launched herself into her mother’s arms, nearly knocking her tea over in the process. “I won’t! I promise I won’t!”
Iseul wrapped her arms around her, breathing her in—shampoo, cinnamon milk, and that soft warmth that only belonged to (y/n).
“You’re going to be so fast,” Iseul whispered into her hair.
(y/n) pulled back with a beaming smile. “Like Papa?”
Iseul smirked. “Faster.”
(y/n) grinned so wide her eyes nearly disappeared, then stood up, hands on her hips. “I’m gonna go tell Matteo.”
“Brush your teeth first!” Iseul called as (y/n) bolted from the room, already shouting her brother’s name.
Iseul leaned back against the bed, sipping her now lukewarm coffee, her heart full of pride and worry all at once. Her daughter was a racer now.
And the track had no idea what was coming. 
Nor did (y/n)...
The hallway was still bathed in that sleepy morning light, dust motes floating in the air as (y/n) sprinted down the carpet barefoot, her pajama pants nearly tripping her up as she ran. She didn’t care—her heart felt like it was about to launch straight out of her chest. She turned the corner, skidding a little, and threw open the door to the room she and Matteo were sharing in the Melbourne penthouse.
“Teo!” she shouted, not bothering to be quiet.
Matteo was sitting cross-legged on his bed, half-dressed, still struggling with one of his race suit sleeves. His head snapped up immediately at her voice, eyes wide.
“What? What happened?”
(y/n) didn’t answer right away. She just grinned—beamed, really—and jumped straight onto his bed with all the force of a very small thunderstorm.
“Mama said yes!”
Matteo blinked. “...Wait. What?”
“She said yes!” (y/n) repeated, practically bouncing. “I can start karting! For real! Not just with you or Papa for fun, but like—actually.”
Matteo stared at her for a second, like his brain was buffering.
“No way.”
“Yes way!”
His mouth dropped open in slow-motion amazement. “She really said yes?”(y/n) nodded so fast her bun started to come loose. “She said I could. And she said I have to stay myself, whatever that means. But I can race! I can actually race, Teo!”
Matteo let out the loudest whoop he could, launching forward and tackling her into a full-on sibling hug. The two of them collapsed on the bed in a heap of tangled arms, giggles, and pure adrenaline.
“This is gonna be so cool,” Matteo said, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, breathless. “We’re gonna be like the fastest twins in the whole world.”
(y/n) rolled onto her side to face him. “Do you think I’ll be good?”
“I know you’ll be good,” Matteo said. “You’ve been faster than me in the driveway since forever.”
(y/n) smiled, but it was softer now. “You’re not mad?”
Matteo frowned. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“’Cause it’s your thing. And now I’m doing it too.”
Matteo sat up, serious. “(y/n). You’re my best friend. If you’re doing it, it just means I get to do it with you.”
Her face lit up all over again. They sat like that for a second—two seven-year-olds buzzing with dreams and sugar and joy, the world ahead of them stretching out like a track waiting to be raced. Matteo reached over and bumped her shoulder with his. “You’re gonna need your own helmet though. You can’t keep stealing mine.”
(y/n) smirked. “Mine’s gonna be purple and silver.”
“Mine’s gonna have dragons on it.”
“Then mine’ll have glitter and lightning bolts.”
Matteo grinned. “We’re gonna be awesome.”
(y/n) nodded. “We already are.”
—-----------
2008 – Parma Karting Track, Italy (y/n) Acerbi’s First Race
The engines buzzed like angry bees beneath a grey, cloud-streaked sky. The air smelled of fuel, tire rubber, and the anticipation only race day could bring. Kids—mostly boys—were zipping around the paddock, helmets tucked under their arms, animated chatter bouncing between them. But all eyes landed on one kid standing beside her kart.
(y/n) Acerbi.
Eight years old. Just over a meter tall. Her hair was in a tight ponytail. Chin up. Arms crossed in front of her fireproof suit that had been hand-stitched by Iseul herself. 
A girl. And the only one here.
 Parents murmured behind cupped hands. Some didn’t bother to hide it.
“She won’t last a lap.” “She’s gonna cry before turn one.” “They’re letting girls race now?” “Poor Acerbi boy—his sister’s embarrassing him already.”
(y/n) heard it. She wasn’t supposed to. But she did.
Matteo was a few feet away, tightening the strap on his gloves, trying not to look at her. Not because he was embarrassed, but because he was angry—furious—at the whispers. The way the other boys looked at her like she didn’t belong.
“Don’t listen to them,” he muttered as he passed her. “You’re gonna smoke them all.”
“I know,” (y/n) said simply. Her voice didn’t waver.
Their father, Giovanni, knelt beside her kart, checking every bolt and cable again. “Are you nervous, tesoro?” he asked softly.
(y/n) shook her head. “I just want to drive.”
Giovanni smiled. “Then drive like you mean it.”
Iseul kissed the top of her helmet before (y/n) pulled it on. Luca, barely 10 years older, gave her a subtle fist bump. And Leone, bouncing on her toes, shouted, “Go fast and don’t let those boys push you!” The engines fired up.
Twenty little karts lined up on the grid. (y/n) was placed somewhere mid-pack—not because of time, but because no one expected anything from her.
The lights flicked from red to green.
And she launched.
During the first lap, she weaved through two boys who tried to block her line. By lap three, she had clawed her way into third place. Her turns were sharp, decisive. Aggressive. Giovanni’s hands were clenched on the rail as he watched, unable to hide the way his chest swelled with pride.
“She drives like him,” Luca said under his breath.
Iseul’s eyes didn’t leave the track. “No,” she whispered. “She drives like her.”
Matteo was leading the race, helmet glinting under the sun, but in his mirrors, he saw the blur of red and black.
(y/n).
By the final lap, it was down to her, Matteo, and one of the local kids—Luca Moretti, who had a record for being the fastest in their age group. (y/n) took a breath. One corner left. The boys fought each other for space. That’s when she dove under them both, hitting the apex like she’d been born in the seat. It was risky. It was fearless. It was perfect.
She crossed the finish line first. The track fell silent for a beat. Then—
“What the hell—?”
“No way—was that the girl?!”
(y/n) pulled into the paddock, helmet still on, heart pounding. She didn’t even raise her arms. Just sat there, breathing heavy, taking it all in. A girl. First place. First race. Matteo pulled up next to her and lifted his visor. “That was insane,” he said. “Where’d you learn that move?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a laugh.
Luca howled with laughter on the sidelines.
Giovanni was already running toward her, lifting her from the kart like she weighed nothing. “Mia piccola campionessa!”
Iseul had tears in her eyes. She didn’t cry often. But today—she did.
And the other parents? They said nothing. Just stood and watched the girl who was supposed to cry before turn one. The girl who wasn’t supposed to win. The girl they couldn’t ignore anymore.
(y/n) pulled her helmet off, cheeks flushed, a triumphant smile slowly forming. She looked toward the boys who had laughed at her earlier.
“Guess I’m not just here to watch,” she said simply.
Matteo walked up beside her, grinning.
“World better get used to it.”
Later That Afternoon – 2008, Post-Race
The karting track’s once dismissive atmosphere had shifted. The silence after (y/n) crossed the finish line gave way to hushed murmurs, darting glances, and forced smiles from the same parents who had scoffed just hours before. (y/n) stood beside Matteo, both still in their suits, as they posed for photos. She held the first-place trophy, the metal gleaming under the dying sun.
Some of the boys stood off to the side, avoiding her gaze. Others stared like she was a glitch in the matrix—like the win had broken something they didn’t even know could break.
One boy kicked at the gravel, muttering to his dad, “She just got lucky.” His father didn’t answer. He was too busy watching Iseul, Giovanni, and Luca beam beside the twins like they'd known all along.
A small local news reporter approached (y/n), clearly unsure if he was about to be made fun of for doing so.
“(y/n) Acerbi, right?” he asked, microphone already halfway up. “First race, and you took the win. Do you think this is a one-time thing, or…?”
(y/n) tilted her head, tiny strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Her voice was steady. Calm.
“I think I’ll be back next weekend.”
Luca let out a bark of laughter behind her. “She’s gonna own this track.”
The reporter smiled awkwardly, glancing at Matteo. “And your brother? What’s it like racing your twin?”
Matteo crossed his arms. “I’m gonna win next week.” Then, smirking sideways at her, “Unless she does that move again.”
(y/n) grinned. “You’ll never see it coming.”
A Few Steps Away – by the Fence
A little boy stood next to his kart, helmet hugged to his chest. Green eyes wide. Freckles dusting his cheeks. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
Lando Norris had raced earlier that morning. He had come third. His dad was talking to one of the mechanics, but Lando hadn’t heard a single word since (y/n) overtook two boys in one move on the final lap.
He hadn’t expected her to win. Not because she was a girl—but because no one ever did that in their first race. No one. He watched her laugh with her brother, lean into her dad’s shoulder, and casually hoist the trophy like she’d done this a hundred times. There was something about her. She didn’t just drive fast. She looked like she belonged out there.
Something inside Lando tightened. Not jealousy. Not awe. Something more confusing. Like watching someone draw the sun with crayons and realizing they got it more right than everyone else. He dropped his helmet beside his kart and turned to his dad.
“Can we come next week too?”
His dad looked surprised. “Why? Thought you said this track was boring.”
Lando shrugged, cheeks warming. “It’s not boring anymore.”
Later That Night – Acerbi Apartment, Parma
(y/n) sat cross-legged on the couch, her trophy on the table, pajamas on, and light, damp curls falling over her face. She looked different. Not because of what she wore, but because something in her had shifted.
Iseul was brushing Matteo’s hair while Leone clambered up next to (y/n), inspecting the trophy with wide eyes.
“You were so fast,” she whispered. “I think you’re gonna be better than all the boys.”
(y/n) smiled lazily. “Don’t tell Matteo that.”
“I heard that,” Matteo said from across the room, throwing a pillow at her. She caught it easily.
Giovanni leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You made a lot of people very uncomfortable today.”
(y/n) looked up at him. “Good.”
Meanwhile – Lando’s Room, Later That Night
He couldn’t sleep.
He was thinking about her again. The way she moved on track. The way she didn’t react when people stared. He remembered her voice—how casual it was when she told the reporter she’d be back next weekend. Like the track already belonged to her. He didn’t know her name until today.
But now?
Now he’d never forget it.
(y/n) Acerbi.
And somewhere in his eight-year-old heart, something had started.
He didn’t know it yet. Didn’t have the words. But it was the beginning of something he wouldn’t shake for years to come.
Melbourne Karting Circuit – Late Afternoon, 2008
The sun was starting to dip low, casting gold over the paddock as the smell of fuel and dirt mixed with post-race adrenaline. Matteo was leaning against a stack of tires, still half in his suit, sipping a Capri Sun, surrounded by a group of boys he’d known since he first started racing.
Max Verstappen was tossing a loose karting glove in the air like a baseball. Charles Leclerc sat cross-legged on the ground, tightening the strap of his shoe. Lando Norris, Pierre Gasly, George Russell, and Alex Albon stood in a loose circle, still talking about the day’s race.
“That girl you brought?” Max said, eyes flicking toward (y/n), who was standing a little ways off, talking with their mechanic. “She was holding everyone up in heat two.”
“Did you see her overcorrect in turn six?” George added. “Like, it was so obvious she panicked.” Matteo stiffened.
“She’s new,” he said coolly. “That was her third race.”
Pierre raised an eyebrow. “She’s your sister, right?” Matteo nodded.
“Then you should tell her not to act like she owns the track because of one win,” Charles muttered. “She doesn’t even talk to anyone.”
“She’s quiet because you all treat her like she doesn’t belong,” Matteo snapped. “She’s faster than most of you already.”
Alex laughed awkwardly. “Okay, alright—calm down, we’re just messing.”
Lando stayed quiet. He kept sneaking glances toward (y/n), who had now sat down cross-legged beside her kart and was checking her tire pressure. His ears were a little pink.
“(y/n)’s good,” Lando said quietly, almost to himself.
Max rolled his eyes. “You just think she’s pretty.”
Matteo turned, sharp-eyed. “Enough.”
The boys quieted. Lando looked down, scuffing the dirt with his sneaker.
“I’m serious,” Matteo continued. “She’s not just some tagalong. She works harder than most of us. You don’t have to like her, but you will respect her.” Max snorted. “You always this dramatic?”
“No,” Matteo replied, standing up straighter, “just when people go after my twin.”That landed.
They fell silent, watching (y/n) laugh at something their mechanic said, her smile lighting up her whole face. She glanced up and caught Matteo’s eye. He gave her a nod. She raised a hand in a little wave, then looked away, focused again.
Lando looked over. “Can I—should I go talk to her?” Matteo narrowed his eyes at him. “Why?” Lando shuffled. “I dunno. She seems cool. And she’s fast. I just… I think she’s cool.” Matteo sighed dramatically. “If you say anything dumb, I will run you over with a push kart.”
Lando grinned nervously. “Got it.”
Matteo watched him walk across the paddock toward (y/n). He leaned back on the tires again, still holding his drink pouch, and muttered to Max under his breath. “I’m not dramatic. You’re just not used to girls being better than you.”
