#Miami Life Center

[nativeyoga]

Tim Feldmann - The Joys and the Challenges of Consistent Yoga Practice

Listen to Podcast with Tim for FREE here Tim Feldmann, co-founder of Miami Yoga Garage, discusses his journey into yoga and the challenges and joys of being a traveling yoga teacher. He reflects on the ups and downs of consistent practice and the importance of finding balance between effort and ease. Tim also shares his thoughts on social media and the role it plays in his professional life. He…

[yume-fanfare]

tsumugi aoba is such a character

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 2)

A look into Agatha and Rio's home life, and you are reeling from having The Witch and Lady Death in your motel room

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

The same morning you get called to Westview, Agatha Harkness wakes up to find her wife, Rio Vidal, staring at her. 

“If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?” Rio asks, and Agatha raises an eyebrow. 

“Good morning to you, too,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Rio, who is lounging in the chair in the corner. “How long have you been watching me sleep?” 

Rio shrugs. “You make it sound like I’m some serial killer who’s about to murder you.” Her eyes widen conspiratorially and Agatha snorts before plopping back down. 

“She’s getting here today, you know,” Agatha says and she can hear Rio’s breath hitch. 

She leans forward in the chair. “When do you think she’ll come see me?” The eagerness is evident in her voice, and Agatha knows how she feels. 

“Once we pull off our little ‘Welcome to Westview’ stunt tonight? I bet no time at all,” Agatha answers. 

Rio grins, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and picks up the skeleton mask sitting on the dresser. She fiddles with the strings and holds it up to her face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Miami director books the appointment himself. Do police detectives usually include a business card to their wife’s therapy practice in their information file to the FBI?” 

“Better hope he doesn’t just pull her off the case,” Agatha remarks, ignoring the question, and finally gets up out of bed and walks past the bouquet of purple azaleas on the vanity. “He’s pretty serious when it comes to protecting her. Especially after…” 

“No,” Rio cuts her off and Agatha looks at her wife in surprise. Rio puts her mask down, stands up, and walks over so she’s face-to-face with the older woman. She reaches a hand out to put it gently around Agatha’s throat, who doesn’t even flinch. Rio smirks and drags her hand downward so it’s resting over her heart. “We’re finally getting what we want. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? For her? I’m not letting her go.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side, thinking for a second. “If I were going to kill you, I’d fill a syringe with air and inject it into your bloodstream under your toenail. The death would mimic a heart attack and the track mark would be almost impossible to find. I’d tell the authorities that you were under so much stress as a therapist that it eventually took a toll on your body,” she says slowly, clinically even, watching Rio’s hazel eyes get dark. 

She hums and looks down at Agatha’s lips. “You really know how to make a lady swoon.” Rio gives her a quick peck and leaves the room so her wife can get ready for work. 

On her way to the kitchen, Rio steps into the spare room in the hallway and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension seeping from her muscles. The table in the middle of the room is covered in vials, all Agatha’s doing. They don’t call her The Witch for nothing, Rio thinks. She picks up her own dagger and twirls it between her practiced fingers while she admires the handiwork on the left side of the room. 

From ceiling to floor, the wall is completely covered with you. Every single case file you’ve profiled for, pictures of you from now all the way back to your childhood, transcripts from Quantico and college. Rio’s favorite photo hangs front and center, the one of the scar you got from dealing with the Scarlet Killer, all rough and jagged. 

Rio would’ve made it prettier. 

Patience, she reminds herself. 

The trap has been laid. All that’s left to do is wait. 

***

You turn the entire motel room upside down, scourging for anything else the killers may have left behind: a camera or a listening device, or maybe even a clue. 

Nothing. 

And then you kick yourself for touching everything because now you can’t even test for prints. Plus, it’s a motel room so you’re not sure you’d be able to narrow it down. 

The phone is in your hand dialing Tony back before you can think. He doesn’t answer and you slam it down on the bed in frustration. 

They were here. The Witch and Lady Death were in your room. 

You draw the blinds and deadbolt the door, making a mental note to ask the front desk to change the locks. How did they get in? How did they know you were going to get food? 

A cold feeling sinks into your bones. They must be watching you. 

And what’s to stop them from coming back? This time though, when you’re in the room? 

Anyone could be next. Agatha’s words echo around in your head and you didn’t realize just how true they are until now. 

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until you feel dizzy and gag. Then you run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. Wiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, your mind spins with what to do. 

You could call the police, but you don’t think they would do any good, especially after you’ve tampered with evidence. There were no cameras in this motel, you had already checked. 

Pacing back and forth, head in your hands, you try and try and try to think of what to do. 

And finally you think of something. 

You punch in the number and hold the phone up to your ear. 

It rings three times and then there’s a click. 

“Dr. Rio Vidal’s office, if this is an emergency please hang up the phone and call 911. If not, this is Dr. Vidal, how can I help you?” 

You take a shaky breath and press your fingers to your forehead to stave off the incoming headache. “Um, yes, hi, I was calling to see if I could make an appointment? The sooner, the better.” 

There’s shuffling and then tapping of keys on a computer. “What’s your name?” When you say it, you hear a sharp inhale and then a cough. “Sorry about that. How does 1 pm tomorrow sound?” 

You blink. You didn’t realize you’d be able to get in that fast, but you suppose in a small town like Westview, not many people are going to therapy. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you.” 

“Bye, Agent Y/L/N,” she says. You frown. You never told her you were an agent. But you figure it’s been announced that you’re coming, so you brush it off. 

You take a quick shower and then get into bed, trying to relax and maybe get some sleep. You promised Tony you’d get five hours a night, but you’ll be lucky if you even get one. 

At every groan and creak, you jump and grab your gun, sitting up completely alert. It’s always the wind or a tree branch or the building settling. 

You lay under the sheets, hand gripped around your weapon, and you don’t sleep a wink. 

When you get to the station the next morning, the first person you see is Agatha. She looks up at you, takes in your new outfit, and smiles brightly. 

The killers replaced all your clothes so you had no choice but to wear the new ones until you’re able to go shopping. You wouldn’t be surprised if they laced the fabric with something and you end up dead before lunch, but it’s snowing today and you had nothing else to wear. 

“Have a good first night in Westview?” She asks and you cautiously glance around the room. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” You ask urgently, voice low. Concern flits onto her face and she nods and stands up. She pulls you into the evidence locker. “They were at my motel last night,” you hiss. 

Agatha’s hand flies to her mouth. “The killers? Are you sure?” 

You nod furiously. “I had left to get food and when I came back, the door was open and they had packed my suitcase with all new stuff—” You motion down at your body and she checks you out again. “—and perfume and then they circled ‘lovers’ on a sticky note I had to tell me their relationship and they left the flower on my table!” 

“Slow down,” Agatha says and you realize you’ve been talking so fast that you haven’t taken a breath. She puts her hands on your shoulders. “Did you see them? Did they come back?” 

“No, not yet at least. I don’t understand, if they wanted to kill me, why not just wait until I was there? Or asleep?” 

“Maybe they didn’t want to kill you,” Agatha suggests. “Maybe they just wanted to send you a message or something. It’s pretty big news that we have a profiler from the FBI here to help stop them.” 

You frown. “So they wanted to let me know they’re not scared of me?” 

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what they’re thinking. But the most important thing is that you’re okay. We can send over some officers later to test for evidence, if you want.” 

“It’s no use, I tore the place apart last night,” you say, shaking your head at your own stupidity. She squeezes your shoulders. 

“Hey, don’t worry. Like you said, if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Let’s go out there and work on catching them so you and everyone else in Westview can sleep easy, yeah?” 

You nod, feeling a little better but then you pause. “Agatha, are you afraid?”

Something flickers in her eyes before it's quickly replaced by humor. “I think they know better than to break into the home of a decorated detective such as myself,” she says haughtily and you can’t help but to laugh. She chuckles too, but then something in her face changes. 

Before you can ask what’s wrong, she leans in and sniffs up your neck. You freeze and find all the air in your lungs gone. 

“New perfume?” She mutters. 

You had put it on this morning without even thinking about it as your usual had also been taken. Thanatos. The Greek personification of death. 

Or as Freud defined it, a person’s urge to die. 

“Yeah,” you stutter. Agatha finally pulls back and her blue eyes are dilated. You find your gaze dropping down to her mouth again and you want to feel her lips on yours. 

“You said they packed your suitcase with all new stuff,” she says in a hushed voice and your heartbeat picks up. “Did they give you that too?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, and instead of looking disgusted, like you thought she would, she looks excited. 

She leans back in and presses her face into your neck and are you imagining her lips ghosting against your skin or is that really happening? It feels like your entire body is on fire. 

They trail up, light as a feather against your jugular vein, and she’s at your chin when the door slams open and you jump back. She winks and then she’s turning on her heel and walking out. It’s an officer, trying to book evidence, looking very confused. 

“Making friends, Miami?” He jokes and your face flushes before you quickly leave the room before finding Agatha and the rest of the detectives back in the room with the case information. 

You tirelessly pour over every single detail for the next few hours to no avail. You toss out theories but Agatha always finds something that doesn’t add up and you’re always back to square one. 

But then it’s time for your therapy appointment, so you drop your pen down to the table and gather the pages of your chicken scratch to throw in your bag. 

“I have to head out,” you say hastily and Agatha glances up. 

“Hot date, superstar?” She teases and the memory of her mouth on your neck burns through you. 

You shake your head. “Just uh, going to the doctor.” 

She raises an eyebrow daringly and smirks. “Have fun.” 

You give her a tight smile and then you’re in your car driving to the office. There’s people walking on the street on your route and you can’t help but wonder which of them might be the next victim. 

It’s always been hard to not get too attached to the people in the towns you work at. Looking at them, knowing tomorrow they might not be alive, it takes a toll on you. 

That’s part of the reason you get so attached. The waiting, the not knowing. It eats away at you. 

Dr. Vidal’s office is tucked away in the corner of a string of workspaces in a building, and you feel something weird in your stomach as you walk up the steps. For the third time in the past 24 hours, your scar sears with a pain you haven’t felt since right after. You have to stop and breathe deeply before opening the door. 

A woman sits at the front desk typing on her computer. She barely even looks at you and you stand at the desk for a moment before clearing your throat. 

“Um, hi, I have an appointment for one? I’m Y/N,” you say and it’s like she’s finally realized someone’s standing there. 

She hums in acknowledgement and scrolls until she finds your name and clicks. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” 

You tap the desk and go sit down, wiping your palms on your pants. It’s only a few minutes before a door opens and your name is called. 

Walking into the room, the first thing you notice is the thick smell of nature. And then you see plants everywhere. Bookshelves line the walls, full with books and pots of every type of plant and flower you’ve ever seen. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t see anything purple. 

And then you see Dr. Vidal sitting behind a large desk. You tentatively take a seat in one of the chairs across from her, squirming under her intense gaze. She’s an attractive woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun and brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. There’s not a hair out of place on her desk; everything is meticulously organized and right where she needs it. 

You clear your throat. “Big plant lover?” You say, and it’s an incredibly awkward way to make a first impression. You’ve never been good at therapy, or with uncomfortable silences. 

But she doesn’t seem to care, finds it almost amusing. Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek and she settles forward. “So, what brings you to therapy?” 

You don’t even know where to start. “I just got to town, and um, oh – I’m a profiler, by the way, for the FBI. I’m here working on the case with The Witch and Lady Death.” 

“Lady Death?” Dr. Vidal asks, giving you an intrigued look. 

“Oh, we figured out that there’s actually two killers. That’s what I nicknamed the other one, because apparently she’s been seen with the bottom half of a skeleton mask on her face. Wait, this is all confidential right?” 

“Of course,” she assures you, voice smooth as honey. “Anything you say here doesn’t leave this room unless you threaten to hurt yourself or someone else. So, you’re here about the case?” 

You nod, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, you could say that. I sort of have some obsessive tendencies when it comes to cases like these, and I just wanted to get ahead of them before I spiraled again.” 

“What does a spiral look like for you?” 

Chewing on your nail, your gut twists and you can feel Wanda’s knife jabbing into you. “I stop eating, stop sleeping. The work consumes me, I can’t take a break. I don’t want to take a break. There’s just this overwhelming need to catch the killer and I won’t stop – I can’t stop – until I find them. It can be dangerous.” 

She nods and writes something down in her notebook. “Why did you become a profiler?” 

“To help people,” you answer immediately. “I like reading the killers, figuring out what they’re thinking, getting inside their heads and beating them at their own game.” 

“When did you start knowing you wanted to do this? Why not just become a detective or something?” 

This one takes a bit longer to think about. “I don’t know, I just remember being a kid and wanting to…” You trail off, suddenly feeling confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I was going to say.” Something is weird, wrong even. What were you thinking of? 

“No, don’t apologize,” Dr. Vidal says, laying her hands on the desk with wide eyes. “You wanted to what as a kid? What happened that made you want to think like a killer?” 

A dull ache starts to throb against your skull the harder you try and think about it. “I don’t know,” you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not thinking like a killer, I’m figuring out the way their brain works. So I can catch them.” 

She leans back and crosses her arms. “What do you feel when you think like them?” 

“What does this have to do with–” But you’re cut off by a blinding burst of pain and then glimpses of something you can’t quite explain flash through your mind. 

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something. 

You hear your name and the images are gone. Dr. Vidal is watching you closely, breathing heavily. “What was that?” 

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what just happened. Memories or hallucinations? “Um, sorry, I don’t know. What was the question?” 

Her eyes are dark and they remind you of Agatha’s in the evidence locker. How she had leaned down and smelled the perfume you were wearing. You shift in your chair. 

“I was asking what your coping mechanisms are for when you start to feel yourself spiraling,” she says, and you’re still a little foggy, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what she asked. 

You think you might be going crazy. “My boss back in Miami was pretty good about recognizing when I needed to take a step back. I’m trying to not get too involved and make sure I’m eating and staying hydrated and sleeping enough. And I’m here, so I think this should help.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Vidal says with a smile. “If you ever start to feel too drawn in, take three deep breaths and then do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Are you familiar?” 

You almost roll your eyes. That’s exactly what they told you to do during your mandated therapy. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It was meant to ground you and reduce your anxiety. 

“Yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work for me,” you admit and she waves dismissively. 

She quickly scribbles something down and rips out a chunk of paper, sliding it across to you. “This is my cell,” she says. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need to talk. Sometimes that’s the best way to calm down. I know you’re new here, but do you have anyone else, maybe someone you’ve been working with that you could talk to if you need to?” 

“There’s this one woman I work with that’s pretty nice. She’s the main detective on the case, so I think I could reach out if I really needed to,” you say and she looks pleased. 

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks. 

In a small town, people are bound to be familiar with each other. “Um, yeah, do you know her?” 

She smirks. “Very well. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?” 

The question catches you off-guard. Is everyone in this place weird? “I mean, sure, of course. Are you allowed to say that?” 

“Well, she’s my wife so I would hope so.” 

Your mouth drops open. Her lips on your skin, ghosting along your neck, filling you with heat and a need for more. “Oh, I’m so sorry for saying that, I had no idea, obviously. We just work together.” 

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sure the two of you would make quite the pair,” Dr. Vidal says, and you ignore the possible unprofessionalism at the pet name. She doesn’t seem offended at all, only fascinated. 

You shift in your seat again while trying to figure out what to say. “Well–” you start, but she cuts you off. 