Still at the Melbourne paddock – Late afternoon, 2008
(y/n) was crouched beside her kart, gloves off, sleeves rolled down, tightening a bolt she knew was already tight. Just something to do with her hands while the boys laughed too loudly behind her. She felt eyes on her before she heard the footsteps.
“Hey,” a voice said. She looked up. Lando Norris stood a few feet away, his race suit unzipped halfway, his arms fiddling with the belt around his waist. He looked like he was pretending not to be nervous—and failing. (y/n) blinked at him.
“…yes?” she asked flatly.
Lando scratched the back of his neck. “Just, uh… wanted to say… good race today.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is this a dare or something?” she asked, her voice low. “Did Max send you?”
Lando’s eyes widened. “No! No, I swear. He doesn’t even know I came over. I just… wanted to talk to you.” (y/n) tilted her head, suspicious. “Why?”
Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Shrugged. “…You’re cool,” he said finally.
(y/n) stared at him for a full beat. “You don’t even know me.”
“I mean, yeah,” Lando admitted, “but you’re fast. And you don’t cry when people cut you off. And you kind of looked like you were gonna punch George earlier.” (y/n) smirked. “I was.” Lando grinned, clearly relieved.
From across the paddock, Matteo was leaning on a tire stack, chewing the straw of his empty juice pouch, watching them like a hawk. (y/n) noticed and rolled her eyes. “My brother’s watching you like he’s deciding where to bury the body.”
Lando raised both hands in mock surrender. “He already warned me. Said he’d run me over with a push kart.”
“He means that,” (y/n) said.
There was a short silence, not uncomfortable.
“So…” Lando tried, “you like karting?”
(y/n) raised an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that?”
Lando turned pink. “Okay, wow, I’m really bad at this.”
(y/n) laughed—genuinely this time. “Yeah. You are.”
“But you’re still talking to me,” he pointed out, hopeful.
“Only because I want to see how much worse it gets.”
He grinned again, this time less nervously. “Then I’ll keep talking.”
(y/n) shook her head, biting back another laugh, then turned back to her kart. “Bring snacks next time. You might survive.”
Lando looked like he’d just won a championship. “Deal.”
From across the paddock, Matteo muttered, “Oh no. This is my villain origin story.”
Walking back to the car – Golden hour, post-race evening
The paddock was nearly empty now. The shadows were long, and the noise had faded to just the occasional clatter of tools being packed away. (y/n) and Matteo walked side by side toward the parking lot, helmets clipped to their gear bags, race suits unzipped and tied at their waists. (y/n) was humming under her breath, a little bounce in her step. Matteo side-eyed her. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird,” she replied, not looking at him.
“You know what I mean.” Silence. Just the scuff of their sneakers on the gravel path. Matteo gave it five more seconds before cracking. “So… what did Lando want?” (y/n) grinned.
“Ohhh, this is what it’s about.”
Matteo kept his face neutral. “I’m just curious.”
“He said hi. Said I was cool. Tried to ask if I liked karting.” Matteo snorted. “Original.”
(y/n) laughed. “He was so nervous. I thought he was gonna faint.”
“I could’ve made that happen,” Matteo muttered.
(y/n) elbowed him. “Stop. He was nice.”
“That’s how it starts,” Matteo said dramatically, tossing his helmet into the back of their dad’s car. “Then you find out they’re just trying to impress you, so you slow down in the next race.”
(y/n) stared at him. “Matteo. He brought me juice and said he liked my overtakes.”
Matteo froze. “He brought you juice?”
“Uh-huh. Apple.”
“Oh no. That’s serious.” 
(y/n) tossed her gear bag into the trunk, smiling to herself. “Don’t worry, Teo,” she said sweetly. “You’ll always be the first boy who made me cry in karting.”
“That was one time!” he shouted as she hopped into the car.
She leaned over the backseat to smirk at him. “Mmhm. And I still beat you in the next race.”
Matteo narrowed his eyes as he climbed in. “I’m watching him.”
(y/n) leaned her head against the window, grinning. “You’re watching everyone.”
He didn’t deny it.
——————
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trickbxbes · 4 months ago
Text
𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫: [𝗖𝗵𝗽 𝟭] 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗼
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Summary: Drowning in your father's debt, it didn't seem like there was a way out. Until a suited man offers you a lifesaver. But you soon realize it's nothing of the sort, but neither is your life on the outside. Stuck between two evils, which will you choose?
Warnings: Reader is an exotic dancer, violence, death, the usual Squid Game territory stuff, slowburn,
Word Count: 2,360
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
          You’re greeted with the distasteful scent of old rainwater and garbage as you enter an alleyway. You carefully pull your jacket closer to your body. Your nerves were on fire. That terrible anxiety that you couldn’t ignore, as this was your survival instinct. You gulp, clutching your purse tightly. 
“Ah, there she is!” 
A male enters the alley from behind you, making you turn and look. There was not one, but two men. The sound of pebbles being crushed under footsteps made you look to the other exit in the alleyway. Two more men approached, having you surrounded. You didn’t flee, recognizing them and knowing what they were here for. The first man gestures ahead at you. “Not polite to leave a girl waiting, we know.” 
You adjust your posture, feigning confidence. 
“I didn’t mind.”
You remain still as the four men surround you, waiting. The main man holds his hand out expectantly. “Now, you gonna make this easy on us? Hm?” 
Without another word, you take out a stack of cash from your bag and place it in his hands. The man scoffs, skimming through the thin paper to briefly count. He holds up the stack, cocking an eyebrow. 
“Where’s the rest?” 
That anxiety doubled in your gut, your skin crawling. With a dry mouth, you say, 
“T-that’s all I have right now.” 
The man sighs, handing the cash to his associate. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 
“This is even less than last time.” You’re quick to defend yourself.
 “I-It was a slow week at Jenny’s. But we’re hosting a big birthday party next week, that’ll certainly bring in some well paying customers.” 
You take a shaky step back and are met with a mucky cement wall. The men close in, like a pride of lions stalking their prey. Your eyes dart about, trying to calculate a way to get out of this. It didn’t look like these men were going to listen though. The head man tilts his head, taking out a switchblade. You whimper slightly in fear, your heart dropping at the sight of silver. Two men grab your arms, keeping you still. You’re barely able to attempt to jerk free before you feel the cold blade on your cheek. 
“This isn’t even your problem, you know. Your deadbeat dad should be paying up, not you.” 
At the mere mention of your father in that form, you’re filled with anger. Your eyebrows furrow, your face contorted in rage. What the hell did these loan sharks know about you and your father? But your nerves were too high for you to act tough. 
“Look, I-I even came all the way out here to meet you. Just give me—“
“Hey!”
A new voice enters the fray. All of you look over to see a young adult man. He was tall, and had medium length black hair that reached his lower neck. He looks in between you and the men, and started to jog over. “Get the hell away from her!”
 His shouting was bound to draw the attention of more people, the goons harassing you knew that. They look to the man with their own displeasure. “We’ll see you soon.” That’s all you’re ended with before they leave. Despite them being gone, you didn’t feel the relief you were owed. You knew this was only a temporary release. You needed money, fast. 
“Are you okay?” 
The mysterious man asks you kindly. You look up into his dark eyes and force a smile. 
“Yeah, yeah! Thanks for that, hero.” 
You reply sweetly. He seemed surprised by the title and rubs the back of his neck. “I-It’s what anybody decent would’ve done.” He deflects the subject back to something more urgent. “Who were those guys? Did you know them?” 
If you were to explain the complexities of the truth, you’d probably overshare the boy to death. You didn’t have time for that. So instead, you come up with a quick lie. 
“I-I dunno. I think they were trying to mug me or something. Assholes.” You cross your arms. Thankfully, the man seemed to believe your claim. 
“Well… hopefully they’re gone now. Oh-! D-Do you want me to walk you to wherever you’re going?” 
Ah, a gentleman. As you’re about to speak, you feel a raindrop touch your cheek. You make a small noise of surprise, wiping the droplet and casting your eyes to the sky. The clouds were thick with dark gray. You smile nervously at the man. 
“Ah, no no, no need. I don’t wanna bother. I’m just headed back to the subway station and that’s right around the corner.” 
He visibly loosens up at your words, perhaps finding relief that you would be out of harm’s way sooner rather than later. 
“Ah, okay, okay. Are you sure?” 
“Yeah, I’d better get going now. But, thanks again.” 
You and the man go your separate ways, heading in opposite directions. You weren’t lying about the distance to the station, it really wasn’t far at all. 
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
           Eventually, you’d find yourself sitting down at a bench down below. The subway track was empty, almost like the venue itself. There were maybe four or five people lurking about. But three were walking away, while two men were sitting on a bench on the other side of the tracks. 
But just as you were about to take a second to actually breathe, you’re greeted by someone stopping right in front of you. 
A tall man wearing a suit held a briefcase while staring down at you, an empty but somehow friendly smile on his face. 
“Hello, do you have a moment? I’d like to ask you something.” 
You recognized his mannerisms and general output as a salesman. Why he was in a dirty subway to advertise was beyond you. You give a halfway smile, about to have him move along. But your voice is caught in your throat when you spot people from the corner of your eye. 
The loan sharks from before. 
“Yep! Yep, what’s up?” You didn’t have the luxury to deny his invitation. 
The man seemingly smiled a little wider, just a smidge. He sets his briefcase beside you on the bench, just as the goons catch up. The leader smirks lightly in your direction, stopping with his men. 
“Right then, let’s go finish our conversation, hm?” 
Your jaw tightens, you weren’t able to hide behind someone this time. You had to face the music. What horrors awaited? Were they going to make you sign a contract to sell your kidneys? Your eyes? Your limbs? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. But just as you were to stand up, the Salesman turns and faces the men. 
“We’re in the middle of our own conversation. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’d like to speak with her first.” 
Your jaw drops. Were the Gods feeling extra merciful today? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to let it go to waste. You sit up and put your hands in your lap. You wait patiently and politely for the goons reply, knowing how pissed off they were. They glare slightly at the taller man, and go sit at a bench a little ways away silently. 
“Shit…” You sigh under your breath. When you lift your head, you see the man waiting for your attention, making you regain your composure. “Uh—uh… so, what’s up?”  
The man opens up his briefcase and, to your surprise, holds up two envelopes. One red one blue. Ddakji. 
“Would you like to play a game?” 
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
         You sat on the subway, thinking about the events that just occured. 
Slap after slap in the face, you kept going. It wasn’t even about the money anymore, it was pure determination. But you had actually managed to win a few rounds. The thrill of the possible win was greater than the risk of the slap. It was a high better than any drug you could imagine. So, when the male stopped and handed you a card, you were more than a little shocked. 
The next events pass by like a blur. The subway that would take you back to your city arriving. Somehow, the man seemingly knew this. 
You scrambling to get onto the tram before the goons from earlier could catch up. The salesman handing you your purse that you nearly forgot in the panic. You remember him giving you a faint wink as you get on the subway, clutching your purse tightly as you leave all the men behind. 
You look at the card he gave to you. It was so simple, but somehow eerie as all hell. You didn’t trust it as far as you could throw it. But the idea was intriguing to say the least. Playing simple games to make enough money to pay off all your debt? It sounded too good to be true. You knew better, it definitely was too good to be true. 
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
         Jenny’s. You didn’t know if you hated the scent of the club or not. It reminded you of all you had to endure just doing this job alone. Being an exotic dancer was no easy feat. An extremely straining job, both physically and mentally. But the money was more than you’d normally get at a minimum wage joint. That’s what kept you here in this hellhole. 
You finished up your time on the stage, now walking the floor with other women. You’ve got a knack for picking out customers who tip well. Everyone’s got a tell. Whether it’s their hair, their shoes or their demeanor, you could see it. You needed to find someone egotistical, someone you could milk out a good 500 won from at minimum.  
Then, you spot him. A man making his way to the VIP section of Jenny’s. His shoes were one of a kind, and they didn’t look bad either. His bright purple hair was a clear indicator for the demeanor you were looking for. An easy target. 
You sashay your way there, security letting you pass. Your heels clack with the staircase floors till you reach the top. The man was sitting back amongst a black cushion couch. He wasn’t alone, a few other men sitting around. Blinged out men, one might add. Now here’s where you might’ve struck jackpot. But, you’re no stranger to this, you needed to play it safe. You didn’t want to bite off more than you could chew. 
Stopping in front, you lean down, pushing your hands against your knees. You made sure to set all your attention onto the purple haired individual. He sits up a little, taking in your beauty. 
“Hola, señorita.” His language change catches you off guard. You give him an easy smile. 
“Designer.” You reach to touch the jacket he wore, but purposefully stop yourself. You leave a faint hint of desire to want more. He seemingly takes the bait, beckoning you closer. “You can touch it.” He smirks softly. It was almost too easy, he was too confident for his own good. “You wanna go somewhere? It must be hard being the most interesting person here.” Your hand gently brushes his hair, making the male lean into your touch with an inhale. 
But then, he grabs your hand. 
“No, beautiful.” He says in English, making you blink in confusion. After a few moments, you’re able to understand what he said. He continues, 
“I’m afraid I’m only here to look, no private dances. But I’m about to come to a huge influx of cash, gorgeous. And when I do, I’ll be sure to return to you, my lovely.” He finishes with another English phrase, giving you a thumb finger heart. 
You knew there was no point in trying to mooch off his ‘friends’, they’d know they were second choice sloppy seconds. This was a bust. So, you click your tongue and force a smile. 
“I look forward to it.” 
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
         When you finally made it home for the night, you’re careful to not make too much noise. The television was still on. It emanated the only light in the room. Your father was passed out on the couch, his snores being louder than the volume of the tv. Empty bottles of soju took the space of the once clean coffee table. 
Taking off your shoes, you set down your stuff. You walk to the dining table, where a yellow paper lies remained.
 “EVICTION NOTICE” 
It was hardly a comforting reminder. You had left it there to make sure you and your dad didn’t forget. Today, you haven’t made nearly enough to get the sharks to back off. You were screwed. You knew you were lucky they haven’t showed up to your house to kidnap you yet. 
Maybe some sort of miracle would happen and your dad would get his job back. Maybe you’d acquire some sort of cash that could solve all your problems. 
The thought leads you to shuffle through your purse, pulling out the card again. As you hold it, you limp to the kitchen and open the fridge. On the door was a photo held there by a cheap magnet. It was of you and your father when you were but a child. Both of you smiling brightly at a playground. 
Hissing softly, you hold your leg. You lift your foot and rotate your ankle. Your job was physically very taxing. 
You’re pleasantly greeted with an empty fridge. Today was your dad’s turn to get some food, but it seemed his priorities stopped him from doing so. You sigh, sort of expecting this, and close the fridge again. 
You flip the card over and read the number written out. Your eyes linger on the pages a moment, trying to see if this was really what you were going to do. But, did you even have a choice? 
Taking your phone out of your purse, you take a deep breath, and dial the number. There’s a few seconds of ringing before you’re told to state your name. With a heavy heart, and a shaky voice, you set your fate in stone. 
“(L,n) (Y,n).”
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aespabangedbang · 6 days ago
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ASS-SA (Enami Asa)
A LATE BIRTHDAY FIC.
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Author's Note : Just a quickie for the delicious human doll Ace-Sa celebrating her birthday.
Tag : Full con whore and everything that comes with it.
The night was still young as Enami Asa strutted out of the exclusive Kpop concert venue into the neon lit LA streets, waving her hands for her fans while looking around swaying her bob. The crowds of screaming fans could still be heard wailing her name in the distance, desperate for just one more glimpse of Babymonster's main attraction.
Little did they know, Asa was already craving something far more primal than adulation from a sea of adoring faces. Her sinful body yearned for the carnal pleasures only a real man could provide.
Asa slipped into a sleek private car, her tight dancer's body poured into a scandalously short dress that left little to the imagination. The driver knew exactly where to take her - to the most notorious sex club in town, a den of depravity where she knew she could find a stud up to the task of satisfying her insatiable lust.
The bass thumped as Asa entered the packed club, the air thick with desire. Lithe bodies writhed to the beat, lost in a fog of alcohol and arousal. Asa zeroed in on her prey immediately - a tall, muscular blond with rippling abs and a bulge in his pants that made her mouth water. She sauntered over, swaying her hips hypnotically.
"Hey baby, wanna dance?" Asa purred, pressing her body flush against his. She reached back and grabbed a handful of his rock hard ass, giving it a squeeze as she ground her plump rear against the straining tent in his pants. The blond groaned, his large hands immediately coming to rest on her jiggling cheeks, kneading the tender flesh.
"Fuck yes," he growled. "I'm gonna destroy this tight little ass of yours."
Asa shivered at his promise of rough domination. She turned in his arms and crashed her plump lips against his in a sloppy, passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled as he groped her every curve, barely holding himself back from bending her over right there and giving the club a free show.
"Let's get out of here," Asa gasped, breaking the kiss. "I need you to fuck me hard."
The blond quickly paid for a hotel room and they stumbled inside, a tangle of groping hands and hungry mouths. They stripped each other with frantic urgency, revealing expanses of taut, toned skin. Asa's body was like a work of art - full, perky tits topped with pert pink nipples, a tiny waist flaring out to wide, child-bearing hips and bubble tight ass to die for.
The blond buried his face between her thighs, his tongue delving into her wet pink folds. Asa threw her head back and moaned, her pussy clenching around his probing muscle. He ate her like a starving man, lapping up her sweet juices as she rode his face.
"Ah fuck, I'm cumming!" Asa wailed. Her pussy spasmed and clenched, gushing girl-honey all over the blond's chin and cheeks. He didn't stop until she collapsed back on the bed, boneless and spent.
But Asa was far from satisfied. She flipped over and presented her ass to him, reaching back to spread her cheeks apart. "Eat my ass," she demanded, wiggling her hips invitingly. "Get it nice and wet."
The blond dove in, plastering his face between the globes of her ass and tonguing her puckered star. Asa cried out, pushing her face into the pillow as he rimmed her until her asshole was sloppy and slick. She turned and drew him into a filthy kiss, sharing the taste of her own ass.
"Fuck me," Asa begged, spreading her thighs. "Shove that big cock in me and don't stop until I'm a drooling mess."
The blond notched his swollen head at her entrance and slammed forward, splitting her open on his thickness. Asa screamed, her pussy clamping down like a vice. He set a brutal pace, pounding into her willing body with animalistic grunts.
"Yes, fuck, your cock feels so good!" Asa babbled, her eyes rolling back. "Harder baby, harder! Wreck my fucking cunt!"
The blond complied, slamming into her so hard the bed frame banged against the wall. Asa's tits bounced almost painfully as he used her like a fuck doll. He reached up and wrapped a hand around her slender throat, squeezing just enough to make her light headed.
"Take it slut, take my fucking cock," he snarled. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with cum."
He pistoned into her wildly a few more times before stiffening, spurting thick ropes of jizz deep into her fluttering sheath. Asa milked him for every drop, clenching rhythmically until he was completely spent.
But she wasn't done with him yet. Asa pushed him off and straddled his face, smearing his cum all over his lips and chin. "Clean yourself off," she ordered, grinding her messy hole against his mouth. "Lick up the cum you just pumped in me."
The blond lapped at her obediently, slurping up their combined fluids until her pussy was clean and shiny. Asa shuddered through an intense orgasm at the degrading act.
Next, she sank down and took his semi-hard cock into her mouth, sucking him back to full mast. The blond groaned and bucked into her face as she deepthroated him, taking him to the root. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes at the stretch. He grabs her head, painfully pulling her sexy bob. But she didn't stop until he was throbbing and leaking down her throat.
"I'm gonna cum again," he warned, voice strained. "Swallow it all like a good girl."
Asa just moaned around him, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. He spurted thick and fast, pumping what felt like a gallon of cum down her greedy gullet. Asa gulped it down, not spilling a drop, until he was completely drained.
Finally, she let him slip from her lips. Asa turned and presented her bright red ass one last time. "Fuck my arse baby" she demanded. "I want to feel you in my ass, tearing my bottom apart!"
The blond lined up his dripping cock and pushed into her tight rear entrance. Asa keened as he split her open, the burn so intense it bordered on painful. But she pushed back against him, impaling herself on his dick until he was balls deep.
He set a steady rhythm, sawing in and out of her clenching hole. Asa babbled incoherently, lost to the all-consuming pleasure of being so thoroughly used. Her prostate was battered by his thick cock and she could feel another intense orgasm building.
"I'm cumming," she warned, clenching down hard. "Cum in my ass baby, fill me up!"
The blond slammed into her one last time and held himself there, erupting deep in her bowels. Asa wailed as she came hard, her sight going white at the edges. She could feel his hot seed flooding her ass, soothing the burn of the brutal fucking.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, cum-soaked heap, both of them utterly spent. Asa drifted off in the afterglow, surrounded by the musky scent of sex. She soon fall asleep in his embrace, his hand caressing her head and patting her back lovingly.
She awoke a few hours later, alone in the bed. The blond was gone but he'd left her a sweet note and a hefty sum as gift. Asa smiled to herself, a million dollar worthy kpop idol like herself already scheming about how she could use this extra filthy cash to fuel her next depraved adventure.
She hadn't even learned the stud's name, and she never would. Men were just toys for her to use and discard. Asa was insatiable, always hungry for more - more cock, more cum, more degradation, more men. And she would stop at nothing to get it.
Her doll face can bewitch all, her body is toned for sin; there is no man who wouldn’t roll on the ground like a puppy to have a taste of her body even once!
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nayeoniiz · 7 days ago
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INFATUATED (1)
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pairings ❥ jungwon x fem!reader
genre ❥ angst, smut
point of view ❥ third person, omniscient
synopsis ❥ y/n was just a young woman from new york, who thought she struck gold when meets and marries jungwon, the son of one of the biggest chaebols, and gets to live out her trophy wife dreams. but once the news reaches south korea, her fairytale is under threat as his parents set out for brooklyn to get their marriage annulled.
warnings ❥ maybe drinking smoking?
word count ❥ 5,516
taglist: @cristy-101 @nyxtwixx @elairah @meowwwon (just comment!)
author’s note: sorry for the wait, yall. i’ve been so exhausted with work & there’s just a lot of stuff going on in my life so i haven’t really been thinking about writing in a while. i hope yall enjoy the first chapter to this story, because it’s only gonna get better from here! also check out my collaboration story with @cinnawonbabe i will be posting chapter 2 in a little bit!
NOT PROOFREAD PLS IGNORE ANY TYPOS. i will be editing this later to add italics and such for language switches but i gotta get this posted asap before i forget again!
masterlist | chapter 2
the nightclub was bursting with a pulsing, chaotic array of energy. led lights danced across the smoky air in hypnotic patterns of reds, greens, yellows, and blues, blending into a kaleidoscope that matched the energy of the scene.
the bass throbbed through the floors, setting the tempo for the night. on the main stage, dancers moved with practiced grace, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering lights. each step was a promise of seduction, every sway an invitation to lose oneself in the night.
in the dressing room at the back of the club, y/n sat before the mirror, her gaze sharp as she studied her reflection. the air was thick with the artificial scent of hairspray and the sweet, lingering vapor from the geek bar she delicately held between her fingers. she exhaled slowly, the mist dissipating into the dim light while her eyes scanned the image before her—her face, her body, every detail framed by the soft glow of the bulbs.
she wasn’t just looking at herself. she was assessing her creation, the flawless work of art she had become. every stroke of blush, every shimmer of highlighter, the perfectly placed strands of hair, they were all tools of trade. her appearance wasn’t an afterthought; it was the performance, the persona, her money maker.
contrary to popular belief, even her clothes weren’t as important as her face was, albeit being a great boost. she’d learned this concept from her boss, mark, when she was just starting out 2 years prior: “i need your face to look so good, that you could walk out in nothing but a potato sack and still make heads turn.”
to this day, his words had stuck with her. and with the way she was his highest earning employee, every night without fail, she could truly care less about how anything else looked. the black bodycon two piece she wore clung to her like a second skin. the halter-style top was held together by 2 star shaped metallic clasps, revealing tantalizing cutouts across the torso. the shorts mirrored the same vibe, with a clasp drawing the eye to a small peekaboo opening. it was simple, but sexy in a teasing way, covering all the vitals, but showing just enough skin to draw attention.
she crossed her legs, the tap of her vape against the table synced with the distant hum of music just beyond the walls. she inhaled deeply, a smirk curling her lips. when she stepped out of this room, she wouldn’t be y/n. she would be crystal sin, every man’s guilty pleasure, obsession, and unattainable dream.
letting out a sigh, she tilted her head, part pout, part smile as she wondered why she was so pretty. she was grateful but unsure. it felt like her beauty was the only redeeming quality about her because in all honesty, y/n wasn’t sure if she could truly consider herself a good person. her personality wasn’t ideal— she wasn’t the “girl’s girl” type and often butted heads with the others. all she really cared about was making money. and that meant by any means, regardless of who she had to betray to do so.
amidst her thoughts, the dressing room door burst open with a loud thump banging against the wall, a sound that made everyone’s head turn. there, yunjin stormed in, her footsteps heavy with anger. each one thudded against the floor like a warning. her eyes burned with fury, her jaw was tight as she closed the distance between herself and y/n, who sat still with an air of calm detachment.
“y/n,” yunjin spat, her voice sharp and venomous.
y/n didn’t flinch. she turned her head slowly, meeting yujin’s glare with a cool, collected expression. her reaction, or lack thereof, was almost surreal, a complete opposite to yunjin’s. y/n already knew where this was headed, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care.