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?” 

Fuck. What do you even say? Is Dr. Vidal going to be mad, say she can’t treat you anymore? It’s not your fault, you hadn’t done anything. 

She scoffs. “You’re such a pretty young thing, I can’t blame her. You’ll have to come over for dinner with us some night.” 

“Um, is that allowed?” You ask, blinking slowly. You have absolutely no idea what is going on. Is your therapist suggesting a threesome with you and her wife and woman you’re working with? 

“Getting a meal with your support system? Why wouldn’t it be?” When she phrases it like that, it’s hard to find an error with her logic. 

You shrug. It would be nice to be able to talk freely about things. And you’re sure Agatha has told her about the case already. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” 

The question weighs on your mind as you chew on your lip and debate whether or not to tell her about the images you just saw. You don’t remember ever being in those woods. “Do patients ever, I don’t know, see things while they talk to you? Like false memories or something?” 

This gets her attention. “What did you see?” 

“Snow, and woods, and a flock of birds. I don’t know, it felt familiar but I’ve never…” You try to put it into words, but you don’t know how. 

“What happens when you try to follow that memory?” She asks and you close your eyes, but there’s nothing. 

“I–I can’t. There was like a pain in my head when you asked about what made me want to think like a killer, and then I saw it, but it’s not happening now.” You sound defeated, a testament to your frustration. 

Dr. Vidal frowns. “Do you know what repressed memories are? And I never asked you that.” 

It’s like the floor tilts under you and you stare blankly at her. You can only focus on the latter part. “No, you did, I remember…” You start to breathe heavily, panic rising in your chest, and she comes over to rub at your back. “I don’t understand.” 

“It’s possible you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by all this. I think you need to go home and get some rest. Did you sleep last night?” 

It makes sense to you now. You didn’t sleep at all, your brain is just playing tricks on you. “No.” 

She nods. “Go home. Take a nap. Let’s book a follow up, though. See if we can get to the bottom of those images.” 

You choose to come back in three days in the afternoon again and then you drive back to the motel. Your exhaustion suddenly weighs a ton and all you have to do is stumble in your room, collapse on the bed, and you pass out. 

The snow crunches underneath your boots as you trode through it. Branches claw at your legs through your pants and the wind whips your cheeks. 

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it. 

Where are you going? You don’t know, but your legs do. They take you through the woods into the clearing. 

You stand alone for a few minutes and then you hear someone – something? – approaching. 

A purple wolf. 

You crouch down to your knees and it saunters up to you. One eye is a piercing blue, the other is hazel. 

So familiar, yet otherworldly. You don’t understand. 

It opens its mouth to say something, and you’re leaning in to make sure you hear it, when –

Your phone rings and it jolts you awake in a cold sweat. You roll over in bed to find you’ve been asleep for hours. You reach for your phone when you realize that you’re completely naked. 

How did that happen? 

When you were younger, you know you had problems with sleep-walking, but you would always keep your clothes on. You file that away to talk to Dr. Vidal about next time. 

“Hello?” You say groggily, not even checking who’s on the other line. 

“It’s Agatha,” the voice says and it’s like a bucket of cold water gets thrown on you. “There’s been another murder.”

[ratgrinders]

Never Stop Blowing Up Favorite Movies

Wendell Morris

Weird Science - 1985 science fantasy/teen comedy. "Nerdy social outcast students Gary Wallace and Wyatt Donnelly are humiliated by senior jocks Ian and Max for swooning over their cheerleader girlfriends. Humiliated and disappointed at their direction in life and wanting more, Gary is inspired by the 1931 classic Frankenstein to create a virtual woman using Wyatt's computer, infusing her with everything they can conceive to make the perfect dream woman."

The Fast and the Furious - "A media franchise centered on a series of action films that are largely concerned with street racing, heists, spies, and family."

Real Genius - 1985 science fiction/comedy. "Chris Knight, a genius in his senior year, is paired with a new student on campus, Mitch Taylor, to work on a chemical laser, only to learn it will be used for dangerous purposes."

Liv Skyler

Empire Records - 1995 coming-of-age comedy/drama. "The film follows a group of record store employees over the course of one exceptional day. The employees try to stop the store from being sold to a large chain, and learn about each other along the way."

Scarface - 1983 crime drama, and a remake of the 1932 film of the same name. "It tells the story of Cuban refugee Tony Montana, who arrives penniless in Miami during the Mariel boatlift and becomes a powerful drug lord." Additionally, "Less than two months before the film's release, Scarface was given an X rating by the MPAA for "excessive and cumulative violence and for language".

Clueless - 1995 coming-of-age teen comedy. "Considered to be one of the best teen films of all time...The plot centers on a beautiful, popular, and rich high school student who befriends a new student and decides to give her a makeover while playing matchmaker for her teachers and examining her own existence".

Usha Rao

The Horse in Motion - Published in 1878, a sequential series of 6 cabinet cards depicting the movement of a horse. Regarded as "the world's first bit of cinema", and the first film ever created.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - 1931 horror film. "An adaptation of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the 1886 Robert Louis Stevenson tale of a man who takes a potion which turns him from a mild-mannered man of science into a homicidal maniac."

102 Not Out - 2018 Indian Hindi-language comedy drama. "Dattatraya Vakharia is a lively 102-year-old who lives his life to the maximum and takes everything in a jovial way for his heart is that of a 26-year-old youngster regardless of his age. His 75-year-old son, Babulal Vakharia, is his exact opposite for he believes that he is now too old and fragile to enjoy life and lives a routine life."

Russell Feeld

American Gigolo - 1980 neo-noir crime drama. "A high-priced male escort who becomes romantically involved with a prominent politician's wife, while simultaneously becoming the prime suspect in a murder case."

La Femme Nikita - 1990 French-language action thriller. "[Nikita] is a criminal who is convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering policemen during an armed pharmacy robbery. Her government handlers fake her death and recruit her as a professional assassin. After intense training, she starts a career as a killer, where she struggles to balance her work with her personal life."

Waking Life - 2001 animated film. "The film explores a wide range of philosophical issues, including the nature of reality, dreams and lucid dreams, consciousness, the meaning of life, free will, and existentialism. It is centered on a young man who wanders through a succession of dreamlike realities wherein he encounters a series of people who engage in insightful philosophical discussions."

Andy 'Dang' Litefoot

Suburbia - 1983 coming-of-age drama thriller. Follows "a group of suburban youths who run away from home and adopt a punk lifestyle by squatting in abandoned suburban tract homes."

Goldfinger - 1964 spy film and the third installment in the James Bond series. "The film's plot has Bond investigating gold smuggling by gold magnate Auric Goldfinger and eventually uncovering Goldfinger's plans to contaminate the United States Bullion Depository at Fort Knox."

Fire in the Sky - 1993 biographical science fiction mystery. "It is based on Travis Walton's book The Walton Experience, which describes an extraterrestrial abduction"

Paula Donvalson

Muriel's Wedding - 1994 Australian comedy-drama. "The film focuses on the socially awkward Muriel whose ambition is to have a glamorous wedding and improve her personal life by moving from her dead-end hometown, the fictional Porpoise Spit, to Sydney."

The Long Kiss Goodnight - 1996 action thriller. "The story follows an amnesiac schoolteacher who sets out to recover her identity with the help of a private detective when they discover a dark conspiracy."

Under the Tuscan Sun - 2003 romantic comedy-drama. "Based on Frances Mayes' 1996 memoir of the same name, the film is about a recently divorced writer who buys a villa in Tuscany on a whim, hoping it will lead to a change in her life."

[beomcoups]

Food Wars pt. 1

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chef!Mingyu x chef!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, suggestive (next part will be spicier, I promise), coworkers to lovers au, 18+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, kissing, mention of death (nothing graphic), suggestive grabs of the hips and ass 💀

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.2k

𝐀𝐍: Part 1 is heeeeeeere! This is apart of the world tour collab hosted by @svthub. Part 2 will be posted soon. There are alot of people here who helped me cultivate this fic and assure me that what I wrote didn't suck lol. Thank you @wooahaeproductions, @seokgyuu, @hobeemin and @hannieween for looking at bits of this for me. Also thank you to @highvern , @cheolism , @okiedokrie @bitchlessdino @gyupremacy for shooting ideas with me (ahem, cologne!) and finally @milfgyuu , I know you want to be tagged in anything related to your man :)

You knew it would come to this, and as good as you are at hiding your poker face, you are annoyed. A food competition, really? You almost burst out with laughter when Rich, the restaurant's owner of The Palm Cuisine, told you. The Palm Cuisine is one of the most popular restaurants in the U.S., with three locations in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. He is opening a new restaurant in Madrid, Spain, and wants to take one of the sous chefs to make them the executive chef. You are the better chef, and everyone knows it, but in the spirit of “fairness,” you have to go against another person for the owner to make their decision. That other person is no other than Kim Mingyu, the golden boy of the restaurant who is almost as good as you in the kitchen. Almost.

It’s not like the position was directly promised to you, but deep down, you always assumed it would be yours. You have been there the longest, know the menu from top to bottom, and have even stayed extra nights you didn’t have to for the benefit of the restaurant and the team. You eat, breathe and shit this place. It feels like a slap to the face. “Put the knives down, girlie,” your coworker and good friend Shena nudges you. 

You sigh, gently setting down the knives you used to cut your potatoes. “I’m fine,” you whisper, turning around and rolling your eyes. “I am totally fucking fine.” You close your eyes and take a small, deep breath, centering yourself before returning to reality. Disappointment would be an understatement if you had to describe how you feel. The Palm Cuisine is the first and only restaurant you have worked at as a chef, starting as a prep cook and working your way up to sous. You always imagined yourself making it to executive chef—overseeing the restaurant's menu, preparation, cooking, ordering, and operations. The place specializes in Spanish food, and you can confidently say you could plan a Spanish menu with your eyes closed. Tapas, gazpacho, paellas, you name it, you’ve done it. And yet, you must constantly prove to everyone (mainly the men) that you deserve to be here. It’s exhausting. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, wondering if you will snap and break a rolling pin or cry in the bathroom.  Instead of giving them the satisfaction, you turn around with a beaming smile. “Well,” you quirk an eyebrow. “Let the food war begin!” “Oh, splendid!” Rich squeals. “I was worried you would be upset.” “Why would I be upset?” You cock your head. “I mean, it’s only fair, right?” He chuckles nervously, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Why don’t you and Mingyu come into my office, and we can discuss it further?” You nod as he beckons Mingyu over and follows him into his mid-size office. It smells of fresh linen, courtesy of a scented oil on his bookshelf. It looks like a typical place of work, complete with a desk, laptop, and hundreds of documents related to the restaurant. It’s cold in contrast to the warmth of the fires in the kitchen, and you long to be back in front of the heat, cooking from your heart.

You’ve been cooking since you were ten, watching your grandmother in the kitchen slave away for all the major holidays. You remember how it felt when you made your first apple pie - how you went to the local market and bought the freshest green apples you could find and cut them up like she did, adding the right amounts of nutmeg, brown sugar, and other needed ingredients. You made your own crust and watched everyone marvel at your dessert. You guess you could say that your grandmother stirred your love for cooking. God, you miss her. 

You hear Mingyu shuffle behind you, the scent of chocolate and cream greeting you before he does. You nod, moving to the seat furthest away from the door to give yourself space. You don’t hate Mingyu; you two are friendly with each other and help each other out when needed. He’s always treated you with respect and never condescended you when you made a suggestion. Your eyes undoubtedly work, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit he is handsome. His model-like looks, toned body, great hair, and he just happens to be a good cook? It’s almost not fair. But fortunately for you, you haven’t fallen for his charms. He’s the golden retriever that everyone wants to be around. Well, except for you.

“So,” Rich starts as he shuts the door. I want you to know that I respect both of you, and it was tough to make this decision; hence, we are doing this. Plus, it’ll be fun, bring up the morale of the restaurant while we’re in Madrid—” “Wait,” you hold your hand up. “Are we going to do this in Madrid?” “Well, yes,” he says casually. “It’s only fitting we do it there. It’ll give you a chance to feel the vibe of the area and get some fresh ingredients. Lord knows you can’t get it here in the city.”

Mingyu chuckles, and you instinctively dig your thumb into your palm, your mind already thinking of the cost of a ticket, hotel space, etc. Rich can be a dramatic pain in the ass sometimes.

“We will cover everything, of course; all you need to do is be ready for international travel. You can bring one person from the restaurant as your assistant. Oh, and here is some paperwork you will need to fill out.” Several minutes later, with all the paperwork signed and details worked out, you shuffle out of the office one by one. Rich leaves first, rushing out like a bat out of hell, his wooden smell following him and the tension in your chest. You’re plagued with thoughts about coming up with a menu, packing to leave, and who’s going to watch your cat Grey while you’re gone. You feel undervalued, still bothered that you even have to do this. Does your many years of being here not mean anything to Rich? Is your cooking not good enough? Why keep hinting that you could have something bigger here just to string you along? All of this frustrates you with a passion. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Your nose wiggles at the smell of rich chocolate, your mouth salivates, and your stomach rumbles shortly after. You have a terrible habit of not eating when hungry as you focus on making food and serving others. While your mind is on food, you aren’t paying attention to Mingyu in front of you, bumping into his back. Your face grows hot with embarrassment, refusing to meet the gaze of your competitor for your dream job. “Hey.” His deep voice knocks you out of your mental fog. 

“W-what’s up?” You stumble through your words. “I just want to say it’s an honor going toe-to-toe with you for this spot. There wouldn’t be any other person I would want to go against. You’re a great chef.” 

For that tiny moment, you felt seen and appreciated. Aside from Shena, no one seemed to care about the hard work you put into The Palm Cuisine, and you thought about quitting so many times. But despite being unappreciated, you love the food, the culture, and the customers that come in. You can’t imagine yourself anywhere else.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat. “You’re good too.” Mingyu nods, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Seeing him up close, you have to admit, he’s attractive. You get why everyone trips over their feet when he’s around. You have much more discipline than that despite the vibrations through your body. “Also, you need to eat,” he says matter-of-factly. “I heard your stomach before you bumped into me.”

Whatever spell you were temporarily under ceased immediately, knocking you back into reality.

“Ladies first,” he says, moving out of the way to let you through. His hand lightly touches your back as you walk by, making that part of you hot as if it were touched by something warm. You return to your stations, cleaning them off to be ready for the customers who are set to come in later. “What was that about?” Shena pops up beside you, eyeing you suspiciously. “Just some stuff about this unnecessary competition and getting an assistant to help me and whatnot,” you shrug. 

“Wow, that’s kind of grand,” she looks perplexed as if you are telling a joke. 

You nod, grab a granola nearby, and take a bite, curbing your hunger a bit. 

“So…” you let your voice trail off in suspense. “How about you come with me to Spain?”

Your morning sucked. You barely slept, and when you finally did, you woke up to three missed alarms and was running an hour late. You had less than a week to plan to leave the country and spent most of your night packing for ten days and making sure your cat, Grey, would be comfortable while you were gone. He is a rescue; you adopted him from the animal shelter when you volunteered with Shena a year ago. He was your cuddle buddy; you haven’t been without him for more than a day. “I’m going to miss you, buddy,” you give him a good scratch. He purrs lazily, curling himself into a ball and going back to sleep. You are grateful that Shena’s girlfriend, Lumina, offered to come over and feed him while you were gone. You were considering dropping him off at one of those pet daycares for the week or hiring a cat sitter, but she came through in the nick of time. She works at the animal shelter you adopted her, and coincidentally, that’s where she and Shena met and fell in love. 

It was nice seeing them fall for each other. It was like watching a silly, quirky rom-com play out in front of you. You see the magic in Shena’s eyes when she looks at Lumina, the warmth in her voice when she talks about her. Shena described Lumina as a warm hug on a rainy day, and you could believe that. They are made for each other. 

You hear a notification on your phone telling you your Uber is outside. You send a quick text to Lumina, giving her the code to your door, and give one last look around before you go across the ocean. “Bye, Grey,” you whisper, ensuring the door is locked before leaving.

Silvery-white clouds rolled into the early morning sky as you walked to your Uber, the ground wet from the fresh rain a few hours before. The smell of rain has always soothed you; the clean, earthy petrichor wakes you up a bit more. You quickly greet the driver, putting on your AirPods and playing a playlist you made. You watch the remaining droplets of rain left on the window roll away as your driver cruises down the highway. Where you come from, it hardly rains as it's primarily hot year round. On the rare occasions when it did, you would open your bedroom window, sit in your bed, and watch the water hit the Oleander flowers in your backyard. It was one of your two favorite smells in the world, the other being apple pie. 

Mixed in with your annoyance about having to have a competition to prove yourself as a chef, you are looking forward to leaving the country. You have never been to Spain before, let alone Europe. You have traveled and seen a few things, but Mexico is the farthest you have gone. You spent much time last night looking up main attractions, museums, and local areas to see if you have the time. You want to visit the local markets and taste the local food. Rich set up all of your travel and living arrangements, and all you have to do is show up and cook. You are going to make the most of your time there. Who knows when you will be able to travel again? At the very least, you plan on coming out of this thing, winning it all.

“We’re here.” 

When you look up, the airport entrance pulls up to your right. The ride feels shorter than it is, but you are lost in thought about many things. You thank your driver, grab your suitcases, and walk to the airline’s front desk to turn your bags in. You arrived with thirty minutes left to spare, and there was a long line already; it wasn’t even 8 am. You can’t help but yawn as you hand over your bags to the agents, fatigue and the lack of sleep kicking your ass. 

“You’re all set,” the agent hands over your printed ticket. “Have a safe trip.” You nod, heading towards security and breezing through the checkpoints before arriving in front of the underground train. Your purse feels heavy on your shoulder, and your eyelids threaten to close as you stand. You usually have good sleep management, but you stressed over this trip all night. What if you come all the way out to Spain for nothing? You don’t think you could continue to work for Rich anymore. It would hurt too much. 

The train comes shortly after, and you shuffle inside, trying to find a seat in the back before it is taken. You see one and settle down, your shoulders dropping as you finally sit down. You lean your head on the cold pole, hopeful that closing your eyes for a minute will give you some of your energy back.

“Are you as tired as I am?” You recognize that voice, annoyance slowly creeping in as your longing for a bit of solitude is interrupted. 

“Mingyu, what a surprise,” you mutter without cracking an eye open. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your voice. It’s one of a kind,” you deadpan.

He chuckles as the train flicks forward, sitting next to you. You begrudgingly pull out your ticket, realizing you will not get to relax until you’re sitting on that plane. Noting the concourse you need to get off on, you look ahead, counting the stops you have until you have to get off. Mingyu hums softly, adjusting his backpack and pulling out his headphones.  

“Have you ever flown first class before?”

Your head snaps his way, not registering what he’s saying. “What?” “First class? Have you ever been?” “I-uh, no,” you stumble through your words. “Why does it matter?”

“Uh, did you even look at where you’re sitting?”

“Well, yes?” you say incredulously, looking at your ticket again. “Of course, I know where I’m sitting—”

You don’t finish that sentence; instead, your mouth forms a small “o,” unaware that you would be sitting in first class. You have never flown in those seats before, the closest being business class a couple of rows behind the curtain. Those tickets were not cheap, and you only purchased them because you wanted to treat yourself to graduating culinary school, which you were able to do by saving all of your tips from your waitressing job. 

You don’t like admitting that you were wrong, and you aren’t going to admit it now. Instead, you rake your fingers in your hair, nodding and shoving your ticket in your back pocket. 

“You’re welcome,” Mingyu taunts you, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head. 

You can barely suppress your smile, saved by the announcement that your concourse is approaching. You both rise out of your seats, moving towards the doors before the train jerks suddenly, making you fall forward into Mingyu. He grabs your hips, holding you steady until you’ve caught your balance. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, and your body is hypersensitive to his inadvertent touch. His grip is firm and protective, bringing an unexpected tingle to your core. You couldn’t feel more thankful that you were looking down; you couldn’t look him in the eye out of embarrassment. You don’t even have a crush on this guy, yet you feel hot and bothered.

“Be careful, princess,” he crouches low enough for your ears only. “We don’t need you flailing around this train.”

“Don’t do that,” you scoff. “Don’t call me princess.”

“Why?”

The train doors open, and you calmly remove his hands from you, gazing deep into his eyes.

“Because I’m far from that.”

You walk away before he has a chance to respond, looking for the gate you need to be at. Bitchiness aside, you stand on what you said. You aren’t some helpless person waiting in a tower for someone to come save you or give you a handout. You’ve worked hard for everyone to see you more than a woman, as it already has a stigma.  The constant belittling of your intelligence, being told to “wait your turn,” you are done with it. You’ve taken control of your destiny your life, and you will not be treated like some delicate little girl waiting to be saved from a castle… no matter how hot the knight is.

You feel relieved when you find your gate and a familiar face sitting with her iPad in her hand. As if she felt you coming, Shena looks up and waves you over to where she is sitting. Dressed in mint green sweats and matching crocs, she stands out in front of the dull black seats.

“There you are,” she greets you with a hug. “It’s not like you to be late. I sent you a text wondering where you were.”

“You did?”

You pull out your phone, and sure enough, you have received one unread message from her. She must have sent it when you were on the train, distracted by Mingyu and his hands on your body. It’s not like you to get riled up, and it ticks you off that it happened with him, of all people. Your life is a joke. 

You plop down next to her, cocking your head back in exhaustion. Before fully relaxing, you feel the seat beside you shift, followed by the smell of light cologne and chocolate. Looking over, you see Mingyu adjusting his bag before setting it on the ground. He is holding a small chocolate bar and taking a small bite, savoring the decadent treat as he licks his lips. You look away before being caught, chagrined that you were staring at him for that long. What is with you?

“Oh hey there, Gyu,” Shena waves at him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, I just got here,” he smiles. “I had to find my way to the gate since this one here is a speed walker.”

“Oh? You guys arrived together?”

“Not together, together,” you emphasize. “We just happened to be on the same train, that’s all.” 

You purposely avoid Shena’s eye contact, clearing your throat and changing the subject. 

“Did you notice we are flying first class?”

“Yeah!” Shena beams, pulling out her ticket. “I’ve never been out of the country, let alone first class. Lumina was bummed she couldn’t tag along. The shelter has her tied up, and it is kinda last minute.”

“Aww,” you rub her knee. “There will always be a next time, right?”

Shena nods, and the flight attendants announce they are about to start boarding, starting with first class. You pop out of your seat first, grab your things, and stand in line. Anticipation drills in your heart, wanting nothing more than to sit in some very comfortable seats and sleep throughout this 8-plus hour flight. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mingyu behind you, his eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. He leans in closer, the hairs standing on the back of your neck as his lips barely touch your ear. 

“I know you’re not a princess,” he whispers. “You’ve proven to be more than that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to care for you sometimes.”

You were next in line and couldn’t respond without the flight attendants giving you weird looks. Instead, as they check your ticket, you do what you know best: bite your tongue, smile, and push it aside. 

Madrid is exquisite; it is everything you saw on your Pinterest board and more. You’ve been here a few days and are in love. You are surrounded by gorgeous cerulean waters, good weather, and historic sites you always wanted to see as a child. The Almudena Cathedral, one of the most prominent catholic churches in the world, took your breath away when you went to visit. The  Francisco de Cubas architecture throughout made you appreciate art more, one of the most beauteous works you have ever seen in person.

You also took time to visit the local market, talking with the locals about their lives and picking up fresh food to try out different dishes for the competition. Shena was a big help, taking over in Spanish if you needed help and also giving fresh ideas on what to cook. You knew a bit of Spanish to get around the city and ask questions, but coming from a Spanish-speaking household, Shena could convey your ideas in ways you couldn’t understand. You will be forever grateful for that. 

“It looks like we’re here.” Rich called you both to the restaurant this evening to show you around and tell you where your cooking stations would be. The restaurant stood atop a hill, with small walk-up steps made of stone mosaics. Surrounded by boutique shops and a couple of markets, this was the only restaurant on the block; you couldn’t miss it. You understood quickly why Rich took this location. He meets you at the entrance, greeting each other in dos besos. 

“Welcome, let me show you around. Mingyu is already here.” You walk into the small waiting area before entering a gorgeous main dining area with walls made of Spanish moss brick. The bar is neatly placed in the middle, already loaded with the finest wines and other liquors. The dining tables and chairs are made of mahogany, giving you a vibe that you are back home in the country. 

“Ah, there he is,” Rich looks to your right.

Mingyu walks up, wearing a white beater accentuating his well-toned arms and acid-blue jeans that hit him perfectly. You couldn’t stop ogling him if you wanted to; you would’ve thought he was a model off the street if you didn't know him. His eyes scan Rich and Shena before landing on you, a slight smirk on his lips that only you seem to notice. Ever since your encounter at the airport, he’s been on your mind, and you hate it. You still feel his hands on your hips on the train, as if he imprinted on you.  

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had to find the bathroom.” “No worries,” Rich waves him off. “Let me show you around.” 

He takes you to where your cooking stations would be, explaining how everything was set up and where to find your ingredients so you could prepare them. The competition is in three days, giving you enough time to finish your menu and prep before the big day. The kitchen is magnificent, a sight straight out of your daydreams: stainless steel appliances, expensive cast irons, and utensils you’ve always wanted that were way out of your budget. You may hate the idea of this competition, but working at this location would be a dream come true. 

“Imagine if we got to work here,” Shena whispers. “I’ve only seen kitchens like these on Master Chef.” You nod in agreement, your fingers barely grasping the counter's surface. Rich finishes showing you around and asks everyone what their plans are leading up to the big day.  “Nothing, just prepping and looking around the city a bit more,” you shrug. “Well, that sounds boring! ” He exclaims. “Madrid has such a fun nightlife. It would be a shame for you to miss out. As a matter of fact, why don’t you kids go to Kapital tomorrow? I can get you a table, and you can let loose.”

“Well, shit, okay!” Shena pipes up before you can respond. 

You groan internally, not in the mood to be body-to-body against strangers, sweating your hair out during loud music. You don’t see yourself having fun until this whole thing is over. How does this guy expect you to relax? It’s not like his dreams are on the line. You look over at Mingyu, who matches your gaze, leaning against one of the refrigerators. 

“Yeah,” his eyes finally tear away from you. “I’m down.”

You’re the only one left who hasn’t given an answer, and everyone is looking at you expecting one. 

“Okay, let’s do it,” you mask your disdain with a smile. 

“Great!” He claps his hands in excitement. “I will send you the details later and get you set up. Have fun.” 

Rich walks you out, and you ask for the bathroom. You need a moment to pee and think in peace. He points you toward one, and you walk into the grand bathroom decorated with an old European interior that was undoubtedly above your salary. You walk to the furthest stall away from the door, rubbing your temples as you do what you need to do. For the most part, you handle stress well. You compartmentalize your feelings about what needs to be done, and you’ve been fine. Even now, with this competition vastly approaching and Mingyu somehow encompassing your thoughts when you’re around him, you’re fine. You haven’t cracked.

You aren’t sure why this is affecting you so much. You still think about when he touched you on the train and how your body felt alive. You haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Is your body so desperate for intimacy that you melt at the first person who gives you attention? No, that can’t be it. You’ve been fine all this time. Why is Mingyu getting under your skin? Shaking those thoughts away, you wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath. Swinging the door wide open, you are met by the man who has been plaguing your thoughts since you’ve been here. He was waiting for you, his back leaned against the wall, fiddling with a toothpick in his mouth. 

“Rich and Shena are waiting for you… you can get kind of lost here,” Mingyu says. 

“Mmhmm,” you nod slowly. “Well, let’s go.” The walk back to the front feels longer than it is. He hums a soft tune as he strides beside you, like he’s your equal, your partner. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but you feel comfortable. 

“So, what have you been doing since you’ve landed?” Mingyu asks.

“I did some sightseeing,” you respond. “I visited the Almudena Cathedral and the local markets with Shena and got some ingredients for the competition. Oh, and worked on the menu.” “That’s it?” Mingyu looks surprised. “There is so much more of Madrid you have to see.” “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of time to go out there and explore,” you defend yourself. “Plus, I can’t really relax with this thing coming up.” You point at the kitchen. “How do you do it?” “How about I show you?” 

You stop dead in your tracks a few feet away from the door. 

“What do you mean show me?” You eye him suspiciously. “I’m going to pick you and Shena up tomorrow, and we will explore together. There’s so much the world has to offer besides cooking and work.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“You’ll see.”

You both walk outside, and Shena sits at one of the tables, talking candidly on the phone. Rich is nowhere to be found. The moon peeks over the horizon, the white orb’s light shining over the waters. Normally, you wouldn't agree to such a thing, but he has a point. Maybe you should live a little. “You are something. You know that?

Mingyu shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just believe in living life to the fullest. We don’t know how long we may have.”

You eye him more, studying his face in hopes that you can find a false truth and be more at ease. When you don’t, it does the opposite of relaxing you; it makes you nervous. You might be starting to like this guy.

Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll send you the address.”

“He’s here!” You check yourself out in the mirror, smoothing the middle of your blue floral white dress. You opted to wear your hair in a low bun, matching earrings, and a necklace you’ve had for years.  Sliding on your white sandals, you grab your purse and leave your room. “Phew!” Shena whistles at you. “Qué guapa estás!”

You roll your eyes playfully as she pops out of her seat, sporting a white top and blue jeans, accessorized with a light cardigan and a simple gold necklace. You usually wouldn’t dress up this nice for an outing with friends (and Mingyu), but you wanted to be prepared for anything, and it would kill you if you were underdressed. Plus, you were going to be in Europe! Why wouldn’t you want to be prepared?

You walk out of your Airbnb and meet Mingyu as he comes in. He is dressed casually in a white collared shirt and black shorts, the slight breeze lifting his shirt and exposing his abs. It took a lot of brainpower to look away, instead diverting your attention to the inside of your purse. He looks tanned and relaxed, as if he is one with Madrid. If only you could relax like that. 

“Hey, Gyu,” Shena waves. “Thank you for leading the way on this grand adventure.” 

“No problem,” Mingyu smiled. “I want this to be a fun day, and I figured we have a driver, so why not?”

He looks at you, and your heart patters. The sun and slight breeze do not help your plight as you fight internally against acknowledging how sexy he looks. You hate your body for the way it’s betraying you right now, feeling inadvertently turned on. 

“You look pretty,” he marveled at you. 