“wassup?” y/n replied, her tone almost bored.
yujin’s nostrils flared as she leaned closer. “did yeonjun come here the other night?” she questioned, her voice low but brimming with accusation.
y/n fought the urge to roll her eyes, a flicker of amusement lighting up her features. “yeah,” she said flatly, as if the question wasn’t worth her energy.
yujin’s fists clenched as she let out a sharp exhale. “and did you dance for him?” she pressed, her voice elevating.
y/n leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping her vape against the table. she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “yeah?” she replied, her tone so nonchalant it was almost mocking.
the truth was, yeonjun had been one of her biggest tippers that night. his attention—and his wallet—had followed her every move. if he hadn’t been so generous, y/n might not have even remembered him. but she did. again, it was never personal. business is business, and yujin’s fling could never be worth her time beyond that.
yujin’s jaw tightened as she inched closer, daring y/n to flinch. but y/n only stayed cool, her lips curling into a half-smile that was more amused than intimidated. “what?” she said lightly, her voice laced with quiet laughter.
yujin’s eyes narrowed, her expression flickering between rage and disbelief. she was torn between trying to decide if she should let her emotions take over and actually do something about this, or if she should take the high road and just let it go.
for a moment, y/n thought the girl might actually throw a punch. but instead, yunjin straightened herself up, and without another word, she spun on her heel with heavy footsteps as she stormed further back, going into the locker room.
y/n chuckled softly, shaking her head. “girl, get over it. it’s not that deep,” she muttered, rolling her eyes before turning back to the mirror. she glanced at her best friend, destiny, and they both laughed.
“what a bitch,” destiny said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk, her tone dripping with amusement as she carefully adjusted her lashes.
y/n snorted, leaning forward to swipe on more lip gloss. “don’t be mad at me. you should be mad at your dude,” she said, dragging out the last word with a teasing smirk. the girl couldn’t help but laugh, in all honesty, the whole thing was a joke to her.
destiny’s grin widened as she glanced over. “right? her man’s the one out here throwing bands like it’s vegas, so why is she mad at you?” she shifted her focus back to the mirror, slowly dragging the wand of her mascara through her lashes.
“exactly,” y/n replied, with a sigh. “its not like i told yeonjun to make it rain. i just did my job.” her attention briefly drifted to her phone as she scrolled lazily on instagram, taking another brief hit from her vape.
destiny let out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she capped her mascara. “and you must’ve done it too damn well. she’s over here fighting for a man who doesn’t even respect her. embarrassing.” she said it so lightheartedly, the truth landing with a casual finality.
y/n raised an eyebrow, her reflection meeting destiny’s in the mirror. she bit back a smirk. “if anything, she should be thanking me for keeping it professional. i could’ve done more if i wanted to.” her voice dipped slightly, a subtle edge of suggestion in her tone, not because she cared but because she knew the idea alone would make yunjin go feral.
“period,” destiny said, snapping her fingers in agreement. she swiveled slightly in her chair, “but nah, she just needs someone to blame for her man’s wandering eyes. like, girl, that’s a you problem.”
“it really is,” y/n said with a shrug, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankles. she tapped her heel rhythmically against the chair leg. “besides, if your boyfriend’s my top tipper, maybe the real question is why you’re not the one out here getting all his money.”
destiny burst into laughter, her glossy lips parting as she leaned back, clutching her stomach. “stop! you’re so mean! but for real, she better figure her shit out. no one needs her drama here.” (lisa if there’s a better response for me to put here lmk)
y/n smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder with careless confidence. “man, she can come at me all she wants. i’ll just keep smiling while her man pays my bills.”
“and that’s why you’re the baddest,” destiny said, turning back to her mirror to inspect her reflection once more.
mark was the second one to barge into the room, a clipboard clutched in his hand like it was an extension of himself. he was a man on a mission as he stormed through the room, his eyes scanning the space with laser focus. when his gaze locked on y/n, his shoulders eased just enough to show he’d found what he was looking for. he tucked the clipboard under his arm and bellowed over the bass of the music, his voice rough with impatience. “scratch the dance, toots. we’ve got a custo asking for a korean speaker.”
y/n frowned, her confusion quickly giving way to irritation. “but you promised me the pole tonight!” she whined, flinging her arms in a dramatic display of resistance. but mark didn’t seem phased in the slightest, his tone remained firmly in command.
“yeah, and now you’re doing bottle service,” he replied bluntly, “you look ready already, so let’s go. hurry up.” he waved his hand dismissively, leaving no room for negotiation.
“do i have to?” y/n groaned, dragging out the words like a petulant child as her glare followed him across the room.
mark, already making his way toward the door, didn’t break stride. “if you like having a job, yes. you want money, don’t you? he’s a spender!” he paused in the doorway, turning back for one last jab, his voice cutting through the air. “i’ll only wait five minutes. if you’re late, just clock out for the night—and don’t bother showing your ass back here tomorrow.”
y/n huffed, muttering a sarcastic, “yes, sir,” under her breath and as soon as the door closed behind him, she threw her head back with another groan, kicking her feet against the floor in a bratty outburst. “he’s so fucking annoying,” she said, her voice drenched in irritation as she vented to destiny, who was now taking selfies. “he’s lucky i like making money. but to demote me for the night? he’s crazy.”
before destiny could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. “get him to a private room then. since you’re so good at your job, right?” yunjin’s words came from across the room, her tone biting as she adjusted her neckline in the mirror. both destiny and y/n’s turned towards each other sharing a concerned look that clearly reflected the same question: when did she even get back in here?
yujin’s word hung in the air, like a gun aimed and pointed at y/n’s temple, a test daring her to rebuttal. y/n rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. she let out a huff, clearly unimpressed. “shut up, bitch,” she shot back, her voice thick with irritation.
“skank.”
“oh yeah, i’m so skanky,” y/n drawled, her voice laced with mockery, a laugh almost slipping out. “your boytoy must’ve loved it, huh.”
yunjin stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she met y/n’s gaze in the mirror her lips curling slightly in irritation, but she kept her composure. “i don’t have time for you tonight,” yunjin said, her voice cold and clipped before strutting out once again, this time her head high and her back straight with forced dignity.
y/n smirked to herself, adjusting her outfit and running her fingers through her hair. she knew she’d hit a nerve. “yeah. that’s what i thought, bitch,” she yelled after her, adjusting the strap on her hips before she stood to step into the chaos of the club.
as she walked, she shook her head, ridding herself of the remaining tension of the situation. once she was in her element, the noise, the lights, the crowd— it wouldn’t matter anyways. this was nothing more than an occupation. and she wasn’t about to let anything or anyone get in the way of her money.
y/n walked over to mark once she spotted him, the sharp click of her heels nearly cutting through the noise of the room. as she approached, she caught his eyes flickering over her, sizing her up from head to toe. his nod of approval was tight-lipped. “i know you haven’t waited tables in a while, but trust me. you’ll be fine, just do what you do best,” mark said, his voice firm but not unkind.
y/n gave a slight roll of her eyes, brushing off his attempt at reassurance. “yeah, yeah. this better be worth it,” she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. still, she followed him, already shifting her mindset to the grind of the night.
as they neared the table, her eyes locked onto the first young man she saw seated there. her jaw almost dropped in awe. he was stunning. he wore a sleek black jacket that added a sharp, sophisticated edge to his otherwise effortless look. beneath it, his style was polished and minimalist, a combination of youthful energy and quiet maturity.
his blonde hair framed his face in a way that softened his sharp features, the contrast highlighting his jawline and cheekbones under the dim club lights. he looked like the kind of man who could run a boardroom in the morning and dominate a dance floor by night—the perfect blend of business and pleasure.
leaning back in the booth, he had one arm draped over the cushion behind him as he talked to his friend. he exuded an aura of relaxed confidence. he wasn’t trying to be noticed, yet somehow, he commanded the room’s attention effortlessly. and every so often, the light caught the curve of his jaw, giving him an almost ethereal look. a calm smile played at his lips, giving off a sense of mystery and ease.
y/n couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes followed her as she approached, dark and unreadable but brimming with intent. his posture shifted, ever so slightly, the kind of adjustment that only someone attuned to body language would catch. you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know he was assessing her just as much as she was assessing him. there was tension in the air now, something palpable, a charge that made the noise of the club feel distant.
“hey guys, this is the beautiful y/n i was telling you about,” mark said, his voice smooth and rich with just the right touch of playfulness. he motioned toward her with a casual wave of his hand, like he was presenting her to his friends as part of an elaborate show. “she’s gonna take care of everything you need tonight.”
y/n’s smile came naturally, a practiced move that exhibited her charm seamlessly. “pleasure to meet you,” she said, her voice light but carrying a hint of intrigue. she gave a small wave, her eyes lingering on him just a second too long. without thinking, she threw in a playful wink, though she wasn’t sure if he caught it—or if he was just pretending not to.
“y/n,” he murmured, her name rolling off his tongue making it felt like the word held more weight than just her name. the way he said it sent a ripple of awareness through her. she smiled again, this time slower, more suggestive, her lips curving in a way that felt like both an invitation and a challenge.
from the corner of her eye, she caught mark watching the interaction. he gave her a subtle thumbs-up, his expression unreadable but carrying an unspoken message: don’t screw this up. “make me proud,” he said simply before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone at the table.
as the club’s noise swirled around them, the energy at the table shifted—it felt heavier. she’d never been physically attracted to a customer before. that’s what made it so easy; she always knew how to play pretend. but now, she wasn’t sure how to navigate something that felt… real.
“hi,” y/n spoke again, the word coming out more tune like. jungwon’s eyes stayed on her as she sat beside him, his gaze filled with more than curiosity. her scent, sweet and intoxicating, wrapped around him, clouding his senses. he couldn’t focus on anything but her, his thoughts a tangled mess. for a moment, it felt like everything he thought he knew about confidence and conversation had slipped away.
“hi, i—yeah,” he muttered, heat rising to his face. finally, the words tumbled out, low and sincere. “you’re very beautiful.” his eyes traced her silhouette, and for a fleeting second, y/n noticed the hunger behind them.
“thank you, you’re very beautiful yourself,” her soft laugh filled the air between them, her lips curving into a teasing smile. the way she reactedㅡ her confidence, so effortless and undeniable, only made him feel more disoriented.
“i’m, uh—jungwon, but everyone just calls me wonnie,” he said, his voice even quieter now, almost shy. his eyes never left hers. no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. every detail about her—the curve of her lips, the way her hair framed her face, even the sparkle in her eyes, pulled him in.
“wonnie, okay, it’s nice to meet you,” she responded with a warm smile, her eyes briefly flicking to the man across the table. jungwon noticed the glance and mentally facepalmed. just a few minutes in her presence, and it felt like he’d forgotten the world around them entirely.
“and this is my best friend, jay,” jungwon continued, gesturing toward him. jay extended his hand, and y/n shook it with the same poise as she met his gaze.
“hi jay, nice to meet you,” she said smoothly. even jay couldn’t help but admire the effortless ease with which she carried herself.
jungwon’s voice, tinged with curiosity, brought her attention back to him. “i heard you speak korean, right?” he switched languages mid-conversation, testing the waters to understand where they stood in terms of communication. his eyes locked onto hers, waiting for her reaction.
she understood perfectly, of course, but shook her head. “well, no. i don’t speak korean, but i understand it,” she said with a nervous laugh, her tone light but carrying a hint of uncertainty.
jungwon frowned, confused. why would mark bring her if she didn’t meet the requirements? and how could she respond to korean if she didn’t speak it? how could she understand without being able to speak it back? it made no sense to him.
“what do you mean?” he pressed.
“i can speak it, but i prefer not to,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with a hint of playfulness. “but you can speak korean. i’ll understand.” she couldn’t outright admit her insecurity about her accent—it felt silly. being born and raised in new york, korean wasn’t something she used in her daily life, and the skill had slowly begun to wither away.
“i don’t understand,” jungwon tilted his head, still confused. “so you do speak- or you don’t?”
“i mean… i guess i can speak it for you,” she sighed, closing her eyes briefly to collect herself. “hello, jungwon. my name is y/n. this is how i sound in korean. are you sure you want me to continue?”
his expression softened as a smile spread across his face. he let out a laugh, clapping his hands in delight. his earlier frustration melted away, replaced with relief.
her laugh was soft, almost nervous, as she hid her insecurities behind a playful pout. “see? my accent is so bad!”
“no, no, it’s really good,” he said, switching back to english. his face lit up, and something about him shifted. the earlier shyness faded, replaced with an ease that seemed to come from the ability to switch between languages.
“i disagree, but thank you,” she said with a soft chuckle, leaning forward when she noticed the way he kept sneaking glances at her.
“how do you know korean?” he asked, leaning closer. his arm rested lightly around her waist as he toyed with his weed pen. taking a slow drag, he exhaled the smoke to the side, his eyes still locked on hers.
she didn’t mind, though. it wasn’t often that she actually wanted a man to get closer. “i went to an international school,” she explained lightly. “my grandma insisted i learn as many languages as possible.” her voice softened with fondness at the memory, and jungwon nodded, genuinely intrigued.
“but enough about me,” she said, steering the conversation back. “you two are from korea? are you on vacation or…?” her voice trailed off, hesitant yet curious, trying not to overstep.
“yeah, something like that,” jungwon replied with a grin. “but… do you mind if i switch back to korean?” he asked, mid-sentence, struggling to find the right english words.
“ i don’t mind!” she answered quickly, leaning closer.
“yes, because my english is terrible,” he admitted with a laugh. his doe eyes locked onto hers with a gleam she couldn’t quite place.
“no, it’s really good,” she reassured him, her smile warm and genuine. for a moment, they just stared at each other, the club’s music filling what would have otherwise been silence.