“Thanks,” you nod sheepishly, walking to the black car behind him. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

There is a tiny bit of you that wants you to look good for him, to be seen that you put in the effort. When you get in the car, you greet the driver, sitting in the back row, hoping he will get the hint that you want to be left to yourself and your thoughts. But that didn’t work that way, as he climbs in and sits right next to you, with Shena seated in the row in front. His cologne is light, different from the usual sweet, chocolatey smell you’re accustomed to when he’s around. It’s enchanting, exciting, and further puts you in a mood. “So where are we going?” Shena probed, snapping on her seatbelt. “The Royal Palace,” Mingyu announced. “They have a tour, and I figured we could get lunch afterward.”

The driver pulls off, and you gaze outside the window, admiring the beautiful architecture of Madrid. Visiting the Royal Palace was on your bucket list, but you didn’t think you would have time. You’ve seen the pictures on Pinterest and talked to some locals at the restaurant who have been, but you’ve always been told that tickets are hard to get. You never thought it would be attainable for you.

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu’s deep voice infiltrates your thoughts. 

“Nothing, really,” you say, smoothing out your dress. “I am just enjoying the foreign atmosphere.” 

“Foreign atmosphere?” Mingyu chuckles. “That’s an interesting way of saying you enjoy the view.”

“Well, are we not in a foreign place?” You retort. 

“Well, yes.”

“Alright then.” You look back out the window, biting your lip to hold back a grin. You are thankful for the soft tunes from the car radio, letting the reggaeton beats drown out your very loud thoughts. Mingyu gets you riled up in a way that no one can. He doesn’t frustrate you in ways like the other men do at the restaurant. Deep down, it’s not in an ill manner; he is just like the golden retriever: nudging your leg with a bone in his mouth, begging you to play with him.

“I brought you something,” he nudges your shoulder. “I know you didn’t eat.” You look down and see that he is holding a granola bar coated with vanilla and almonds, poking out of a sandwich bag. The sweet smell is heaven to your nose, and your mouth slightly salivates. He tapes Shena on the shoulder, handing her one of her own.

“You made this?” Shena probes, carefully taking it from him. “This is really sweet.”

You take a small bite of it, and your taste buds do a happy dance. The vanilla was freshly made, and you taste the granola, almond, and sweet spices used to make this perfect bar. You aren’t big on breakfast, as you’re used to getting up and moving on the go, but occasionally, you will grab a granola bar and eat it on your breaks at work, this one explicitly being your favorite. Maybe Mingyu knows you better than you thought.

“You’re right,” you confessed. “I hadn’t eaten anything. Thank you.” The car pulls to a stop, arriving at the grandiose building known as The Royal Palace. You wait until everyone leaves the vehicle, barely climbing out without tripping over your feet. Standing outside of the gates, you are in awe. You aren’t sure if it’s dopamine, but the air suddenly feels different and almost cleaner. You scrambled into your purse, pulling out your portable camera to photograph the palace. This place may not be one of the world's seven wonders, but in your heart, it is. “Oooo, let’s take pictures while we are here,” Shena squeals.

She pulls you and Mingyu close to her, takes over the camera, and snaps a few photos together and separately. Usually, you would be annoyed if it was someone else, but she is your best friend. You can let her get away with a few things. Mingyu goes to the booth to confirm they have arrived, returning with three tickets to take inside. “We can go in through a separate entrance since I got the tickets ahead of time,” he announces. You flip through the pictures through the camera, excited to take more. You feel his eyes bore into you, and you suddenly feel hot. 

“What are you looking at?” You say, putting your camera away. 

“Your smile,” he confesses with a cheeky grin. “I want to see it more often.”

You gaze at each other for a moment, your mouth parted with much to say and nothing at the same time. Mingyu keeps leaving you speechless, and you aren’t mad about it anymore.

“Are you two gonna keep staring at each other lovingly, or are we gonna do this thing?” Shena’s words snap you out of your reverie, and Mingyu chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. You walk over to her, linking your arm with yours. 

“There is nothing loving going on.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” she rolls her eyes. “Let’s go look at some royalty.”

When you planned for this trip, you set a time to visit the Almudena Cathedral, visit the local markets, and plan your menu. You weren’t going to hold Shena to that standard even though she is your assistant. You thought you would be fine if you focused on nothing but food and didn’t get distracted. Mingyu, however, might be proving you wrong. 

You sit at his Airbnb, watching him make lunch for you and Shena. He insisted on making something instead of eating out somewhere, and who are you to turn down a free meal? The Royal Palace was everything you imagined, learning about the history of Spain beyond what was in your textbooks in high school. You consider yourself a history buff, wanting to learn more about the world across the different seas. You’ve had that desire when you were a little girl, sitting on your grandmother’s lap and listening to her stories from when she traveled as a young adult. She never got to visit Spain, but she talked about it a lot, being that they were world conquerors (or, as you like to say, colonizers) back in the day. You really miss her. 

Mingyu sets your plate in front of you, a fried calamari sandwich with a side of garlicky mayo and fries he made himself. He tops it off with a small squeeze of lemon juice, just as you like it. When you make this at the restaurant, you always add lemon juice on top to give it more depth, but instead of the mayo, you have paprika-spiced tomato sauce on the side. Either way, this shows that Mingyu has been paying attention when you felt incognito. 

“Dig in,” he announces, sitting next to you at the island bar. 

It’s a comfortable silence between you three, munching away at your well-seasoned meal. If you had to be honest with yourself, it’s the best sandwich you have ever had. He fried the calamari in olive oil, turning it every minute or so because it doesn’t take that long to cook. He apparently had the calamari sitting in milk in the refrigerator since this morning, allowing it to tenderize before mixing it with his own seasoning flour. You and Shena offered to help, but he turned you down, stating you were his guests and he wanted to treat you to something good before you went out later that night. 

“This was really good,” Shena praises him as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You have to come over again and make these for Lumina and me.”

“Anything for you two,” he teases. “As long as you keep making those margaritas.” They howl in laughter, and you feel a bit awkward as if they have an inside joke that you aren’t a part of. You smile politely, finishing off the last bit of your food before getting off your stool and grabbing your plate to wash. 

“Aht aht,” Shena blurts, scrambling out of her seat. “I will be handling the cleanup. You two sit out there and act like you like each other.”

Your eyes throw darts at her for that last sentence, and she blows you a kiss as you walk to the balcony for some fresh air. The warm sun is welcome on your skin, the warmth taking away the chill you have in your bones from inside. You stare out into the sea, watching the boats go back and forth from the ports, the busy life from the markets a site to behold. You feel completely at peace for the first time since you’ve been here. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Mingyu pokes his head out from the balcony door, holding a pink lemonade decorated with an umbrella. 

“Sure, if you are bringing that,” you quip, pointing at the drink. 

“Of course, princess,” he jests back.

As you take the drink, you raise an eyebrow, debating whether you should be annoyed at that nickname or amused that he’s teasing you. He stands comfortably next to you, admiring the cerulean blue waters in front of you. 

“This place is beautiful, isn’t it?” He sighs heavily. “I don’t want to leave.” 

You look at him, his happy-go-lucky nature replaced by a look of sadness and longing. It’s unnerving, as you have always seen him with a warm orange aura around him. His hands grip the gate as he takes a softer, deeper breath, turning to face you. 

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod slowly, your anxiety ticking up about what he wants to ask. 

“What got you into cooking?”

You look away, staring back into the calm sea. No one has bothered to ask you anything personally about yourself besides Shena and Lumina, and you are unsure how to respond. It would mean opening a part of you to someone new, and you haven’t done that in a long time. It means that you would have to relieve your past and start trusting him, and you are scared of that. 

Stepping across the magical line of faith and hope, you take a sip of your lemonade. “My grandma used to cook a lot growing up, and I would sit in the kitchen and watch her. Whatever you wanted, she could make it. My parents weren’t around, and she was the one who raised me. I eventually started cooking with her, which spurned my love for cooking, but mainly because I was doing it with her.” You pause, your breath shaky as you relive one of the hardest moments of your life. “On Christmas, I found her unconscious beside her chair. Apparently, she had a stroke and didn’t have oxygen for fifteen minutes before I saw her. I did everything I could to save her by hooking her with her oxygen machine before the paramedics arrived, but it was too late. She was declared brain dead.”

Hot tears fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed that you let yourself reach this point in front of Mingyu. He pulls you into his arms, allowing you to cry a little in his arms. Unbeknownst to you, Shena walks out and notices your tears, but Mingyu shushes her quietly, allowing you to grieve just a little bit longer. You regain your composure, giving yourself some space and adjusting his shirt. “I ruined your shirt,” you pout. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled softly. “You need something to lean on, and I’m glad I got to be that for you.”

Gazing into his eyes, you see the familiar warm orange swirling in his little orbs. Inadvertently, you move closer to him, your heart and body overruling your mind for once. Mingyu responds kindly, pulling you closer to him with his hands dangerously on your hips. 

“Is it okay if I—”

“Mingyu, do it before I change my mind.”

His lips press against yours, and your legs almost buckle. It is soft and tentative, as if he is playing it safe in case you want out. But you don’t; instead, you kiss him deeper. It is as if something takes over you, and you can’t stop. Call it desire, passion, or any other synonym, but it’s what you feel. You want him, and so does he. His hands travel lower, giving your butt a soft squeeze, and you accidentally moan in his mouth. You think he likes it, though, because his bulge is hardening against your center. 

“If we don’t stop, there is no coming back from this,” he breathes.

Your mind regains consciousness at those words; you know he is right. With one last kiss, you begrudgingly pull away, walking back inside and squarely bumping into Shena. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” She joked while taking a good look at you. 

“Nothing, let’s just go,” you insist. “We still have to get ready for tonight and all.”

Shena looks at you and the balcony suspiciously but doesn’t say anything; honestly, you appreciate that. You don’t know how you can answer any questions she may throw at you. All you know right now is Mingyu drives you fucking crazy. 

Part 2 will be coming soon. Likes, reblogs, and feedback are much appreciated :)

tag: @nonuify

[msbigredmachine]

An Angelic Christmas (Roman Reigns)

On their first Christmas together, Roman and Naima share heartfelt gifts, tender moments, and an intimate celebration that deepens their connection. A glimpse into the unlikeliest of love stories that’s about to unfold.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is based off characters from my upcoming multi-chapter Roman fic (yes I know, it's been a while, lol) to be out in January. Look out for it!

gif belongs to @romanreigns

divider belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

The Miami sun is high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the famed city. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adorned with twinkling lights that sparkle even in the daylight, giving the vibrant streets a festive charm. 

Roman’s penthouse, perched high above the bustling streets, is no exception. Ornaments of red and green and gold glimmer on a ten-foot high Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, a towering contrast to the sleek modernity of the space. It’s not exactly the snowy holiday Naima grew up with in Atlanta, but she’s not complaining. Not when she’s with her man.

Naima hums along to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasting through the speakers, twirling a wooden spoon in her hand as she checks on the smoky jollof rice in the kitchen. The turkey is ready and well stuffed, so that is settled. Her bare feet pad softly across the hardwood floor, her movements fluid and effortless, the dancer in her kicking in. Chief, their three-month-old Staffy puppy, is sprawled nearby, lazily gnawing on a holiday-shaped chew toy that she bought him.

Roman sets the table, looking at his girlfriend with an amused smirk. “Mariah again?” he teases, his deep voice cutting through the music.

Naima turns, feigning offense. “Not you actin' like you don’t love this song, big guy.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “It’s a classic, I’ll give you that.”

She rolls her eyes, scoops a spoonful of rice and blows on it before holding it up to his lips. “Here. Taste this.”

Roman takes the bite, chewing slowly. The smoky flavor hits his tongue first, followed by the rich spices that taste even better than the last one she made a month ago. He lets out a low hum of approval.

“Damn, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Naima grins, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling. “That’s just the rice. Wait till you try the turkey and plantain.”

Roman glances at the counter where the massive golden-brown turkey rests, surrounded by perfectly caramelized plantains and a big bowl of sapasui specially made for him. His diet, meticulously planned for his wrestling, is going to take a serious hit tonight. But he doesn’t care. It’s Christmas, and Naima’s cooking is worth every cheat day.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” he declares, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.

“Tomorrow,” she insists, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Tonight, you’re eating everything I made, handsome.”

Roman chuckles to himself as she kisses his cheek and walks away, his gaze dropping to those long, shapely legs of hers. Naima has been in his life for a while now, but every time they are together, it feels like a fresh challenge—a battle of wills he doesn’t mind losing. Most of the time.

The table is set with mismatched plates—his playful touch—and candles flickering softly in the center. Chief sits obediently at the side, eyeing the turkey but making no moves toward it, as if he knows better. The couple sits right next to each other on the table. Roman’s red-and-green sweater fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Naima’s matching sweater is oversized and hangs loose on her frame, exposing one shoulder and riding up her thighs each time she moves. Of course, Roman notices, and his hand rests possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles in that affectionate, sensual way that always leaves her weak.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Naima says, nodding toward the huge tree and the perfectly arranged garland along the fireplace. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing like that.”

Roman smiles, his hand tightening just slightly on her leg. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d cry if we didn’t at least have a tree.”

Naima smacks his shoulder, though a grin spreads across her face. “You ain’t right!”

“I’m just sayin’,” he teases, his baritone laced with humor. “You been talking about Christmas since Halloween ended. Couldn’t let you down, mamas. After all, this is your first Christmas outside Atlanta. Am I right?” 

Naima nods and sips her glass of champagne. “Yep. Feels weird not being with Adara and Julien, but…this is nice. Different, but nice.”

Roman cuts out a large piece of turkey and places it in Chief’s bowl, the little puppy gobbling the meat happily. “You talk to them today?” he asks. Knowing how close she is to her sister and nephew, he can already guess the answer.

“Of course,” she replies, “Adara says hi. And Julien was hyped about that new wrestling game you sent him. You officially won Christmas with that.”

He chuckles, proud. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Naima leans back in her chair, watching her boyfriend for a moment. There's something so easy about the way they’re together, the way they fit into each other’s lives despite their wildly different worlds. She loves this version of Roman—relaxed, unguarded, a far cry from the intense Tribal Chief persona that dominates the squared circle. Here, he gets to be just him. With her. His safe space.

She's honored.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she tells him, affection in her voice.

Roman’s gaze softens. “Me too, baby girl.”

After dinner, they retreat to the couch, plates of leftover plantain and wine glasses in hand. Chief curls up at their feet, munching on a leftover turkey leg. Roman’s arm is draped over Naima’s shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with her long hair. She rests against him, her legs stretched across his lap as “Home Alone” plays on the 64-inch TV.

“You got one more present,” Roman announces suddenly.

Naima raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no more presents.” They've already exchanged small gifts earlier in the day—she gave him a custom leather wrestling gear bag embroidered with his initials, and he surprised her with a sleek pair of Saint Laurent knee-high boots she’d been eyeing for months. 

“I ain’t agree to shit,” he smirks, a small, wrapped box materializing in his hand. “Here.”

Naima sits up, taking the box from him and unwrapping it carefully. Her jaw drops as she takes in the unmistakable Harry Winston packaging, her fingers trembling slightly as she unties the ribbon. She carefully opens the box, her breath catching as her eyes fall on the exquisite piece inside—a diamond necklace that glimmers like a constellation of stars. The delicate chain, made of intricate diamond clusters, forms a flawless, radiant circle that exudes elegance and timeless luxury, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Baby…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his tone casual, though the way his eyes linger on her face betray how much the gift means to him. “You light up my life, mamas. Figured it was fitting.”

Her throat tightens as he helps her put the necklace on, the cool chain resting against her skin. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“Well, it was either this or the anklet,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows as he caresses the back of her leg, “Woulda been great for these long-ass legs I can’t stop staring at.”

“You always gotta be so extra,” she giggles, her voice teasing but shaky.

Roman grins, his eyes bright and happy. “You bring it out of me,” he whispers, his heart swelling as she holds him tight. He will never tire of moments like this with her.

“Your turn,” she announces, reaching behind the couch to grab a flat, rectangular package.

Roman unwraps the paper carefully, revealing a framed portrait of the two of them sitting on an equipment crate backstage after his match at Summerslam. He was still in his wrestling gear, his Undisputed Championship resting on his lap, while Naima sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. Her arms are around him and their eyes are closed, heads tilted and leaning against each other as if the world had disappeared for just that moment. The image, captured by Naomi, radiates intimacy and quiet strength, capturing everything unspoken between them in that stillness.

He is quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the frame.

“You don’t like it?” Naima questions, suddenly uncertain.

“I love it,” he breathes, his voice low but full of emotion. “This…” He trails off, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. “This is amazing, baby girl.”

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of who’s always in your corner,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

Roman sets the frame down carefully and hugs her again. “I love you. You’re my everything,” he murmurs, the weight of his words settling between them.

Naima shivers, her heart racing for him like it always does. “I love you too. And you’re mine.” Her fingers clasp behind his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss. It starts slow, purposeful, their lips meeting in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Naima’s hands frame Roman’s face, her fingertips brushing against his beard as their mouths move in perfect sync. It's sensual, unhurried, yet electric enough to send shivers down their spines. 

Roman’s large hands roam down her back, possessive and sure, pulling her closer until she’s in his lap. When she moans softly into his mouth, it ignites something primal in him. The sound drives him crazy, her lips and her voice working together to undo him in a way no one else ever has. It’s a reminder of everything they share—the connection that goes beyond words, beyond the teasing and playful banter.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against his, her breathing unsteady. “Believe it or not, I got one more gift for you,” she informs him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “It’s red and made of satin and lace.”

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice roughens, his hands still on her hips.

She leans in close, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as she whispers, “Mm-hmm. But you get to see it later.”

Roman groans low in his throat, his hold on her tightening. “You really tryna test my patience, huh?”

Naima laughs, sliding off his lap before he can pull her back. “Ya know what they say, baby; patience is a virtue.”

The rest of the night passes in a haze of laughter, wine, and stolen touches. Chief dozes near the fireplace, his tiny snores filling the silence of the now-muted TV. As Naima cleans up the dishes from their late-night snacks, Roman leans against the counter, watching her.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asks suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” he elaborates, his voice unwavering.

Naima pauses, her hands stilling. “I mean…I’m happy right now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I am. But I’m talking like, big picture. Like, what happens when we’re not doing this flying-back-and-forth shit anymore? What if you moved to Miami permanently? With me.”

Naima turns to face him fully, leaning against the sink. “That means leaving Adara and Julien in Atlanta. Leaving Exotica. I know you’d love that,” she rolls her eyes.

Roman shrugs. “Well, it is your workplace, regardless of my feelings towards it. But we can figure that out together. Right?”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. Kinda feels like jinxing it.”

He pushes off the counter, narrowing the distance between them. “I get it. I just want you to know I’m serious about this. About us. I don’t care where you came from or what you’ve done. I just…I’m all in with you.”

Naima gazes at him, her chest tightening. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, Reigns?” she whispers.

Roman grins, his hands finding her waist. “Baby girl, I’ve been sure pretty much since the day I met you.”

Her smile is wide and her heart feels impossibly full. “Guess I better go put your present on, then.”

Roman’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as she saunters off, her long legs carrying her toward his bedroom. “Don’t take too long,” he calls after her.

Ten minutes later, Naima’s heart is still racing with excitement. She can feel the heat of the shower still lingering on her body, buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. Roman’s words echo in her head; “Don’t take too long.” 

A playful grin crosses her lips. It will definitely be worth the wait.

The silk robe is soft and gentle on her skin as she moves around the bedroom. The lights are dimmed just enough to set the mood. She reaches for the speaker, turning on a playlist full of sultry, slow R&B songs that she uses for her private dances. Usually, she has an audience of several, tossing dollars at her, hungry for more. Tonight, her audience consists of just one, the most important one; Roman Reigns himself, her man…her everything.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror and lets her long, damp hair cascade down her back, shimmering under the soft lighting. She takes a deep breath as she eyes her reflection, seeing a stark difference between the woman staring back at her and the one from seven years ago.

Well done, Naima. Well done.

She quickly goes to the gift bag she’d tucked away, pulling out the lingerie she had purchased specially for him—a festive red set with white fur trim and a playful Santa-inspired design. The bra and thong set hugs her curves perfectly, and she can feel herself getting wetter, more eager. She doesn’t need much of an excuse to get her man all worked up, but tonight? Tonight is different.

She peeks her head through the door and calls out to him, her voice low and teasing. “Baby, I need some help in here!”

As he enters the bedroom, his gaze immediately falls on her—no longer in the oversized sweater, but in blood red lingerie, looking like a vision. His mouth goes dry, his pants tightening as he drinks in the sight.

“Goddamn, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with desire. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her, taking in the way the fabric clings to her slender body. “You look fucking incredible.”

“You like it, big daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with temptation as she strikes a pose that extends her already long legs.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “But how the hell are you not tired from all the cooking?”

Naima’s lips curve into a sultry smile as she inches closer to him, her hips swaying with every step. “I’m never too tired to please you, Ro.”

Roman’s expression softens, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes—anticipation. He doesn't respond at first, just watches as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. He obeys without question, his body already tingling with desire.

She walks over to the speakers and turns the volume up just enough. The sultry, slow beat of “To My Bed” by Chris Brown fills the room, its sensual tone ensconcing them both like a velvet blanket. She stands for a moment, letting the rhythm of the song take over her body. The satin fabric of her lingerie shimmers as she dances, her movements sensual and determined, drawing him in. There’s no rush from her—each motion is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy. 

Roman’s hands rest on his knees, gripping them tightly, the intensity in his gaze saying more than words can express. His breath quickens as she turns and gives him an eyeful of the thong that’s swallowed up by her fat, bountiful ass cheeks. Then, she slowly approaches him, her legs long and lithe, flexing with an effortless grace. She leans forward, pushing her chest in his face, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. 

“You like what you see, big guy?” she inquires, her voice low and smokier than her jollof, dripping with sex and authority, knowing she has him in the palm of her hand.

“Damn right I do,” Roman growls in response, his hands closing over her breasts, the tension in the air as thick as a storm about to break.

A slow smile plays across her lips, a smile that sends shivers through him. She reaches up and places a Santa hat on his head, her fingers brushing over his scalp before letting the hat sit on top.

“Guess you’re my Christmas gift, huh?” she teases, winking at him, her fingers lightly tapping the top of the hat.

Roman can’t help but snicker despite the lust pulsing through him. “You know it, mamas. Just unwrap me already.”

Naima stands in front of him for a moment, her body swaying, the sheer satin glistening against her skin as the lights of the room catches the fabric just right. Roman’s eyes roam over her, memorizing every inch. Her body, her long legs, that damn sexy smile of hers, the way she looks in the tiny underwear. She knows how to play him like a violin, and tonight he is her willing instrument.

Naima’s smile grows as she slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing the breasts and pierced nipples that never fail to make his mouth water. She drops down low, then slowly rolls back up as her hands run over her curves, caressing herself. She hears his breathing getting heavier, and that only fuels her further. She lets the music take control, her body moving with a confidence that only Roman can bring out of her.

His eyes are glued to her, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re killing me, mamas,” he growls, his voice clogged with desire.

She stops for a moment, standing in front of him, her ample chest rising and falling with each breath. “Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’ve been a good boy tonight, so I think you’ve earned a little something special.”

Roman chuckles darkly, his hands resting on the bed now, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you after this.”

Naima smirks, her confidence skyrocketing as his hungry stare stalks her every move. With her back to him, she sensually shimmies between his parted legs and lowers herself onto his lap. Her backside rests right on his crotch as she keeps moving, rolling her ass back and forth in a manner that makes his jaw clench. She throws a sly glance over her shoulder, catching the way his hands twitch, aching to touch her again.

“What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle it?” she taunts, her voice low and teasing.

Roman exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling as his hands shoot up to grab her waist. His fingers dig into her skin as she bounces her ass on him, the enticing rhythm making his entire body flare up with heat. “Goddamn, baby.”

Naima’s laugh is rich, full of mischief and lust as she presses back harder, causing him to groan. “That’s right, daddy, watch me throw this fat ass on you,” she moans, steadying herself with her hands on his knees while her hips and ass do all the talking.

Roman tilts his head back for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels himself throb from the near unbearable friction. “You keep this up and I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, reaching out to squeeze her backside wreaking havoc on his stiff crotch.

“That's the plan,” she shoots back, grinding against him some more before standing up abruptly, leaving him gaping at her like she’s just snatched his soul. “Gotta give Santa his Christmas dance,” she giggles, stepping back and twerking to the music again.

Roman licks his lips as he adjusts himself and the hat on his head. “Santa’s getting impatient, baby girl. You better finish that dance quick before I take what’s mine.”

Naima's eyes are fixated on her man as she tugs on the waistband of her thong and slips it down her legs, tossing it playfully at him which he catches easily. Her body is now completely bare, save for the light sheen of sweat that clings to her skin, making her glow. She straddles him again, leaning in so their noses almost touch. “What if I don’t wanna finish, big daddy?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his teasingly.

This time, Roman doesn’t hesitate. He grips her thighs and flips them over, pinning her beneath him. The bed shifts under their combined weight as he stares down at her, his smirk widening. “I know where I wanna finish,” he mutters, his voice catching right before he crushes his mouth to hers. His big hands eagerly roam her curves as he presses himself against her, the warmth of her naked body sparking a fire he can’t extinguish.

With a teasing grin, Naima pulls his sweater off him and helps him shove his pants down. Then, moving with surprising speed and strength, she rolls them over so she is back on top. Her hands smooth down his chest, running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, and she reaches down to grip his length, massaging him for a second or two before sliding him inside her. 

With a soft moan, she sits up and presses her hands on his chest, pinning him down as he drops his hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing the supple cheeks. His grip tightens as she rides him with the skill of an equestrian, her shapely hips rolling and rotating, seemingly spelling her name on him. He can feel her wetness seeping between them, the friction driving him crazy.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You make me lose my fuckin' mind.”

Naima dips down, capturing his lips with a passion that sends fireworks off in his brain. The kiss is deep, intense—needy. Their tongues tangle with an urgency that speaks volumes to their never-ending lust for each other, Roman’s hips joining the frantic dance of want as he meets her halfway with deep thrusts right against her sweet spot. The scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—mingles with the sweet musk of desire, and his head spins from the intoxicating combination.

“Shit, Ro…” Naima moans. She grips the pillow behind Roman’s head as she pounces and bounces on his dick with increased urgency, the slickness of her pussy, the feel of him deep inside her, making everything feel like it’s about to explode. She lets out another breathy moan, her face nuzzling his neck, her heavy pants sprouting goosebumps on his skin. Roman’s breath catches in his throat as the feel of her beautiful body writhing on top of him, along with a dizzying myriad of sensations, nudges him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes hazy with pleasure as he stares up at her, “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Naima smiles down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her rising and falling on his dick. She cups his face, gazing right into his eyes as she whispers, “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Roman’s eyes darken with lust. It’s the easiest confession he’ll ever make. “You're the best I’ve ever had, baby girl. By a mile. Don’t nobody fuck me like you do,” he professes.

Her body responds to his praise like a fine-tuned instrument. Her movements become faster, more desperate with every dropdown. Their foreheads press together, and she groans as he suddenly shifts and flips her underneath him. He hitches her legs higher around his waist and pumps into her determinedly, cursing as the new angle deepens his reach inside her. Overwhelmed, Naima's eyes squeeze shut, her fingernails in his back, swept away by the intensity of their passion, reverberating through the entire master bedroom as euphoria comes calling. The bed rocks harder from the force of Roman's thrusts, indescribable pleasure drawing them closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Naima. Look at me when you come,” Roman coaxes her with a kiss, his voice almost pleading as his fingers brush along her stomach and find that sensitive spot between her legs. He toys with it, his personal pleasure button, playing with the sticky mess she’s made and luxuriating in the sounds of her shaky moans as he fucks her into the mattress.

Naima obeys and locks glazed, unfocused eyes with him, barely holding on as the world crescendos around them. Only a half-minute later, it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave—powerful, overwhelming, all-encompassing. Naima screams as her juices gush from the impact, all over his dick, her entire frame shaking with the bone-tingling intensity of her orgasm. Roman’s grip on her and on reality falters as her pussy tightens around him, sparking his release, his drenched dick pulsing and twitching as he fills her to the brim. They collapse together, panting and sweaty, spent and wrecked. He rolls onto his back and immediately pulls her close, his face buried in her hair as he struggles to catch his breath.

Naima lets out a contented sigh, smiling as she nestles against his chest. “Guess that was a Christmas gift for both of us, huh?” she murmurs.

Roman chuckles, his lips meeting her forehead. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for, baby.”

She smiles up at him, her heart warm and full. “And you’re mine. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Roman.”

And with one more heartfelt kiss, they cling to each other, their bodies still buzzing from the most beautiful experience, knowing that the holiday season has brought them even closer—if that was even possible.

🎄THE END...for now.🎄

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

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[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

We Found Love in a Tornado (Javi Rivera x F!Reader)

A/N: I did not think my first story for this fandom would be Javi but I sat down and this is what came out. I hope you enjoy! Send requests and ideas for Javi or Tyler.

Pairing: Javi Rivera x F! Reader (Kate's Sister) *No physical descriptions besides mentioning younger sister.

Warnings: Language, light angst, possible movie spoilers.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, leaning towards the window as you pass the caravan of Storm Par trucks. Boone leans across you, pressing his cheek to your own and you push him back with a huff, “Get off me.” 

“What’s got you in such a tizzy?” he asks, cocking his head like a cocker spaniel. 

“It’s my sister,” your head falls back against the seat as you groan, pressing your palm into the center of your eye. 

“The New York one?” Tyler asks, waving and smiling as you pass the adoring mass of the crowd chanting his name. 

“I only have one sister,” you remind him, “and that is definitely her. Shit, I figured Javi would bring her in eventually.” 

“What’s wrong with her?” Boone sets up the streaming on his camera, turning on the lights attached and putting a hand on the door. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, frowning, “Kate is perfect.” 

Boone frowns giving your hand a quick squeeze before opening the door with a flourish and starting the stream, leaving you alone to brood in the truck. You count to ten before opening the door and bypassing the crowd to make your way over to the figure standing in the distance before the looming clouds. 

“I was wondering when Javi would finally manage to bring you home,” Kate whips around at the sound of your voice, “god only knows he’s the only one you’d make an effort for.” 