“well anyway,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for his drink, his tone suddenly more serious. “i want to make a toast—to our terrible accents. with… a bottle?”
y/n’s ears perked up, his invitation was impossible to ignore. leaning in closer, her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “yeah? and you wanna go to a VIP room, maybe?” her words were teasing, her smile all too knowing.
regardless of the attraction, this was business. mark had told her jungwon was a spender, and she wasn’t about to miss her shot at securing her spot as top earner. if her attraction made the job easier, so be it.
jungwon’s eyes widened in surprise before darkening with anticipation. he’d forgotten how intimate things could get at clubs. alone time with someone as sexy as y/n didn’t seem like a bad idea. “yeah, excellent. i want!” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement.
without hesitation, y/n stood up and reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his with just enough firmness to guide him through the crowd. the ambience of the club seemed to fade as she led him away from the main area, pulling him toward the back. the air between them felt charged. every step they took was heavy with the promise of something unspoken, yet thrilling.
the vibrant, chaotic lights from the front gave way to softer, deeper reds and purples, casting an intimate, sensual glow over everything. the crowd of drunken bodies blurred into the background as they weaved through, their movements naturally in sync, the pull between them undeniable.
as they entered the secluded area, the music pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm that matched the tension building between them. the bass thrummed softly through the floor, and the dim purple light played across the room, casting shadows that highlighted every inch and curve of y/n’s figure.
she turned to face him, her back arching slightly as she stood in the center of the space. her body swayed in rhythm with the music, and she let her hips move in slow circles as the fabric of her skirt shifted higher to reveal her gold lace thong. and with each motion, the shimmer of the material caught the light, adding to the allure of her movements. she could feel his eyes locked on her, the intensity of his gaze making the space between them feel heavy with anticipation, his mouth slightly parted in awe.
she took a step closer to him, her fingers brushing against his chest as she leaned in just enough to tease, her breath warm against his ear. the scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the soft scent of the smoky, intimate space they occupied.
without breaking eye contact, she lifted her arms and removed her clothes to reveal her slutty golden threads disguised as a bikini, guiding his hands to her waist, and slowly, she began to move again. now her body pressed against his, grinding to the tempo of the song in the background. with each twist of her hips, each roll of her body, she made sure to leave him wanting more. the space between them grew smaller with every movement.
his hands slid around her back to her ass, pulling her closer, his touch was firm yet gentle as they both leaned into the rhythm of the song. the music seemed to fade away as their focus zoomed entirely in on each other. jungwon couldn’t hold back the smile forming on his lips, the admiration clear in his eyes as he looked up at her. “you’re very good, really,” he said breathily, a moan almost escaping his lips. he fumbled with his wallet, taking out his hundreds to put along the hem of her thong. “and one more..”
“mmm, thank you,” she ran her hands up his chest, trailing her fingertips lightly over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath. her body moved in a fluid, unhurried way.
y/n couldn’t deny it—she was really getting into it now. pulling away, she bit her lip as she stood. noticing the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, though the smile never left his lips, “where are you going?” he asked.
“oh, i’m not going anywhere,” she replied, her teasing tone making his dick jump. kneeling in front of him, she looked up and batted her eyelashes. “can you sit on your hands for me?”
“what?”
“hands under your legs?”
“like this?” he asked, lifting himself to place his hands flat on the couch under his thighs. she nodded and got up again.
“this is not allowed, but i like you so,” in a swift motion she turned around, her ass now the main focus in his gaze as she pulled her panties down agonizingly slow. she lowered herself on top of his lap and started grinding slowly against his erection, a sense of pride growing from the way he immediately whimpered out a moan as he threw his head back. “god bless america.”
——————————
jungwon raised his shot glass, a playful grin lighting up his face. “here’s to hard dicks and lots of money.”
y/n smiled, lifting her own glass. they wrapped their arms around each other, intertwining to seal the toast. the moment felt oddly intimate despite the chaos of the club around them.
“cheers,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the music, and they downed their shots in perfect sync. the sharp burn of alcohol spread throughout their chests, but neither seemed to mind as their eyes met over the rims of their empty glasses.
setting his glass down, jungwon leaned in, his voice low as if afraid someone might overhear. “i want to ask… do you work outside this club?”
she paused, caught off guard by the question—not because she hadn’t heard it before, but something about the way he asked felt different. maybe it was the look in his eyes or the way his cologne lingered in her nostrils just a little too long. whatever it was, it made her want to answer differently, made her consider breaking a rule she’d never bent for anyone before.
she leaned in just enough so that her lips were at his ear, her voice only loud enough to cut through the music, she said, “give me your phone.”
he wasted no time fishing it out of his pocket and handed it to her without a word. she quickly typed her number, adding a heart and heel emoji next to her name before sliding the phone back into his hand.
“there,” she said with a teasing smile, watching as he looked down at the screen, a grin spreading across his face. “don’t lose it.”
——————————
the train ride back home, was a struggle for y/n. she could barely keep her eyes open. she’d been awake for almost 24 hours and by now, she could feel the exhaustion deep in her bones. the remnants of the night lingered like a haze but she couldn’t afford to fall asleep, the fear of missing her stop made her pulse quicken, so she clung to the music playing in her ears, letting the beat try to keep her alert but it wasn’t enough to drown out the heavy exhaustion weighing on her. her body ached for rest.
as soon as she stumbled into her apartment, she was almost too tired to even take off her shoes. she dragged herself to the bathroom and stripped for a quick shower, the hot water hitting her skin like a shock. it didn’t help much, but it was the only thing that could force her into some semblance of alertness.
after quickly washing off the night, she collapsed onto her bed, burying herself under the sheets. she didn’t even bother to put any clothes on, the towel would just have to suffice for the night. the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep overtook her with such intensity as her mind and body faded into the blackness of sleep.
——————————
“yo.” it felt like she had only just closed her eyes when the sound of her sister’s voice shattered the quiet in her room. “yo!” y/n groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the sound grew louder. “did you pick up milk?”
y/n barely stirred, her voice thick with frustration as she rubbed her eyes and squinted at her sister. “do you see milk in the fridge?” she asked, deadpanning as she barely lifted her head off the pillow to meet her sister’s gaze.
“no?”
“then i didn’t pick up the fucking milk,” y/n snapped, as if the answer was so painfully obvious.
a beat of silence passed before her sister rolled her eyes, the annoyance radiating off of her. “wonderful, thank you,” she said before walking out of the room, the sharp snap of the wooden pieces connecting making y/n flinch, but it wasn’t enough to shake her from the exhaustion that still clung to her like a second skin.
she let out a low groan, pulling the blankets over her head, trying to escape the reality of the morning and shut out the unrelenting sunlight seeping through the thinness of the fabric. sadly, the one thing she craved wouldn't come. she tossed and turned, trying to will herself back into slumber, all of her movements working to no avail as she only grew more and more awake.
with an exasperated sigh, she threw off the covers and dragged herself out of bed. the cold air outside her room felt like a slap to the face, but it was grounding. she didn’t want to get up. hell, she didn’t want to be anywhere but in bed. but there was no use lying there when she could make something of the day, even if she was running on less than five hours of sleep.
she pulled on an old blue hoodie that displayed itself as moreso a greyish green color, and some loose sweats that played peekaboo through its holes and tears. she barely paid attention to what she was wearing as she made her way to the porch. the fresh air was a calming touch to her senses, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
she reached in her pocket, pulling out a pack of malboro. she brought the orange end to her lips and lit it as she drew in a long, steady breath, letting the smoke fill her lungs. the sharp sting of the nicotine was like a kick to her system. she leaned against the railing, staring out at the street below. the city felt alive, even if it was still early and the streets weren’t at their fullest occupancy. the only sounds were the soft chirping of birds perched on the power lines and the distant hum of car engines. everything felt a little too calm, a little too still.
and for a moment, she was lost in thought, letting the weight of the past few hours catch up with her. she didn’t even notice the vibration in her pocket until it buzzed a second time, and then a third before it finally pulled her back to reality. she glanced at her phone and felt her heart stutter when she saw the message.
come over?
x sent $800
x has started sharing his location
masterlist | chapter 2
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yvesismywife · 3 months ago
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— ⋆˚。 IWH2BMX ᝰ.ᐟ chapter twelve
y/n l/n, the 4th member of the rnb girl group flo, is notorious for her very noticeable lack of pr training. once she goes through a very public breakup, her pr team finally decided it was time to control her online presence. daniela avanzini, the main dancer of the girl group katseye, found her reputation getting caught in the cross fire of her band mate’s blunt personality. so when both groups are caught at the same party, management gets a not so great idea.
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mindless behaviour (half written)
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“YOU’RE LATE” “BY A SINGULAR MINUTE!”
“that’s still late. is it not?” y/n ignores her comments, to avoid any chance of starting an argument with the cuban. “can we not? can we at least try to get along when we’re out in public?”
“fine… what are you ordering?” y/n looks through the menu before finding her go to. “chicken strips”
“ew-” “daniela!” “damn… my bad”
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y/n and daniela mutually found themselves in a calm, and somewhat friendly conversation. talking about their careers. daniela talking about how it was being apart of dream academy, and y/n talking about how flo came to be.
their conversations got interrupted by both of their phones blowing up. notifications after notifications from twitter.
“well, we’re going viral…” daniela said calmly. “one of your fans posted us… and so did popbase.”
“ugh popbase just can’t get enough of me.” y/n’a giddiness earned an eye roll from daniela. “whatever. so i guess this is when we announce our…situation?”
“no!” y/n yelled a tad bit too loud for their location. “i mean-” she clears her throat. “we have to build up the suspense, you know?” “no. i don’t” the cuban looks at her confused
“it would seem… random if we just go “hey we’re dating”. we need to like… have then guessing… clawing at their cages, waiting for us to announce something. you gotta tease them a little bit.”
“you want us to ‘tease’ our fans… instead of just… being normal and announcing it?” daniela asked confused. “yes! to make it more believable when we actually announce it. we’ll post somethings of us together, or about each other. but give it some time until we actually go out and say our business.”
“pose.” y/n tells daniela. “what?” “just- pose.”
once daniela poses, y/n take a picture to post. “okay. if someone was to post you, what song would you want them to post you to?” the rnb singer asks. “ojitos lindos.” “i’ve never heard that one before.”
“what about you?” “what?”
“what song would you like someone to post you to?” “omg! hello by mindless behaviour”
“girl…who?” “you’re joking…” the look on daniela’s face shows that she is in fact… not joking.
“you don’t know mindless behaviour!? oh miss avanzini… you have some homework to do when you get home if this relationship is gonna work out.”
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prev - masterlist - next
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a/n: heyyyyyyy yall… i totally forgot to update lolz 😝 mindless behaviour will forever be that group
— taglist: @1luvkarina @yjiminswallet @sunshinez4 @winnmin @lara4eclipze @wtfisthisnoclueman @flowerluzx @meizinisnumberone @leotapes @meganskiendielsbtc @reey0w @haerinkisser @cassiespoiler @peanutbutterlover05 @p1hbrook @kristalag @yeetaberry127 @blushmimi @xochitlisbest @urmom2314 @bowforgodjihyo @vvyuqi @linnnsworld @fillthwvoid @loverofannabeth @mei2yok @yunalvrrr @ratzeye @hotluvlet
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kiryoutann · 11 months ago
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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.
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SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.
You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.
Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.
You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”
You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.
And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.
Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.
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Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.
“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.
“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.
The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.
"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.
You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.
“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"
Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”
You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”
Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.
“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”
You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.
“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.
London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.
The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.
The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.
Soulless.
Soulless ballerina.
TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?
"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."
The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.
“One.. and.. two.. and..”
As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.
The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.
You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.
Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.
You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.
The director won’t choose you.
He won't choose you.
He won't choose...
You.
He chose you. You don't know why or how.
An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.
The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.
The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.
“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?
You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."
But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.
“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”
As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.
Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.
After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”
The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.
Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.
The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.
Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.
Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.
As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.
But something held you rooted to the spot.
Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.
The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?
While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.
“Nasty night.”
Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.
“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.
Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.
“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”
The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.
The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.
“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.
You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.
Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”
He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.
Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.
You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.
Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."
A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.
“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”
If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.
He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”
You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.
“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.
“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.
He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.
The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.
“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”
His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”
As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.
He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?
The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-
Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.
Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.
But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.
(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)
You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.
A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?
Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.
“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.
“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.
For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.
“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”
At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?
“Military.”
Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.
"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.
Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again. 
Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?
You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.
“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.
“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”
Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.
Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”
For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.
"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”
After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.
“What drew you to ballet, then?”
It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.
"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”
Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.
“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.
("Why did you let that man walk away?")
You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”
Liar.
Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.
“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”
The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.
“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”
“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”
From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.
The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.
“Storm’s passed, seems.”
As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.
“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”
 He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.
“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.
Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.
It stopped. The night was set to end.
He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.
The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.
“Wait—please! I don't know your name."
Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.
The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.
Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—
“Name's Simon,” he repeats.
(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)
SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.
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dwarfhorse · 4 months ago
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p 1/??
Rune factory Guardians of Azuma
alrighty so this is gonna be a little lengthy because a lot was shown recently! however I'm typing on my tablet which is dying as I type and the sites won't load, forgive me for image sizes as I can't make them smaller.
first off, here's the new rune factory guardians of azuma trailer. accompanied with a release date of May 30, 2025. the game alone is 60$ USD while the limited edition is 100$ USD.