“Y/N,” Kate reaches a hand out but you withdraw a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. She frowns, your heart twisting at the hurt expression, “I was going to call.” She looks back towards the clouds, “I was going to call you and Mama about getting together while I was home.” 

“I’m sure you were,” the bitterness in your voice burns and she clenches her eyes shut before turning back to you, wiping at the moisture that’s gathered. “What are you doing here, Kate?” 

“I’m helping Javi,” she takes a step closer, “has he told you about his research? His device can scan an entire tornado from every angle. If we get a full scan we can use the research to help people, save lives.” 

You scoff, “Do you even know who you work for?” 

“So this must be the infamous, New York Carter,” Tyler comes over and slings an arm around your shoulder, squeezing it, “Boone is looking for you.” He turns you and gives a little push, whispering close to your ear, “Calm down, go take a walk.” 

You do as he says, Kate calling your name over your shoulder. Boone is busy streaming so you walk over to the convenience store for a drink. Inside you line up to get a fountain drink and contemplate the choices when someone steps up behind you. 

“You know, you don’t have to be so hard on her,” Javi chastises stepping into your space. “It took a lot for her to come out here and chase again.” 

“Oh bite me, Javi,” you turn around, glaring. “I have watched everyone coddle Kate our whole life. Kate has always been the perfect child, the perfect student, the perfect friend and girlfriend. And then she goes and almost dies and abandons everyone and you want me to what? Give her a hug and a pat on the head and tell her it’s all fine. It’s not fine, Javi.” 

Forgoing the drink, you move to push past him when he grabs your arm, “she’s not the only one who left. Kate isn’t the only one who ran away.” 

“I was 19 when she left, Javi,” you grab his hand and move it off your arm, staring him down, “I was 19 and a sophomore at the University of Arkansas studying Meteorology because I only ever wanted to be as great as my sister. And when I came home she was gone and you left for Miami and joined the military. I loved you Javi,” you hate the tears stinging your eyes and he goes deathly still at your words, “But I’ll always be the wrong Carter sister.” 

Javi is frozen and you turn and run back towards the red truck, sliding into the backseat and watching as Tyler slides into the front turning the key. “Time to go,” he grabs the walkie and the truck sets off. 

“Here we go again folks,” Boone looks around the truck, pointing the camera at you but quickly averting it when he sees the tears streaming down your face. Ben, reaches into his coat pocket, handing you a hankie and you nod, taking it and rubbing at your eyes. 

“We got company,” Tyler shouts and Boone swings the camera around to the passenger side door. “What?!” Tyler rolls down the window putting a hand to his ear, “I can’t hear you!” 

“Pull this damn truck over!” Javi shouts and you quickly sit up and slide between Tyler and Boone. 

“Don’t you dare fucking pull this truck over,” you look between them before glancing at Javi, “Fuck you!” 

“You heard the lady!” Tyler rolls up the window with a shout and drives off, kicking up dirt. The truck bumps and groves and you quickly move back into the seat and tug over the harnesses. The tornado gets closer and closer with every passing second and Tyler and Boone cheer as the wind picks up. 

“What the fuck?” Tyler looks in his rearview mirror alarmed, “is he out of his goddamn mind?!” 

A hand slams against the windshield and you scream, Boone reaching around to open the door and Javi crawling over you, the door slamming shut behind him. “You must be out of your fucking mind!” Boone hollars, zooming in on Javi, his hair windswept and his pristine white shirt soaked. 

“Javi, what the hell?!” you hit him, “you scared me half to death.” 

“I told you to pull over!” he shouts, the truck rocking back and forth as the tornado closes in. 

“And I told you to FUCK OFF,” you sit up straighter, pushing him. 

“You also told me you loved me,” he shouts, “and then fucking ran off into a tornado before I could even say anything!” 

The truck is silent besides the two of you panting, “then talk,” you cross your arms over your chest, taking a deep breath. The wind outside grows louder until you both have to shout over the howl. 

“I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH KATE, SHE’S LIKE A SISTER TO ME!” 

“THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE?! WHY NOT TALK TO ME!” 

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” You snap your jaw shut, eyes going wide, “AND EVERYTIME I LOVE SOMETHING, I LOSE IT! MY MOM DIED OF CANCER, MY DAD ABANDONED ME, MY THREE BEST FRIENDS DIED, AND THEN KATE MOVED TO NEW YORK. I COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I THOUGHT I WAS PROTECTING YOU,” he sighs, “I THOUGHT I WAS PROTECTING MYSELF.” 

The tornado engulfs the vehicle but everyone is silent, watching the two of you. “JAVI,” you shout over the shrieking winds, “I’VE NEVER BEEN KISSED IN A TORNADO BEFORE.” 

He smiles, leaning forward quickly pressing his lips to yours and you moan leaning forward to run your hands through his curls. He unbuckles the harness with one hand, the other snaking around your waist to lift you into his lap. You gasp when you feel him hard beneath you and he takes the opportunity to slow down the kiss and tangle his tongue with your own. 

The winds die down and the truck stops shaking, the moment interrupted when Ben quickly opens the door and loses the contents of his stomach in the field. Boone cheers and turns the camera pointing it at the two of you, “and that’s what we like to call finding love in a tornado, ladies and gentleman!” 

[jupiitersreturn]

Astrocartography Observations Part One: Sun, Venus, Mercury, Mars, Jupiter.

(Disclaimer: A lot of Astrologers use different orbs of measurements for Astrocartography. My limit is 200 km because I have seen lines that have influences up to that point, and depending on the planet, sometimes more.)

Planets:

Sun: Fame, Happiness, Vitality, Children.

Moon: Home, Roots, Family, Nostalgia.

Venus: Love, Beauty, Luxury, Desires.

Mercury: Lower Education, Communication, Knowledge, Friendships.

Mars: Passions, Action, Pain, Anger.

Jupiter: Luck, Higher Education, Religion, Beliefs.

Saturn: Karma, Restrictions, Discipline, Commitments.

Uranus: Unpredictability, Innovation, Rebellion, Technology.

Neptune: Illusions, Dreams, Spirituality, Intuition.

Pluto: Destruction, Transformations, Deaths and Rebirths.

Where your Sun lines are running through are places that you could gain or increase your fame or societal standing. And depending on the Angle of the Sun(DC, AS, MC, IC) it can also tell you what exactly it is that gives you that happiness.

☆ Despite being the daughter of a US Navy Pilot, Priscilla Presley gained her fame from being married to famous musician Elvis Presley. They got married at the Aladdin Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. Priscilla has her Sun DC line running through Las Vegas. Sun rules fame, DC rules partnerships.

☆ Blake Lively has her Sun MC line running through London, where she has expressed her love for on numerous occasions, AND where she has made meaningful connections with other celebrities that has contributed to her social status and public persona. (MC)

☆ David Beckham has his Sun IC line running through Miami and although he retired from soccer in 2013, he maintained and even increased his societal standing when he became the co-owner of the Inter Miami CF.

☆ Interestingly enough, Blake Lively also has her Sun, Venus, AND Mars MC lines running directly through London, which is a place that she loves to go and feels happy at (Sun). A few months ago, she and her partner (Venus) bought a house in London to live in while he finishes up his filming of the Deadpool Franchise (Sun MC) which is an action movie (Mars).

☆ Perrie Edwards has her Sun DC line running through London and she gained fame (Sun) from her role as 1/4 of the girl group Little Mix (DC)

Where your Mars lines are running through are places that you could experience or be subject to hate, pain (physical, mental, and emotional), and anger.

☆ Victoria Beckham's Mars AS line runs through Madrid. When her husband David Beckham transferred from Manchester United to Real Madrid, they moved to Madrid. Victoria Beckham was singled out for hating Spain due to her remark of Spain smelling like Garlic and giving off a terrible scent. This one phrase basically ruined her life in Spain as the hate against her lasted for up to 4 years. She has said that it was the most unhappy she has ever been in her life.

☆ David Beckham has his Mars AS line running through Rio De Janeiro. In 2014 he was under a lot of fire from Brazilian locals after being accused of indirectly causing the prices of favelas to increase after buying a "slum-house" for $1M allowing gentrification to ensue.

☆ Charli D'Amelio's Mars MC is going straight through the center of the United States. We all know how disliked/hated she is amongst people in the United States. And with this being her MC line, it makes sense that the hate is largely due to and greatly affects her public persona and the way that she is portrayed by media.

☆ Monica Lewinsky has her Mars DS line running through California which we all know is Fame Headquarters (Hollywood). She was a hot topic in the entertainment industry and subject to a fuck ton of scrutiny and hate for a long time due to her intimate relationship with former president Bill Clinton (DS).

Where Your Venus lines are at, could be potential places that you may meet your life partner or long term relationships, and the lines that pass through it could tell you the circumstances.

☆ Blake Lively has her Sun AS, Mars AS, AND her Venus AS lines touching New Orleans. She met her Husband of 11 years in New Orleans (Venus rules Love) while shooting an Action Movie (Sun rules Movies and Fame, Mars rules Action)

☆ Victoria Beckham has her both her Venus MC and Jupiter MC lines going through London. She met her husband of over 20 years in London. Additionally, the Midheaven or Medium Coeli is the highest point of your chart and represents your Public Image and Success. The Beckham's are known to be one of Hollywood's longest standing marriages and have created a household name for themselves propelling both of them in their careers and future prospects. (Jupiter MC)

☆ (Also, I just thought this was interesting) Victoria Beckham had her start in the entertainment industry as a member of The Spice Girls. Her stage name was Posh Spice (Venus) which defined her Public Image (MC).

Where your IC lines are, could indicate your ancestry, or where and how you grew up or experienced your early life at.

☆ Selena Quintanilla's Saturn IC line runs through Mexico and she is Mexican. Although she became the biggest Mexican-American music artist in her 20's, when she was younger she had no connection to her Mexican ancestry (IC). She had to learn about her ancestry, AND learn Spanish before she was able to be labeled a Mexican American music artist. (Saturn represents restrictions and delays)

☆ Nicole Kidman's Mercury IC line runs through Ireland, and she has openly talked (Mercury) about her Irish ancestry (IC)

☆ Perrie Edwards has her Mercury DS line running through Scotland and she has Scottish ancestry.

☆ Hailey Bieber has her Mercury IC line running through Brazil. She has Brazilian ancestry as her mother is Brazilian.

☆ Charli D'Amelio has her Mercury IC line touching Italy. She is of Italian Descent on her fathers side.

Where your Jupiter lines are, could indicate where and how you experience luck.

☆ Charlize Theron has her Jupiter MC line running through California and it was there that she was discovered by a Hollywood agent while getting into an altercation with a bank teller.

☆ Anya Taylor Joy has her Jupiter DC line running through London which is where she was disocvered while walking her dog.

☆ Justin Bieber has his Jupiter AS line running through Canada which is where he was discovered by Scooter Braun completely by chance as he clicked on the wrong Youtube video and Justin's video came up.

[pastafossa]

Haunted (Matt Murdock x TRT!Reader, Fic, SFW)🌧️

Right, so close to 3 years ago, I had an ask in my box: 'what would happen if TRT!Reader/Jane Hind lost her memory just before returning to Matt after her three months away', aka: just before point where they both confessed their love and got together in mainline TRT. So I wrote up a fairly angsty, no happy ending sort of fic about it, which you can find here. But there just felt like there was more to the story, and the idea of a sequel wouldn't leave me alone, so I've worked on it in little bits and pieces over the past few years and I'm finally ready to unleash that into the world now that it's been edited to my satisfaction.

This will have a happy ending and hurt/comfort, once we swim through a lot of Matt Suffering. <3 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it.  He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow.  There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting.  Matt was alone.  You’d left him alone.  It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back. So… why did you feel so very sick?

Wordcount: 11, 805 words so, hilariously, about 3 times the length of Part 1

Warnings for this chapter: angst, alcohol, matt spiraling fairly badly, he throws some things, LOTS of TRT references and spoilers so I wouldn't do this one unless you've finished the Miami arc in TRT.

Sad Matt gif as a reminder that the angst is pretty heavy here because I'm really going to emotionally beat on this poor man for a bit.

At Ciro’s insistence, you gave yourself one month in Hell’s Kitchen. 

A month wasn’t much time, granted, but it would hopefully be enough to see if there was a chance of bringing back the memories you’d lost: memories of friends, of your life here, and of… of whatever it was that you’d had with Matt Murdock. Based on his grief over the loss of Jane Hind—not you, but her surely, the role, the mask you’d worn while here—his attachment to her had been deep and fervent, and those feelings appeared to have been at least partly reciprocated. The dangerously intimate photo you’d found in your memory box was all the proof you needed of that. 

Your past self had already been accustomed to his touch when the photo was taken, based on the way she’d allowed him to press his head tenderly to her temple, his dark eyes warm and fond as he'd smiled in her direction even if he couldn't see her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She should have been put off by the proximity, by such a blatant show of physical intimacy, but instead of looking distressed, she’d been relaxed and comfortable where she’d confidently tucked herself up against his side. Try as you might, you hadn’t been able to find any hint of discomfort, any clue that signaled the obvious affection she’d felt was an act, her shoulder angled in a way that made you think she’d wrapped her arm comfortably around his waist, her grin bright and so very real.

This couldn’t be you.

When was the last time you'd looked that happy?

When was the last time you’d let someone hold you close? 

And when was the last time someone had looked at you like… like they might… 

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

“I believe that… you might have, yes. Him, and this city. That is why I encourage you to stay, for a time at least. See if the memories return to you. Even should you leave, it would be wise to know of the life you led here.”

Ciro had sent a check to your office, booking you for the month and clearing your schedule. Just like that, you were free to focus on looking for something that might trigger the return of your memories. Though what that something might be, you weren’t really sure. A more thorough examination of the apartment had been your first step. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing there that seemed familiar beyond the same cheap decor and calculated set pieces you’d always used. You’d quickly ruled those out. They were meaningless distractions meant to reinforce the lie of whatever pre-planned identity you’d taken on. In this case, that identity was Jane Hind—practical, professional, detached, likes sailboat paintings and the color grey. Based on the fine layer of dust you'd found coating everything but the kitchen counter and a neat stack of mail, no one else had spent much time here during your months away. That, at least, fit your pattern. You weren’t in the habit of making friends or putting down roots. There was no point in doing so when you’d just wind up cutting them loose and running again. 

What had unsettled you far more were the hints of connection you’d found quietly tucked away:

A fleecy stuffed bear holding a plush crystal ball, the threads connecting the two uneven as if hand-stitched. That kind of time and effort wouldn’t have been spent on anyone but a friend, and the bear’s prominent position on the counter lent it far more importance than any of the other decorations.

A tacky ‘Handsome Devil’ coffee mug, the curling red script and clichéd devil horns design bizarrely out of place amongst the rest of the plain white mugs in the cupboard. An identity like Jane Hind wouldn’t have been caught dead drinking from it, which meant someone else was here with enough regularity to have a mug of their own. Further digging revealed a second decorated mug, this one adorned with the name of the law firm co-run by Matt. You could have written off one mug, but two? Two was a pattern.

An entire drawer in the dresser devoted solely to a pile of dangerously soft shirts that clearly didn’t belong to Jane Hind, the fabric threadbare and worn. They looked about the right size to be Matt’s, though, the faint traces of scent a match for him. The fact that they took up an entire drawer indicated he’d visited often enough to need a space for his clothes. 