I'll get into characters in a minute, but we are seeing town building as well as being allowed to pick NPCs jobs (im assuming they're just store running NPCs with no storyline). and the trailer kind of gives pokemon graphics with genshin inspired mechanics. some mechanics also remind me of Pokemon legends Arceus. Keep in mind this is a sideline game, if I remember correctly they are working on 6, a mainline game. They are trying a totally new formula with this game and farming will still be included but not a main focus.
It seems there will be 2 romance routes locked behind dlc, and for the first time in a long time, the mcs will have their own distinctive personalities and the opposite of you pick will be romanceable.
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Story: The Celestial Collapse — a calamity caused by a colossal object crashing into the eastern lands known as Azuma. The devastating impact sent fragments of terrain to the skies above and the seas below. With the earth shattered, the power provided by the runes ceased to flow. The gods of nature vanished soon after. Mountains crumbled and fields withered, leaving the people with nothing…not even hope. You awaken, startled by a dream of dueling dragons. You don’t remember how or why, but a voice resonates within you. "Accept the power of an Earth Dancer. Use this power to save the land.” Thus begins your lengthy journey to restore the gods…
now for characters:
Subaru (male mc) and Kaguya (fem mc)
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Left his cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Kaguya, who hails from the same hometown. Usually relaxed and easy-going. Enjoys gazing at the sky. While generally not a fan of battle, he has a strong sense of justice, and will fight fiercely to protect his friends and loved ones.
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Left her cold village in the northern part of Azuma on a mission to save the land. Childhood friends with Subaru, who hails from the same hometown. Loves being in nature, especially interacting with animals and observing flowers. Although usually calm, she despises evil and resents any acts of injustice.
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Woolby (mascot /sidekick)
The protagonist's loyal partner and guide. A bit of a braggart and a klutz. His gluttonous nature makes him susceptible to sweet bribes, especially dango.
Romance options, there are 16!
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Iroha
The owner of Iroha's Teahouse in Spring Village. A friendly, caring young woman who dreams of revitalizing Spring Village and returning it to its former glory.
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Murasame (they beefed him down in game sadly)
A samurai who wanders Azuma with the goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman. Master of the Munen Muso sword style, which means "free from empty thoughts." Spends his days training and keeping his sword in good condition.
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Hina
A half-human, half-fox were-animal who arrives in Azuma on an airship with Mauro. Claims to be an archaeologist. Childhood events instilled her with a strong desire to help others.
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Mauro
A self-proclaimed treasure hunter from a foreign land who came to Azuma by airship in search of a legendary treasure. This sentimental soul is easily moved to tears.
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Ulalaka
Azuma's kind, gentle god of spring and merriment. Her benevolence knows no bounds, and she simply wants everyone to live happy, peaceful lives.
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Matsuri
Azuma's carefree god of summer and swords. Enjoys physical activities of all kinds. Despite being a master of the blade, she tends to solve problems with brute force instead.
Unfortunately I've hit the picture limit, so I'll have to make a part 2.
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prettyfilmz · 2 months ago
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SWEET LIKE CANDY 4 • JEY USO
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author's note: hello my loves! we have made it to part four🫨 I am not gonna lie to you...this ending is gonna hurt(i'm sorry!☹️) but I promise you it will be worth it for part five, happy reading and I hope you enjoy💗
synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.
pairing: jey uso x black fem!oc (cherise aka candy)
tags: 18+(MDNI), slow burn, flirty banter, fluffy lovey dovey shit, mentions of death, mention of miscarriages, talks of past predatory behaviors and grooming, use of the n word, teasing, kissing, lots of touching, lotsssss of dirty talk, pussy eating, jey is a certified munch ™, daddy kink, morning sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys!), missionary, backshots, biting, fingering, spanking, multiple orgasms, daddy kink, pet names ( pretty girl, baby, mama, baby girl ), slow, sensual, and rough sex, squirting, creampie, aftercare, heavy angst at the end.
word count: 7k words (buckle up y'all🤫)
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read part one here!
read part two here!
read part three here!
soundtrack playlist
Cherise stretched under the warm weight of her blanket, her body still heavy with sleep, her limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly like vanilla and something masculine. Something like…
Jey.
She blinked against the morning sun filtering through her blinds,  wincing at the delicious soreness between her thighs. The memories of the night before rushed back all at once—his hands gripping her waist, his deep, filthy groans in her ear, the way he held her after, like he didn’t wanna let her go.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pleasurable throb still lingering between them from the way he’d taken her apart.
Damn.
A small, satisfied smile started to creep onto her lips as she reached out across the bed…only to find his side empty.
Cold.
The smile faded instantly.
Of course.
Cherise exhaled, sinking back into the pillows as disappointment settled in her stomach. She should’ve known better, should’ve expected this. Jey had his life, his own world full of championship belts, WrestleMania main events, and people screaming his name in sold-out arenas. He wasn’t about to change that for some stripper he met in a club.
And yet…
She bit her lip, staring at the empty space beside her, willing herself to accept it for what it was.
A good night. A great night even. Nothing more.
She could handle that.
Probably.
With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, fingers mindlessly smoothing over the fabric of the sheets then suddenly, the faint sound of something clinking in the other room made her freeze.
Her brows furrowed.
“What the hell?” she muttered to herself. Before she could even sit up, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.
Jey standing in her doorway holding a breakfast tray. Shirtless, grey sweatpants on, tattoos on full display, chains sparkling around his neck in the morning light like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.
He grinned when he saw her. That lazy, cocky grin that made her stomach flip in the most annoying way.
“Mornin’, mama,” he drawled, stepping inside like he hadn’t just nearly given her a damn heart attack. “You sleep good?”
Cherise blinked, her brain still trying to process what was happening.  “You’re… still here?” Jey smirked, setting the tray down on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, stretching out like he owned the place. “Damn, ma. That how you greet a man who made you breakfast?”
She shot him a look, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable.  “…You made breakfast?”
“Hell yeah. I ain’t no scrub, baby.” He tapped the tray. “Eggs, turkey bacon, French toast, lil’ fruit on the side ‘cause I know you tryna be healthy and shit. I even found some syrup in your cabinet, so go ‘head and give me my props.”
Cherise huffed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s… really sweet, actually.”
Jey’s grin widened, eye crinkling.  “I know.”
She rolled her eyes, sitting up, the sheet slipping slightly off her shoulders as she reached for the tray. Jey’s gaze dipped for half a second on her shirt covered torso before he licked his lips and focused back on her face.
“Mmm, baby, you gon’ have me forgettin’ about this food real quick…”
Cherise laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder before picking up a fork.  “Eat some damn breakfast, Joshua.”
Jey smirked but grabbed his own fork, stealing a piece of bacon off her plate like a menace.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jey occasionally stealing more of her food while she pretended not to care (but she cared, the audacity.).
Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.
“So, tell me somethin’ real, baby girl.”
Cherise glanced up mid-bite. “Like what?”
Jey tilted his head, watching her. “Like you. Who really is Cherise?”
She hesitated, stabbing at a piece of fruit with her fork. “You already know me.”
“Not really,” Jey murmured, chewing a piece of bacon. "You don’t talk much about you."
Cherise raised a brow. "I talk plenty."
"Nah," he shook his head. "You talk around shit. I be tellin’ you everything, but you always keepin’ me at arm’s length."
Cherise bit her lip.
She didn’t talk about herself much. Wasn’t used to people caring enough to ask. But something about how Jey gave his undivided attention to her, seeing her for who she is outside of the fantasy she created..he made it hard for her to hide.
Then, between bites, he asked “What made you wanna be a nurse, baby?”
Cherise hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him.  It was just…no one had asked in a while. No one had cared to ask.
She exhaled. “My mom.”
Jey tilted his head.
“She died giving birth to me,” Cherise said quietly, rolling her fork between her fingers. “Preeclampsia. The doctors didn’t catch it early enough.”
Jey stilled, setting his plate down.  “Damn, baby…I’m so sorry.”
Cherise managed a small smile. “She knew it was a risk, though. She had a few miscarriages before me, but I guess she thought she’d be okay. She wasn’t. That’s…part of why I became a nurse. I always wanted to help women, especially Black women get better care. Too many babies goin’ home without their mama y’know?”
Jey was silent, watching her carefully, his fingers tracing idle circles into her thigh. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush her. Just let her talk.
“She wrote letters to me. One for each birthday up to twenty-one.  Always felt like she was still with me somehow.”
He nodded solemnly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “That's beautiful. That’s why you got that soft heart under all that tough girl shit, huh?”
She snorted, nudging him. “Hush. Anyway, her favorite craving was cherries when she was pregnant. Ate ‘em like crazy. So she named me Cherise. It’s French for cherry.”
Jey smiled softly. “That’s cute. Fits you, too.”
“Yeah? How?”
He smirked playfully, fingertips drifting lower down her spine. “Sweet, but a lil tart when you wanna be.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Boy, bye.”
He chuckled, then turned serious again.  “So your pops…?”
“Died when I graduated high school,” she murmured softly.  “Just been me since. Had a boyfriend years ago but I had to end it. Been navigatin’ the world alone for a minute.”
Jey shook his head. "Not no more, baby girl."
She looked at him then, eyes locking with his, her heart stupidly skipping a beat.
"Jey-“
"Nah." His voice was firm. "I mean that shit. You ain’t alone no more, mama. I gotchu, you hear me?"
Cherise pressed her lips together, trying not to let that get to her. But damn it…it did.
Jey then leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.  “Aight, my turn. What you wanna know?”
Cherise tapped her chin, smirking. “If you weren’t wrestling, what would you be doing?”
Jey didn’t even hesitate.  “Easy, football coach.”
Her brows lifted.  “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Played linebacker in college. I was good, too.  Almost went pro, but…fucked up my shoulder.” He shrugged.  “Still love the game, though. Wouldn’t mind coachin’ one day when I retire.”
Cherise hummed, watching him. “I can see that. You got that whole ‘Coach Carter’ vibe going on.”
Jey smirked. “Oh, you peeped that, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Boy, shut up.”
Jey chuckled, then his gaze dipped back to her lips. “Mmm…you got work or school today?”
Cherise blinked. “I’m off, why?”
Before she could finish, Jey laid her down on her back, his body pressing her into the mattress, his lips trailing hot kisses down her throat.
“‘Cause I need you again, baby,” he murmured against her skin.
Her breath hitched.  “Boy—”
His mouth was on hers before she could even get another smart remark out, swallowing whatever little control she thought she had.  He kissed her deep, slow, but possessive, like he was trying to brand her with every slide of his tongue, every bite of her lips.
Cherise whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading into the short curls at the nape of his neck, pulling just enough to make him groan against her lips.
"Mm, you like when I kiss you like that, huh?" Jey smirked against her mouth, his voice low, taunting, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face just the way he wanted.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Her body did all the talking.
She was already soft and pliant beneath him, her thighs spreading just a little more on their own, her back arching when he slid his hands down her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hips.
Jey chuckled darkly.  "Mmm, I love that shit," he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, slow, teasing, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her throat.  "You talk all that shit, but soon as I touch you, you foldin’ on me, huh?"
Cherise hated how much she liked the way he was playing with her.
"I ain’t foldin'," she muttered, but her voice was softer now, breathier, already betraying her.
Jey hummed, amused, his tongue flicking out against her pulse before biting down, hard enough to make her whimper.
"Nah?" His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp heat of her panties, feeling the warmth that was already seeping through the fabric.  "So what’s this, then, huh? Why you already drippin’ on me, pretty girl?"
Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Jey-“
"Nah, tell me." His lips dragged down her collarbone, slow, teasing, his fingers just barely pressing against her through the thin lace. "You get wet for me that fast, baby?"
She bit her lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.
Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, knowing she was fighting it, knowing she was stubborn.  But she was already squirming, her body betraying her, her hips subtly rolling into his teasing touch.
"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice smug. "Go ‘head, open up for me, baby."
Cherise sighed through her nose, hating herself for listening to him.
But she let her thighs part a little more.
Jey smirked against her skin. “Good girl."
Before she could say something smart, he was gone.
Sliding down, settling between her legs, dragging her panties down slow.
"Mmm, damn, mama…"
Cherise swore her whole body clenched at the way his voice dropped, dark and heavy with heat, his gaze locked between her thighs like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.
Jey licked his lips, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading them even wider. "Shit, baby girl… look at you," he murmured, running a thumb over her slick folds. "All this for me?"
Cherise whimpered, her hips jerking at the first press of his fingers.
Jey groaned.  "Ohhh, baby…" He dragged a finger through the mess between her thighs, slow, teasing, coating his fingertips before pressing them against her clit. "Look how fuckin’ wet you are, damn."
Cherise shuddered..“Stop playin’ Jey c’mon…”
"Shhh, mama. I got you," he hushed her. "Lemme take care of you, baby girl."
And then he lowered his mouth on her. A sharp, shattering gasp ripped from Cherise’s throat the second his tongue flattened against her clit, licking slow, deliberate, his grip on her thighs tightening.
"Ohhh, fuck..”
Jey hummed into her, sending vibrations straight through her. “Mmm, yeah, there we go, baby." He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world. “Can’t get over how sweet this lil’ pussy is.”
Cherise couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe even.
Her thighs trembled against his broad shoulders as his tongue moved with expert precision flicking, swirling, sucking, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until her stomach tightened and her breath hitched.
Jey groaned against her, devouring her like a man starved, his tongue dipping lower, fucking into her tight hole slowly before dragging back up to her clit.
"J-Jey—"
"Mmm, that’s right, baby, say my name." He gripped her thighs, pulling her even closer to his mouth. "Let me hear you, pretty girl."
Cherise whimpered, her head tipping back against the pillows. "Oh my God…”
"Mmm, yeah, you like that, huh?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers replacing his tongue, sliding into her pussy, curling just right against that spot that made her back arch.
"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—Jey, I’m gonna—“
"Go ‘head, mama," he groaned, his lips wrapping around her clit again, sucking just hard enough to push her over the edge. "Lemme feel you cum for me, baby."
Cherise snapped.
Her whole body tensed, her thighs shaking, her mouth parting in a breathless cry as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
Jey groaned, feeling the way she squeezed around his fingers, the way she soaked his hand.  "Ohhh, that’s it, baby girl, look at you… So fuckin’ pretty when you cum."
Cherise twitched, her entire body buzzing, her fingers tangled tight in his curls.
Jey sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the devil himself.
"Mmm, damn, mama…" He kissed her inner thigh, voice thick and lazy.  "You taste even better than I remember."
Cherise exhaled shakily, blinking up at the ceiling, barely processing what the fuck just happened.
Jey crawled back up her body, his hands pinned to her thighs, his hard, heavy length pressing against her, teasing, waiting.
"You ready for me, baby?"
Cherise nods eagerly.
Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers. ”Gimme words… you ready, mama?"
Cherise swallowed hard, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Mhm."
Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, sliding slowly inside her, stretching her open inch by inch. "Fuck, baby…" 
"Ohhh, fuck—" Cherise’s nails dug into Jey’s broad shoulders, her breath stuttering as he sank into her slow, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her legs trembling around his waist.
Jey groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his fingers tightening around the plush curves of her hips. "Mmm, shit, mama… You feel that? You feel how deep I am?"
Cherise’s lips parted, but no sound came out, just a breathy whimper, her mind hazy from the pressure, the way he was spreading her open, filling her too good.
"Mmm, yeah…" Jey shuddered, his abs flexing as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself completely inside her. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby… all this dick, huh?"
And she sure did take him good. 
She felt every pulsing, throbbing inch of his cock stretching her walls, pressing into her so deep that she swore she could feel him in her damn stomach.
Cherise whimpered, her head tilting back against the pillows.  “J-Jey..”
"Shhh…" Jey pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling back just slightly, only to thrust back in slow, deliberate. "I got you, baby girl. Just relax and lemme feel you.”
He rolled his hips slow, deep, grinding into her, making sure she felt every inch, making sure she took it.
Cherise’s breath hitched.  "Ohhh my God—"
Jey chuckled darkly, lifting his head to watch her.  "Mmm, you talkin’ to Him, but I’m the one blessin’ you right now, pretty girl."
Her cheeks burned, but she had no smart comeback—not when he was stroking into her like that.
"You know what’s crazy, mama?" he murmured, his voice smooth and taunting. "You act all tough, all independent… but soon as I get up in this lil’ pussy, you turn into my good lil’ girl, huh?"
Cherise whimpered, her breath coming out in soft, needy gasps.  “S-shut up..”
Jey smirked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. "Nah, baby, you love that shit, huh?You like when Daddy talk to you like this? Like when I tell you how good you takin’ me?” 
"J-Jey—"
"That’s right." He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.  "Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you say my name, baby girl."
Cherise couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do shit but take it as Jey moved above her, his body pressed so close, his weight anchoring her to the bed.
"Ohhh, fuck—" she gasped, gripping his biceps as he pulled back, leaving only the thick tip of him inside her, and snapped his hips hard, the sudden force making her moan loud and sharp.
"Mmm, yeah, there we go…" Jey grinned, his fingers gripping her waist, holding her still so she could feel every inch as he set a slow, deep rhythm. "You like that, baby? You like when I fuck you just like this?"
Cherise could barely form words just desperate, breathy whimpers, her body trembling with each slow, heavy thrust.
Jey groaned.  "Damn, baby girl, you fuckin’ squeezin’ me…" His jaw clenched, his pace faltering for half a second as he felt the way her walls clenched tight around him. "Shit, you tryna make me nut already?"
Cherise whimpered, her head spinning from the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure building between her thighs.  "Jey, I—"
"Ohhh, baby…" He groaned, gripping her waist, his pace turning rougher, deeper, his hips snapping into hers, pushing her higher “and higher. You ‘bout to cum for me, huh?"
“Yesss Daddy, fuck—“
"Go ‘head, baby girl," he murmured, his thumb pressing right against her swollen clit, circling slow, knowing exactly what it would do to her.  "Lemme feel it.  Cum all on this dick, mama."
Cherise snapped.
Her whole body tensed, pleasure crashing through her like a wave, her back arching, her mouth parting in a wrecked, breathless cry.
"Ohhh, fuck—fuck—fuck!"
Jey groaned, feeling the way she clenched up around him, the way she soaked him, dripping down his thighs, leaving a messy, filthy wet spot beneath them.
"Mmm, that’s my girl," he murmured, gripping her chin, tilting her face up so she could see him.  "Look at me, baby."
Cherise barely had the strength to open her eyes, but when she did…The way he looked at her with such admiration, sweet brown eyes shining down on hers with lust , made her body shudder.
Jey smirked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, taunting.  "Yeah, that’s right, mama.  You feelin’ good now, huh?"
Cherise nodded, her body shaking beneath him.  "Mhm…"
"Mmm…" Jey smirked, loving the way she was already falling apart under him. "That’s cute, mama.  But we ain’t done yet."
Before she could even process what he meant, Jey sat back on his heels, grabbing her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. Cherise gasped, her cheek pressing into the pillows as he hauled her hips up, angling her exactly how he wanted.
"Mmm, there we go…" Jey ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, gripping, spreading her open before lining himself back up. "You gon’ take this dick just like that, huh, baby?"
Cherise whimpered, pressing her face into the sheets.  “Yes Daddy..”
"Uh-uh." Jey smirked, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to lift her head. "Keep that pretty lil’ face up for me, mama. Lemme see you."
He tapped the head of his cock against her sensitive folds gaining a few whines from her, then he pressed back inside her.
"Ohhh, fuck Daddy!”  Cherise’s entire body trembled as Jey filled her up again, the new angle making it deeper, making her feel every inch of him.
"Mmm, yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby…" Jey groaned, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he started to move—slow at first, long, deep strokes that made her thighs shake.
“P-please…“ She mewled softly, hips bucking from overstimulation at her previous orgasms.
"Uh-huh, I know, baby." His free hand smacked her ass, the sharp sting sending a jolt straight to her clit. "I know you sensitive now, huh?  This what you needed, baby girl?"
Cherise whimpered, her body arching back into him.  "Mmhmm…"
"Mmm, that’s right…" He grinned, rubbing over the spot he just slapped, his fingers trailing up her spine.  "Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, mama. This my pussy now, huh?"
Cherise’s breath hitched.
And then he slapped her ass again.
"Answer me, baby."
"Y-yeah fuck! Yes, Jey it’s yours!”
“Damn right."
Jey’s movements turned rougher, his hips snapping against hers, deep and unrelenting, his thick cock dragging against her most sensitive spots, making her whimper with every stroke.
"Mmm, I love this shit, baby girl…" His voice was low, dark, husky.  "Love watchin’ you take this dick. Love hearin’ you sing for me, mama."
"Ohhh fuck,” Cherise gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as heat coiled tight in her stomach.  "J-Jey, I’m gonna—“
"Mmm, I know, baby girl." He snapped his hips harder, his grip tightening on her waist. "Gon’ give me another one, huh? Gon’ make another mess for me, honey?”
Cherise cried out, her entire body clenching up as the pleasure exploded inside her, her thighs shaking as she came hard, gushing around him.
Jey groaned, feeling the way she soaked his dick, the way she clamped around him.  "Ohhh, fuck, baby…"
His hips stuttered, his rhythm turning erratic as his own release slammed into him.  "Shit baby, you gon’ take this nut, baby, fuck—"
With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud as he filled her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
"Mmm, fuck, baby girl…"
Cherise’s body trembled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.
Jey chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder.  "Yeah…it’s a good morning now huh, mama?”
Cherise exhaled, her lips curving into a tired smirk.  "Guess so."
Jey should’ve been gone thirty minutes ago.
His phone had vibrated on the nightstand twice, his lock screen lighting up with a text from Jimmy talking about, “Uce, where the fuck you at? You got training.”
But Jey?
Jey was still cozied up in Cherise’s bed.
Still tangled in her sheets, one arm lazily draped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck like he wasn’t supposed to be halfway across town by now.
Cherise sighed, running her fingers through his curls.  "Joshua…"
Jey hummed, lips pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder.  "Mmm?"
"Ain’t you late?" she teased, her voice still groggy from earlier events, still soft from everything they’d just done.
Jey smirked against her skin, nuzzling closer, pulling her body back against his chest.  "I’on care."
Cherise rolled her eyes.  “Hunter gon’ care when you walk in there late as hell, smellin’ like me."
Jey chuckled, his lips trailing up her neck, slow, teasing.  "And what if I like smellin’ like you, baby?"
Cherise’s stomach flipped.
She bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Boy, get up and shower.”
"Mm-mm." Jey tightened his grip. "I think I like it right here, mama."
Cherise sighed, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to push him off.
Because if she was being honest?
She liked it too.
Liked how warm he was. How comfortable this felt.
Jey sighed against her skin, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before finally rolling onto his back, stretching with a deep groan.  "Damn, baby girl… you really tryna kick me out?"
"I ain’t kickin’ you out." Cherise smirked, propping herself up on one elbow.  "I’m just reminding you that you a whole WWE superstar and you got shit to do."
Jey grinned, reaching over to smack her ass, his fingers squeezing deep into the plush curve of her thigh. "Mmm, you right… but damn, you really got me tryna call out today."
Cherise laughed, pushing at his chest. "Go to work, Jey."
"Aight, aight…" He finally sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching again before standing.
Cherise immediately missed the warmth of him.
She watched as he padded toward the bathroom, completely naked, stretching his muscles with a lazy yawn.
"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Thick ass…"
Jey heard that.
He smirked over his shoulder, flexing just a little as he disappeared into the bathroom. "I know you watchin’, mama."
Cherise huffed, rolling her eyes.  "Boy, shut up."
Jey stood at the front door, finally dressed, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. Cherise leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to look like she was already missing him.
Jey tilted his head, his eyes roaming over her, lazy, warm, teasing.  "Damn, baby, why you lookin’ at me like you mad?"
Cherise rolled her eyes.  "I’m not mad."
Jey smirked, stepping closer, his fingers tilting her chin up. "Mmm, you mad I gotta leave, huh?"
"Boy, please."
"Awww, look at you, baby girl…" He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek.  "You catchin’ feelings for me?"
Cherise pushed at his chest, laughing.  "Joshua, if you don’t get the fuck out my apartment…”
Jey chuckled, but his hands didn’t leave her hips. “Say you gon’ miss me, baby girl."
Cherise lifted a brow. "You that desperate for validation?"
Jey grinned, making her heart skip a beat. "Ain’t nothin’ desperate ‘bout it, mama.  I just like hearin’ you say it."
Cherise sighed dramatically, shaking her head.  "Fine." She grabbed his keys and tossed them for him to catch  "I’m gon’ miss you."
Jey caught the key with one hand, placing them in his pocket.  "Damn, that was real unenthusiastic, baby."
Cherise smirked. "Want me to write it in a love letter?"
"Nah, just say it nice for me, baby girl." Jey stepped closer, his lips brushing her jaw, his voice dropping to that slow, deep rasp.  "Say it real sweet, mama."
Cherise shivered, biting her lip.
Jey smirked, sensing her resolve melting.
"Mmm, yeah, there it go." He chuckled, low, smug. "You gon’ miss me, huh?"
Cherise sighed, knowing she lost this round. "Yeah, Jey. I’m gon’ miss you."
Jey grinned, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "That’s what I like to hear, baby girl."
She rolled her eyes, but her stomach flipped.
Jey stepped back, adjusting his duffle bag, glancing down at her one last time.  "You be good, aight?"
Cherise smirked.  "I ain’t makin’ no promises."
Jey exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  "That’s my girl."
And then he finally stepped out the door.
Cherise watched him go, arms still crossed, fighting the little smile pulling at her lips.
Then she glanced at the couch.
Where his hoodie wasn’t.
She blinked.
…Did she just—
Her stomach flipped.
She turned quickly, grabbing the hoodie from where she definitely hid it behind her back, clutching the thick, warm fabric to her chest.
Her lips twitched.
"Oh well."
Jey could worry about it later.
Cherise sighed as she finally shut the door, pressing her back against it.
Her body still buzzed from Jey’s touch, from the way he had looked at her before he left, from the way he kissed her forehead like she was his—like he would be back.
She exhaled, shaking her head as she pushed off the door, running a hand through her braids.