You’d… made space for him in your false life. That wasn’t something you did.

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

You’d spent a long moment holding one of the shirts in your hand, rubbing at the fabric in hopes of stirring something. When that hadn’t worked, you’d even brought it up to your nose to inhale slowly, just in case the traces of scent brought some memory back. 

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

All it had done was remind you of holding a grieving Matt in his kitchen after he’d realized your memories weren’t coming back. It was a gloomy enough memory, but ultimately unhelpful.

You'd tossed the old shirt on top of the dresser and moved on. 

While you didn’t know who exactly you’d been here in New York, the longer you searched, the more it became clear what had happened. You’d started to slip, your years of isolation forming a crack in your layers of armor. That fracture had allowed an attachment to form, an insidious connection worming its way in through the open gap like poisonous roots through crumbling pavement. You’d grown weak, and careless. There was no other explanation for why you’d broken so many of your rules, dominoes tipping one by one until it cascaded into a waterfall of mistakes. You’d slipped before, of course—loneliness was natural and expected, which was why you had so many contingencies—but you’d never let yourself get in this deep. Not until now. 

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

And why the fuck hadn’t you followed your rules and run? 

If there was an answer to be found in Jane Hind’s apartment, you couldn’t seem to find it, no matter how hard you look, no matter how many of her belongings you dug through. Even your memory box had failed you, the photo of you and Matt at the back of your stack of pictures an outlier you couldn’t explain, this fruit of an as-yet unidentified poisonous tree. You had no real leads, no faint ringing of memory to guide you beyond a vague sense that, somehow, this started with Matt. You didn’t even know where to begin. 

At least, not until some shaggy-haired guy named Foggy—what the fuck kind of nickname was that?—showed up entirely and rudely unannounced at your front door, dressed in a cheap suit and wearing a bizarrely determined look. Despite your doubts, you reluctantly allowed him in. He made it pretty clear he knew you, and if you were lucky he could tell you more about your life here.

“So I know you usually skedaddle when things get uncomfortable, which I imagine they are at the moment. How long are you trying to stay?” 

“One month.” You shrugged casually, a cover for just how warily you were watching him as he paced in your—in Jane Hind’s living area. He knew far more about you than you knew about him, a reversal you were uncomfortably aware of. That vulnerability was almost enough to trigger a retreat beneath that cold, brittle shell you’d used long ago, though you quickly caught hold of that instinct and buried it back down deep where it belonged. Still, you couldn’t quite hide the cool clip to your voice, your walls firmly in place. “Leaving after that. Don’t see the point in staying if the memories are gone. Truthfully I’m not sure why I stayed in the first place, especially once it was clear I was getting attached. No offense.” 

“None taken, my hopefully-still-friend-when-your-memories-come-back.” He abruptly swiveled on his feet to face you, squinting at you thoughtfully. “How badly do you want your memories back?” 

You thought of out-of-place mugs and hand-stitched psychic teddy bears; of faint cinnamon and a worn photo frame; of the way you’d held a broken Matt in his kitchen until he’d carefully pushed you away and asked you to leave, his face closed off and distant despite the tears on his cheeks and yours. 

You’d… been someone here. Someone cared for. Someone whose loss was mourned.  

Even if you left, you needed to know just who that someone had been, if only so you could make sure this never happened again. Not until you reached your island in the sun. 

“Badly enough to stay for the month,” you said quietly. 

“Then put some shoes on. We’re going on a memory hunt.”

Over the next few weeks, Foggy took you all over Hell’s Kitchen. 

You visited Jane Hind’s office, abandoned warehouses, and empty rooftops covered in thick blankets of snow. He reintroduced you to Karen, to your upstairs neighbors, and to a bartender who didn’t seem all that inclined to be introduced to anyone. You drank crappy beer and slightly less crappy vodka, played pool, and went to the zoo to stare for far too long at penguins, which Foggy refused to explain no matter how much you pressed. He had you focus on sights, on smells, on sounds that might trigger a memory. He joked with you in between, and he was just funny enough, friendly and clever enough, that for the first week or so, you were consistently cracking a smile. Hell, you even laughed now and then, much to your surprise. He really did know you, enough so that you gradually began to relax around him, just a little. He was likely hoping the addition of a friend’s voice would bring back what you’d lost, especially when paired with all the other sensations. 

But no matter how much you both tried, your memories remained lost. 

God, you hadn’t thought this would… would hurt as much as it did. Yet with every day that you failed to find your way back to who you’d been, the more that fierce ache, that old longing inside you grew. Your smiles became brittle, your laughter fading, until both finally dried up like withered, crumbling leaves beneath a bitter frost. You couldn't help pulling away really, not when your soul curling up in the dark might protect you from the agony of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found what you'd always wanted. How fitting that it had been ripped away from your bloodied, desperate hands like so many times before, one more square for the filthy patchwork quilt of shredded lives and possibilities you’d been forced to leave behind. What was worse: even your memories of that seeming joy had been stolen, too, leaving you with nothing left to carry but the tattered scraps of a ghost and the photograph of a stranger wearing your skin.

It shouldn’t have been possible to miss what you couldn’t remember. Yet here you were missing it all the same. 

It didn’t help that Matt was avoiding you in every way that mattered. You’d thought about calling him if only to ask him questions about your life here, but you could never quite work up the courage to do it. He must have felt the same since he hadn’t reached out to you, either. And why would he? He knew as well as you did that your memories likely weren’t coming back. It made sense to cut that connection, tear it away like a weed before the roots could do more damage—something you should have done sooner, for both your sakes. What you hadn’t expected was just how good he was at dodging you, somehow absent no matter how many places Foggy took you to, places he swore Matt frequented with you when you’d lived here, as if Matt’s mere presence might be enough to trigger some memory in you. Had he been that important? Either way, it didn’t matter. You hadn’t seen Matt once since you’d walked out, doing your best to ignore his hitched breath as you’d opened the door. You’d forced yourself to ignore, too, the broken, agonized sound of grief that he’d let out as you quietly shut the door behind you, leaving him alone. 

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. 

He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow. 

There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting. 

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back.

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

That was all you were feeling. Matt was grieving a woman he’d cared about, one who’d died and left a cold stranger in her place. It was normal to feel for someone in that much pain, and no one should be alone while grieving. Maybe this was for the best. The sooner you were fully out of his life, the sooner all his friends and family could step in, and the sooner he could move on. He wouldn’t be alone, then. And even if he was, his loneliness wasn’t your goddamn problem. You had more than enough troubles of your own.

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

He did his best to avoid you, but that only grew more difficult once your ghost began to haunt his every step.

Even Josie’s quickly became off-limits—something he discovered one night when he stepped through the front door where he was promptly met with the familiar, comforting scent of you floating like a haze beneath the smell of cheap beer and sour sweat. His body went rigid the moment he recognized it, your presence across the room a sharpened knife that only widened the wound carved into him by your death. And if the scent of you was a knife, then your bark of laughter was a cruel twist of the blade, one that left him gutted and shaking there in the doorway. He drank in his apartment after that, waiting for that blessed moment when he would feel nothing, waiting for the very second the glorious shroud of night fell. Only then could he finally escape to the streets and drown himself in a far better kind of pain, taking his rage and his grief out on whatever piece of shit had the misfortune of falling into the Devil’s path. 

But Foggy seemed determined to shove the specter of you directly into his face. 

“You need to talk to her!” Foggy snapped, his voice only just shy of a shout. Matt ignored him as he headed for his office, desperate to retreat from your scent lingering on Foggy’s clothes. Foggy had taken you to a coffee shop that morning, one you’d frequented when you’d lived here, and now each inhalation was a vicious torment. It felt like breathing in shards of glass, the sharp pain of it throbbing with every stuttered, choked breath he drew in. If Foggy noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Christ, Matt! You love her and we both know it. If you talk to her, it might trigger something—”

“Stop,” Matt grit out, reaching up to scrub his hand angrily over his face. He stalked his way over to his desk, still desperate to escape somehow, even if it was into his work. “Just stop, Foggy. I did talk to her, and you know what happened? Nothing. She didn’t remember anything at all. She’s gone, and you dragging this out is just making everything worse for all of us.” 

“So what, you’re just gonna roll over?” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms as he planted his feet in Matt’s doorway. “Are you sure you actually loved her? Because I’m pretty sure she loved y—”

Matt slammed his fist down on his desk, the furious crack of it echoing through the office like a gunshot as he shouted, “Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Tension hung thick in the air as Matt’s chest heaved, his teeth bared, blood and adrenaline running hot in his veins as if Foggy were some sort of-of threat. Everything in him shook with rage, or maybe unshed grief, the burden of them both impossibly twisted and tangled beneath the sea of his guilt and his self-loathing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He just couldn’t—how was he supposed to force it all down when Foggy had just come so close, so dangerously close to shattering what few pieces remained of Matt’s crumbling armor?

It was bad enough loving you the way he did only for you to slip through his bloodied, desperate grasp like whispering grains of sand. What was worse, this entire disaster was one of his own making, a series of mistakes whose snarled, winding paths led inevitably back to him just like they had so many times before in his life. This loss of someone who’d truly understood him, accepted him, cared for him had already broken something inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repair. But that fracturing inside him would surely rise up to consume him if Foggy were right, if you’d truly cared for him that deeply before your memories were taken, so deeply that you might even have…

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

Abruptly Matt’s surge of rage drained away and his head fell, leaving him feeling all the more empty and broken. He braced his arms weakly against his desk, drawing in a shaky breath as he forced himself to confess, his voice gone hoarse and ragged with grief. “I loved her, Foggy.” He lifted one shaking hand to his face. “God, I loved her so, so much. I can’t… I don’t know what to do without her now that she’s gone.” “I know, Matt,” Foggy said gently. “I know.” “I loved how she always smelled a little like coffee, and the way she always managed to wind up climbing into the oddest places for a case. She had one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard, but I swear she could use it to talk her way out of almost anything or to bring someone up out of whatever dark hole they were trapped in. She was… far kinder than she’d ever admit.” His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it, the expression miserable and gutted. You’d have likely argued with him about how kind you were if you’d been here. But there was no chance of that now, no matter how much the scent of you on the air told him otherwise. “Some days it felt like she was the only thing holding me together, like the only time I could breathe was when she held me in her arms. She was always there when I fell apart, or when it all… when it all started to hurt too much. And I tried to give her whatever pieces of me the Kitchen hadn’t already taken, to be there for her like she was for me, to keep her safe. We were finally going to make our relationship official when she came back, her and me, even if there’d… already been something there for a while now if I’m honest.” 

And it had, it had been there, this soft, tender thing that had developed slowly but surely between the two of you, a tangling that came by degrees rather than all at once. It had sprouted, grown, and blossomed so gradually that even now he struggled to point to any one moment where it had truly begun—the night he found you in the warehouse, maybe, or that first game of Devil Hunt, or when you’d both almost taken the leap before he’d realized you were drunk. But the question of where it began didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was there, something nameless yet still so good and warm and perfect, a connection nurtured in the low light and the blood-soaked soil of the Kitchen. You’d felt it just like he had, and you’d been willing to take that chance with him despite the baggage he carried behind him like an anchor destined to drag him down. You never would have agreed to kiss him when you came back otherwise. Now that chance was gone. 

“How much did she know before she left?” Foggy asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. 

”She knew that I-that I wanted to be with her, but I never told her that I loved her.” Matt blew out a slow, heavy breath. “I was too scared of chasing her away, I guess. I thought maybe when she came back, if she still wanted me, I would… I decided that I would tell her. But I waited too long. Now she’s gone and I’ll never be able to tell her. All because of me.” 

He finally lifted his head, tipping it at Foggy. Neither of them dared mention the wetness on Matt’s cheeks. Even speaking about this—about how much he’d loved you only for him to ruin it—was almost more than he could bear, the edges of the wound still fresh and raw. Then again, maybe he deserved that pain after how miserably he’d failed you, just like everyone else in his life. “I miss her. And what’s worse is even when she’s right there in front of me, she’s not. She’s not, Foggy. Because I-I fucked up. I’m the reason the woman I knew, the woman I loved, died. I’m the reason she’ll never remember what we had, why I’ll never hold her again, and why she’ll leave New York at the end of the month like she does whenever she’s afraid of forming a connection.” He let out a bitter laugh, waving towards the windows, towards the place you’d once held dear. “I couldn’t even keep her here before. She almost ran last summer and the only thing that stopped her was being kidnapped. That was what slowed her down long enough for our thread to turn red, not me. She won’t let that happen a second time, not now that she’s seen what happens to people I care about. Do you understand?” 

The door to Nelson and Murdock creaked open, Karen’s voice making its way in first. Her voice was followed only a moment later by another’s, one still so familiar. 

“—I mean, winding up in a pool while chasing a kid sounds about right for me, so even if I don’t remember, I won’t argue—”

“I had to keep you here somehow.” Foggy’s voice remained quiet, but there was no disguising the ferocity in it now, the fervent belief. “Get out of your own head and talk to her, Matt. Fight for her. She would want you to.” 

No. 

No, no, no.

Your body may have been here, whole and real, but the woman who’d known him wasn’t. The song of your voice, your sweet scent, the flames of heat and stirred air currents around you flaring into a familiar shape: all of it was nothing but a lie, a snare for his senses, a ghost of his own making, and he wasn’t about to be caught by it again. 

He darted back around his desk, shoving his way past Foggy on the way toward the front door, his heart racing. If he was quick, if he just put up enough of a front, he could get out before they trapped you here with him like they’d planned. He wouldn’t relive this grief again, he couldn’t, not without falling apart. The moment he’d had with you in his apartment had been enough agony for one lifetime. 

“Hey, Matt.” You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet where you’d stopped by the front door. Your stance was cautious and guarded, almost wary of him. It was just one more reminder of how uncomfortable he made you now. “Are you—”

“Heading out,” he said stiffly, only belatedly remembering to trace one hand along the wall as if his heightened senses hadn’t given him a clear map of the room the moment his adrenaline spiked. That spike was a curse all its own. It made the scent of you so much stronger, the lie of it fresh and present as it twined around him. His chest hitched just once before he forced himself to breathe his mouth. But that route of escape had been cut off, too. All it did was shift his focus to the taste of you on the air, and the taste of familiar fabric once so tenderly given. 

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

He fumbled for his cane, his hands starting to shake before he finally found it where he’d left it against the wall. He couldn’t let you see him like this. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t remember him, nor was it your fault that he’d lost you. He’d done enough damage without adding a layer of guilt to what you were dealing with, too. But despite his attempts to hide what he was feeling, his face a hard mask, your fingers still brushed gently against his arm a moment later. It was an offer of help, or maybe an attempt to reach out, to slow him down, to connect. It was a kindness, a sympathy he didn’t deserve. Even now, you read him far too well, this touch the same as it had been that first night he’d met you when you’d gently brushed your hand against his arm. “Hey, do you need… I could walk you home.”

He shied away from your touch, finally managing to roughly unsnap his cane before going for the door. “I’m fine. I just—I have things to take care of. Excuse me.”  

He went straight home and showered, but no matter how many times he scrubbed, he couldn’t seem to wash the ghost of your scent away.

You slowly wandered around Matt’s office, taking it in. This was another place you’d supposedly frequented, a place that should have been familiar, and one you'd avoided until now.