She needed to clean up.  Maybe take another shower. Definitely eat again after the way Jey had worked her out—
Her eyes landed on the coffee table.
And she stopped.
Her books.
Her notes.
Her pens.
All of it was… organized.
Neatly stacked, everything in place, her color-coded highlighters lined up in a perfect little row.
Her heart skipped.
Because she knew she hadn’t done that.
Cherise slowly stepped toward the table, fingertips grazing the newly arranged pages.
Jey had done this.
Somewhere between ruining her and making her breakfast, he had organized her damn study materials.
She swallowed, blinking down at the neatly stacked notebooks.
She didn’t know why that made her chest feel so… warm.
So full.
It was just a small thing.
But it wasn’t.
Because nobody ever took care of her like that.
Nobody ever stuck around long enough to.
Cherise exhaled, dropping onto the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she finally let herself smile.
And then she reached for her phone.
She had one person she needed to call.
She curled up on the couch, still wrapped in Jey’s hoodie, pulled the thick fabric over her bare thighs, and tapped Trinity’s contact.
The phone barely rang twice before Trin picked up.
“Uh-uh, girl don’t even start."
Cherise blinked, her lips parting.  "Huh?"
"I know that ‘I just got my shit rocked’ voice when I hear it." Trinity’s tone was smug as hell.  "And you sound real damn relaxed, sis. What, Jey put you to sleep?"
Cherise groaned, pressing the phone to her forehead.  "Why do you know my life?"
"‘Cause I know you," Trinity cackled. "Now spill, Cher. Did he put it down or did he put it down?"
Cherise sighed dramatically, a slow, lazy grin creeping across her face.  "Girl."
"Oh, it was like that?!" Trinity gasped, her voice full of amusement.
"Like that," Cherise confirmed, shaking her head.  "I can still feel him, Trin."
“Well then-“ Trinity cackled. "Not my girl walkin’ funny. Jey did not lay you out like that!"
"He did, though!" Cherise buried her face in Jey’s hoodie, muffling a groan. "And then this man had the audacity to cook me breakfast, like he wasn’t just rearranging my spine six hours ago."
"Not the full boyfriend experience!" Trinity squealed, the sound of something clattering in the background.  "Damn! I knew he was feelin’ you, but that’s some real husband behavior."
Cherise bit her lip, stomach flipping.  "You think so?"
"Girl, yes!" Trinity scoffed.  "You think Jey cookin’ breakfast for everybody he smashin’? Nah, sis. You different."
Cherise felt warmth bloom in her chest, but she quickly shook it off, rolling her eyes. "You say that, but this man still play too much."
"Oh, what he do now?"
"Girl, tell me why I was dead ass thinking he dipped before I woke up?" Cherise huffed.  "I reached over, and his side of the bed was empty, and I was like, ‘Welp, I knew what it was.’ But then he walked in with a whole ass breakfast tray like some kinda domesticated Samoan husband."
"Bitch, I know you was ready to be sick!" Trinity cackled.
"I was," Cherise admitted, groaning.  "Like, I was really tryna play it cool in my head, but deep down I was hurt, Trin. Thought he hit me with the ‘Aight, I’mma head out’ after all that."
"See, that’s how I know you like him!"
"I didn’t say all that—"
"Girl, shut up!  You don’t gotta say it!  It’s in your voice!  The way you was feelin’ when you thought he left?  The way you just admitted you was gonna accept it, but deep down you didn’t want to?"
Cherise was quiet.
"Yeah. That’s what I thought," Trinity said smugly.
Cherise groaned again, tugging the hoodie tighter around her.  "I hate when you’re right."
"Mmm-hmm. And I be right a lot."
"Don’t hype yourself up, damn."
Trinity laughed. "Nah, but for real, Cher… You think this could be somethin’?"
Cherise chewed her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t even know, Trin."
"Why not?"
"‘Cause what if I get caught up in it?" Cherise exhaled, her voice quieter now.  "What if I start really feelin’ him, and then he just… disappears?"
"Aht aht, see—" Trinity clicked her tongue. "You do that every time, Cherise.  You don’t even let yourself have shit ‘cause you always think it’s gon’ get taken away."
"And has it not?" Cherise challenged, her voice sharper than she intended.  "Trin, every time I start trusting somebody, every time I let myself think maybe… they prove me right.  People leave."
A beat of silence.
Then, Trinity sighed.  "I get it, Cher. I really do. But girl… what if he don’t?"
Cherise’s chest tightened.
She wanted to believe that.
She wanted to believe Jey was different.
But did she really want to risk being wrong?
"I dunno, Trin," she murmured.  "I don’t wanna overthink it."
"Then don’t," Trinity said simply.  "Just feel it. Enjoy it. And if it turns into somethin’ real, then it was meant to."
Cherise sighed, running a hand down her face.  "I hate that you make sense."
"I know," Trinity teased.  "Now, tell me somethin’—"
"Hmm?"
"You kept his hoodie, or nah?"
Cherise smirked, gripping the thick fabric in her lap. "Oh, this mine now.  He can worry about it later."
"Mmm-hmm," Trinity chuckled.  "That’s what I thought."
They both laughed, the tension slipping away, the easy comfort of best friends filling the silence.
But then—
Knock, knock, knock.
Cherise turned toward the door, her brows furrowing.
"Trin, lemme call you back I think my scrubs got delivered.”
“Okay girl, talk to you later.”
She went to open her door and was met with what could be described as a splash of ice cold water.
Cherise felt the blood drain from her face.
Her stomach twisted, something filled with disgust creeping up her spine as she stared at the man standing in her doorway.
Her ex.
Tremaine.
The same man who once whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who told her he had her back, that he’d take care of her—until she realized she was nothing more than a profit to him.
The same man who pushed her into a world she never wanted to be a part of.
The same man who stole everything from her.
And now he had the audacity to show up here, smirking like he belonged.
"Damn," Tremaine drawled, his dark eyes sweeping over her lazily.  "You ain't even gon' say hi?"
Cherise’s grip on the doorknob tightened.  "What the fuck are you doing here, Tremaine?”
His smirk widened, like he was amused by her hostility.  "Damn, that’s how you greet your man? What happened to all that sweetness, Candy?"
Cherise flinched.
That name.
She hated it. Hated how he said it, hated how he was the reason it existed in the first place.
She never wanted to be Candy.
Not at first.
Not when she was young, broke, struggling, with no parents doing whatever she had to do to make ends meet. It was his idea. Tremaine was the one who planted the seed in her head, who fed her lines about how stripping was empowerment, how she’d be making her own money, how she could do it her way.
But it was never really her way.
Not when he controlled her schedule.
Not when he took his cut of her money like she owed him.
Not when he ambushed her at his boy’s bachelor party, threw her on stage like she was some kinda party trick.
That night? That was the night something inside her snapped. The way they all watched her, laughing, cheering, grabbing. The way Tremaine sat back and let it happen, enjoyed it. The way she realized..he never cared about her at all. And him running off with all of the money she made, that covered all of her semesters of school, truly shown the extent of how predatory he was towards her. 
"Don’t call me that," she spat, her jaw clenching. "You lost that privilege a long time ago."
Tremaine chuckled, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "Lost it?  Shit, girl, I gave you that name. And from what I heard, you still usin’ it."
Cherise swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms.
Fuck him.
"You still ain’t answer me," she said coldly. "What the fuck are you doing at my door?"
Tremaine tilted his head, studying her. "Just checkin’ in on you, baby."
She laughed sharp, humorless.  "Checkin’ in? Like you give a fuck?"
Tremaine clicked his tongue.  "Damn. You really that bitter over old shit?"
That hit something in her, white-hot anger bubbling up in her chest.
"Old shit?" she repeated, her voice deadly quiet. "Oh, you mean when you—"
She caught herself, stopped before she could say it.
She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of dragging her into old wounds.
But Tremaine saw it—the flicker of rage behind her eyes. And he grinned like he won something.
"Relax, ma," he said smoothly. "Ain’t gotta act so cold.  I just wanted to see how you was holdin’ up. Heard you been busy… entertainin’."
Cherise’s stomach twisted.
There it was.
This wasn’t some friendly check-in.  He came here because he knew.
Somebody had been watching.
Somebody had told him about her and Jey.
And now he was here to fuck with her.
"What do you want, Tremaine?" she asked, her voice edged with exhaustion.
He smirked.  "Ain’t about what I want, shorty.  I just think you need to be careful. Dudes like that? Wrestlers?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "They ain’t built for you. He gon’ chew you up and spit you out just like all the other ones."
Cherise’s heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show. "You don’t know shit about him."
At all. 
The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he cleaned her damn table like he was already invested in her success. The way he listened to her. The way he called her by her name, not the one some man had chosen for her.
He had made her a choice, not a convenience.
"Don’t I?" Tremaine raised a brow. "I know he got you wide open already. Letting him take you out the club. Textin’ you. Stayin’ the night."
Cherise’s breath caught.
"Yeah," Tremaine murmured, his smirk widening.  "I know."
Her jaw tensed. "You spying on me now?"
"Nah." He shrugged.  "But I know people who know people. And those people said you was out here actin’ all cozy with this nigga like you forgot how the game work."
Cherise hated how fast her heart was beating.
Hated how much the words got to her.
"And what game is that?" she snapped.
"Alright, bet." He stepped closer.  "Let me ask you somethin’ how many times he tell you he ain’t like the other dudes?”
Cherise stiffened.
"Mmm. Thought so." He clicked his tongue.  "Baby, I was there when you used to talk big shit about dudes like him. You hated clients who tried to act like they was better than the other ones. And now?" He gestured to her. "Look at you."
Her breath was slow.  Controlled.
"I was never your client," she said through gritted teeth.
"Yeah?" His brows lifted. "And how you know that? You think he see you different? Think he don’t got boys tellin’ him about you?  Think he ain’t hearin’ about how you move in that club?"
A sharp, cold weight settled in her stomach.
Her silence must’ve pleased him, because he stepped even closer, his voice dropping lower.
Cherise hated that the words slid right into the cracks of her deepest insecurities.
"He got you second-guessin’ me right now, huh?" His tone was mocking.  "But tell me this, Cher… when’s the last time you had a client leave you a lil’ tip, then double back three months later pretendin’ they missed you?"
Her throat felt tight.
"When’s the last time you let one of ‘em up in your bed?"
Her fingers trembled.
"You think he came back for you?" He let out a cruel laugh. "Baby, he came back ‘cause he remembered how you moved on his lap that night.  ‘Cause he knew what this pussy was sittin’ like."
Tremaine saw the apprehension in her face she tried to hard to hide. Knew exactly what he was doing.
The same thoughts she had tried to push away when she woke up thinking Jey had left. The same doubts that whispered to her every time she got too comfortable.
"I ain’t sayin’ this to be a dick," he continued, stepping just a little closer.  "I’m just keepin’ it real with you, ma. You think he gon’ take you serious?  You a stripper. You really think that man want you in the light? You think you gon’ be wifed up? Goin’ to wrestling events, standin’ next to his family? You think you fit in that world?In his world?"
Cherise’s nails dug into her palms so hard they could bleed.
And then—
She smiled.
Slow.
Cold.
Dangerous.
"You still mad you can’t eat off me no more, huh?"
Tremaine’s expression faltered, just a little. "What?"
"That’s what this is about, right?" Cherise took a slow step forward.  "You showed up at my door ‘cause you saw me wit’ somebody who actually sees me. ‘Cause you realized you fumbled a bitch who don’t need you."
Tremaine’s jaw ticked.  "Ain’t nobody—"
"Oh, but you did," she murmured, tilting her head. "Let’s not act brand new, Tremaine. You ain’t come here ‘cause you care.  You came here ‘cause you still see me as yours. As something you owned."
Her voice sharpened.
"You used me."
Tremaine’s jaw tightened.  "Ain’t nobody use you—"
"You took everything from me." Cherise’s voice was ice now.  "You put me in that club. You made me depend on it.  You took cuts from my money like you was my fuckin’ pimp. And then?"
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t let it break.
"Then you took everything I saved. Everything I worked for. You let your boys humiliate me, made me dance at that fuckin’ party, then ran out with all my money."
Tremaine didn’t say anything.
"You left me with nothing," she whispered, her fists clenched.  "And now you at my door, tryna tell me about a man who’s done more for me in one night than you ever did in our whole relationship?"
Tremaine scoffed, looking away, jaw tight. "Man, fuck outta here wit’ that sob story."
"Yeah?" Cherise smirked, crossing her arms. "Then why you so pressed, Tremaine?”
His eyes flickered.
She had him.
Finally, he exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth.  "Aight, Cher.  I see you. You feelin’ yourself now, huh?"
"I been feelin’ myself, motherfucker,” she shot back. "You just late to the party."
A long, tense silence stretched between them.
Then Tremaine took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Aight." He smirked. "When he leave? Don’t say I ain’t warn you."
And then he turned, walking down the hall, disappearing around the corner.
Cherise slammed the door shut.
Her hands shook.
Her breath came out in quick, uneven bursts.
And when she turned back toward the apartment, the quiet wrapped around her like a noose.
And the worst part?
Tremaine’s words were still there.
Still echoing.
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