Even though Foggy had assured you it was alright, it felt… almost wrong to explore a stranger’s space like this without them present. But you couldn’t help but brush your fingers across the battered desk and the small labels in braille you couldn’t read, run your hands along the chair for clients that you might have sat in once, and trace curiously the small seashell next to Matt’s laptop. The base scents of Matt were stronger here where he spent so much time, only partly erased by the smell of coffee and paper. The room was clean, cared for, and well-organized despite how rundown the office was. Important to him. You could tell that much, even if the scents and sights had failed to spark any memories.

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

This was about more than just figuring out who you were, now. For some reason, you needed to know who Matt was, too: this man Jane Hind had cared so much about and who’d cared so much about her. You told yourself it was practical. Matt was your best bet when it came to remembering who you’d been. But some part of you deep down recognized the lie. No, there was something in you inescapably drawn to him, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe that strange, unnatural gravity was what had started this whole mess in the first place. What was it about him that was so different, that had driven you to break every last rule you’d lived your life by for over a decade? 

And why… did you spend so long wondering if he’d ever climbed out his office window?

It had been twenty-nine days, and not a single memory had returned. 

Oh, there were beats now and then when you thought that maybe, just maybe something was coming back, but those moments were painfully few and far between. Even in those moments, you couldn’t say remembered anything, exactly. It was more a frustrating sense of deja vu, a fleeting little itch at the back of your mind like you’d forgotten something important, flashing road markers to warn you of the dark, empty gaps in your memory. That sense was probably driven at least in part by Foggy’s growing desperation as he frantically hunted for something that might trigger a return of your memories. 

But the rest of that feeling… the rest was all you. 

There was no denying a traitorous part of you wanted to remember no matter how ill-advised it might be. You wanted to remember this bizarre little family you’d stumbled into and then lost, just like in Los Angeles. You wanted to remember the love you’d had for this place, this city, this taste of mutual affection that had grown up around you after going so long without. After endless ages and ages of drought, of starvation, you hungered for even these bare crumbs of connection, something to tide you over until you found safe haven on the distant horizon. What a tempting thought it was to slither back into the life of this woman who’d been so cruelly murdered and replaced by a stranger wearing her skin.

Was this what a demon felt like when it took over a body? To walk around with someone else’s face, to speak with the unnatural voice of the dead, tormenting the loved ones that remained? 

That, ultimately, was why it didn’t matter what you wanted. Your presence in this city only spread rot and suffering. It would be better for everyone involved if you left like you should have long before now. Then they could all grieve without you tainting the very soil around them. 

Especially Matt. 

You’d seen him once or twice in passing as your time in New York wound down. Even at a distance, you’d marked the growing circles under his eyes, dark enough to be visible despite the glasses he always wore. The rest of him wasn’t doing much better. It seemed like every time he crossed your path, there was another bruise, another cut across his face or knuckles, a shifting canvas of pain painted across skin grown pale and drawn. He didn’t just look tired—that wasn’t what this was. This was something far worse, a haggard exhaustion, a weariness that couldn’t be solved with sleep, if he slept at all. This was someone being haunted. 

Probably because the ghost of Jane Hind kept crossing his path. But that would be solved soon enough. 

You’d already packed up your things, not that you had much to take. Just your bag and your memory box. You’d be leaving the next day. Foggy was still convinced he had a few more days, but you had other plans. You couldn’t give Matt back the woman he’d lost, nor could you give him a body to bury, a grave to lay flowers across, but you could give him what Jane Hind had carried with her until her dying breath. 

“I thought you might… want these before I left tomorrow,” you said quietly. “I… sorry, it’s… it’s a bag with my—with her things.” 

Matt took it carefully from you, the motion mechanical and stiff. He hadn’t really invited you the rest of the way into his apartment, the two of you now stalled out in the hallway just beyond the closed front door. He hadn’t taken his glasses off, either. It made it harder to read him, his face closed off and impassive, a wall of red glass placed firmly between you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen his eyes even once since that day you’d first come back, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t like feeling vulnerable, either, though that was just a guess when it came to what he might be feeling. 

“It’s the shirts from her apartment, which I think are yours. And the stuffed bear.” You bit your lip and released it slowly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “And the… the mug, which Nelson said was yours, too. The one you used at her place. I also put the hoodie in there, the one she had with her while she was traveling. And…” You reached into your pocket, fumbling for a moment. God, you were bad at this, unsure of just how to do this without hurting him any more than was absolutely necessary. It wasn’t a concern you usually dealt with since your goal was almost always the exact opposite, a precaution meant to destroy any threads of connection they held with you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t giving you much to work with, though you didn’t miss his subtle flinch when you drew the key from your pocket. “I thought you might want this, too.”

You cautiously edged forward, daring to breach the ring of radiant heat that surrounded him, the closest you’d come to him in almost a month. He went stiff as you approached, his jaw growing tight as the gap between you both closed. Another step, and his head cocked as if he were listening to your footsteps, or maybe… maybe he was just waiting to find out what you had to give him. But he wasn’t telling you to fuck off or just set your gift aside, which was a good sign. So you hesitantly reached out and brushed your fingers lightly against his bicep, a signal so he knew you were about to pass him something. 

A breath.

He remained absolutely still amidst the sudden, crackling tension in the air as your fingertips skated gently down and around his forearm, stirring all the little hairs, his skin shockingly warm. All you’d intended to do to take his arm and guide it up so you could place the key in his hand, but you quickly found yourself distracted by a ragged scar along the back of his forearm, one your fingers seemingly made their way to on instinct. It was a deep scar, the original cut likely made by some sort of blade, the edges of it rough and uneven from messy stitching. Your curiosity got the better of you, so much so that you missed the way Matt had begun to hold his breath.

“Who fucked up the sutures on that?” You furrowed your brow, your thumb smoothly marking out the jagged line of it. “They did a terrible job. No offense.” 

Matt’s face fell and you only realized too late just who it was that must have patched him up. 

Before you could blink, he’d yanked his arm out of your grip as if your touch had burned him. “Don’t,” he grit out, his chest heaving as he put a few steps distance between you both. “You can—just put your key on the bench.” 

“How did you know—” “Because there’s only one thing left it could be.” 

You nodded weakly, taking a few steps back towards the little bench beside the door. That unfamiliar ache, that sense of wrongness was back, the weight of it settling uneasily in your chest like a stone until you almost wanted to retch. It didn’t help that Matt was just barely holding himself together while you were here. 

Best to say what you’d come to say and leave him be. 

You gently set the key down, and the quiet click of the brass against the wood seemed to echo in the hallway, a graveyard bell tolling with a looming sense of finality. What you were about to tell him would hurt, you knew it would, but maybe one day he’d find comfort in it. This—a sign of what she’d felt—was the real gift you’d truly come to give, the only true token of her you could offer. Your words, when you spoke, were almost as hoarse as his. “I thought you should know I… she wore it. The key. I asked them. She wore your key and she never took it off. Not once. Whatever you both had, she treasured it, and all she wanted was to get back to you. She didn’t leave you by choice, Matt. I hope that… that helps.” 

Of all the things you’d said and done, it was this that finally seemed to break him. His face twisted in a sudden wave of grief, and regret hit you all at once. You quickly took a step towards him, one hand out, though you weren’t sure what you’d do if he reached back—it wasn’t like you knew how to comfort him, and you sure as hell didn’t know if he’d tolerate you holding him again, nor whether he was someone that needed some sort of touch when he was hurting. But before you could take another step he’d flinched away from you, retreating quickly back into the darkness of his apartment, his voice ragged. “Just go. Get out.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, backing away towards the door. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”  

It shouldn’t have hurt as you closed that door one last time. But you cried all the same. 

Somewhere within the apartment came the sound of splintering furniture and a hoarse scream wracked with grief.

“Look, Nelson.” You tiredly adjusted the strap of your duffle bag over your shoulder, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as if it would stem your growing headache. “I know it’s a day early. But another twenty-four hours isn’t going to make a fucking difference.” 

“I don’t need another day!” he pleaded, his arms spread wide where he’d blocked your front door, ensuring you couldn’t leave your apartment until you’d heard him out. You’d had no idea he even had a key until today and, not for the first time, you cursed Jane Hind’s apparent lack of common sense. You did not give out keys, or at least, you hadn’t before coming here to this ridiculous fucking city. “Just five minutes. That’s all. I’ve got one last thing to try.”

“Maybe I don’t want to try one more thing!” you snapped bitterly, dropping your hand. That anger was a good cover for the way something sharp and prickly had begun to catch in your throat, the incident with Matt still fresh in your mind. “I’ve tried for a month, and it’s gotten me nothing. Fucking-fucking bars and random rooftops and a shitty little duck, goddamn penguins and keys, and none of it did shit! Jane’s gone, ok? She’s dead. And I’m sorry, I know you all cared about her, but I’m done—”

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

“...What?” you asked in sudden bewilderment, your rage abruptly faltering in the face of pure confusion. “What the fuck does that even me—”

He let out a whoop, practically dancing on his feet. “Yes! I knew it! I can’t believe no one told you!” 

“Told me what?!” You chucked your bag back onto your couch in sudden exasperation. If this was thread-related, at the very least you could stay long enough to listen. “There’s nothing to climb!”

“Ok, so stick with me.” He rubbed his palms together eagerly, a bright light in his eyes. “Because I’m about to get really metaphysical.”

It took you what felt like hours to climb inside the shimmering honey-colored thread that lay between you and Matt—a thread that sang with his sorrow and your reluctant sympathy. 

It wasn’t right having your soul constricted like this, all of who you were narrowing down into something so small as you squirmed through a barrier that tasted and felt like dirt and earth, chasing after the sound of trickling water. There wasn’t supposed to be anything on the other side. It was an emotional connection, nothing more.

And yet here you were, standing in a place that had no reason to exist.

“Holy shit,” you whispered in amazement, spinning on your heels to examine your surroundings. “Holy shit, he was right.”

Despite the late hour, the air was full of a muted light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, tinting the world a hazy, eerie green. High up above you roiled thick, sullen black storm clouds, silent flashes of red lightning carving their way between swirls of charred smoke. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see by.

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

You stood in a dry, stony riverbed. The ground beneath you was cracked and brittle where the water had receded, leaving behind nothing but dust and broken branches. The river itself remained though just barely, the thin trickle of flowing water down the center of the riverbed a far cry from whatever immense force had carved its way through the landscape until the banks were a good ten paces from one side to the other. The terrain beyond the river didn’t look much better, wilted, drooping cattails dotted up the bank before giving way to endless forest that stretched farther than your eye could see. Like the cattails and scrub, the pine and fir trees stood withered and brown, casting their empty branches up toward the sky. 

If it had been beautiful here once, whatever had happened to you had destroyed that beauty. 

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

“Can you hear me?” Foggy’s voice sounded distant and far away, tinny like he was talking through a long tunnel. 

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

“...Ok, if you’re trying to respond, I can’t hear you. But according to Matt, whenever you were here, it felt like memories. So poke around, see what you can find.”

You sighed and started down the riverbed. “Not super helpful, but ok. Let’s give it a shot.” 

The water was the most obvious place to start, and you made your way over to the thin stream that ran raggedly across the parched soil. Much to your fascination, you quickly discovered that what you’d thought was one current was actually two, one layered over the top of the other, each flowing in the opposite direction. The first of those currents hiding on the bottom was fairly calm, steady if a little restless, swirls of pale color that almost felt like curiosity, though how you understood that translation was a mystery. The second current seemed far rougher where it roiled atop the first, its section of the stream cloudy and thick with swirls of black and the red of an open wound. You hovered over the second current for a long moment, working up your courage, before you finally knelt and hesitantly brushed against it with one finger. It was just water. How bad could it be? 

The moment your skin made contact, your chest seized on a sudden swell of agony. Your mouth filled with the taste of grief, with the sound of an empty home, the lack of some familiar scent that meant affection and warmth and softness and safety, the ache of an old wound reopened just when it had started to heal. Alone, always alone, I deserve it, so many gone, he was right, when will I learn? There was no hope for comfort from that pain, no escape from the darkness into tender arms that could hold you just right when it all hurt. All you had to look forward to was more— 

You threw yourself backward, scrambling away from that terrible current as if what you’d felt might rise up and chase after you, snapping its teeth the whole way. You didn’t stop retreating until your back slammed against the dry soil of the riverbank. Only then did you stop, panting, your eyes wide in shock as you cradled your hand against your heaving chest. 

Emotion. It’s emotion.

That was what the water was. Matt’s emotion. Which meant the other current—one now shifting back to yellow despite a momentary surge of twisting, roiling black—was… yours. 

Right. So you could rule the water out. But if that was emotion, where was memory? 

Examining the rest of the river was the most obvious next step now that you’d ruled out the water. Based on what you could see, the original riverbed had been a mix of silt and stones of varying sizes, a firm foundation beneath a once-powerful river. Now, though, the grey, dried-out silt was covered in a strange sea of divots and dips, as if something—a lot of somethings—had been plucked up and removed. You traced one of the indents in the soil curiously, lifting your hand back up to consider the grit as you rubbed it between your fingers. Another glance around revealed the answer. 

The stones. 

There were still plenty of stones remaining in the riverbed, but the divots in the dry silt told you there’d once been far more. If that was what you’d lost, then maybe…  

You rocked up eagerly to your feet, pacing around breathlessly as you searched for a promising stone to start with. Eventually you made your pick, plucking up a stone just small enough to fit in your palm, flat and smooth save for a little groove in it as if someone had run their fingers over it endlessly. Strangely, it smelled like honey and herbs, the surface oddly warm against your hand like the brush of a thumb against your mouth. You waited for a long, impatient moment, and when nothing else happened, you tapped it a few times. 

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

“Fuck!” you screamed, hurling the stone back down the river in a sudden rage. The pain and the loneliness you’d been suppressing for the last month, the last year, the horrible, endless eternity since leaving your family in Los Angeles began to claw its way up your throat, the clouds churning wildly above you in response. A wild rain came next, each droplet sharp and cold and edged like the blade of a knife, bitter and biting as it beat against your skin. You grabbed another stone, one that tasted like shitty beer—Josie’s beer. You threw that rock, too, then another and another, throwing stones that smelled and tasted and felt like your shriek of laughter as he grinned and caught you against his chest, like torn flesh and a needle held by tender hands, like your face nuzzling fearlessly against Matt’s throat as he whispered comfort into your hair and held you close, like synced breathing and hearts and dances between binary stars as you both fell into sleep, fell into safety, fell into one another, phantom sensations that only made the fierce ache in you grow stronger because with every stone you snatched up it became clear that… 

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

Not the walls you’d put up in front of him before he’d found some way past them. 

You. 

And he’d loved you with every part of him. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, a violent, vicious stream of tears that was just as much a product of rage as grief. Here was someone who’d loved you fully, loved you despite every asterisk and bit of baggage and sharpened edge that came with being a broken hound, with being a former experiment still on the run. But you barely noticed your tears, spitting up at the unforgiving clouds and the howling wind, because you could howl, too, just as violent, just as much a threat as any storm in this place. “I want my fucking life back! I want him back!” 

You hadn’t wanted it before, or maybe you had and you’d just been too afraid to ask for it. But now? Oh, oh, now you were furious, furious and hurting and screaming, because you’d denied yourself connection all these years only to find it in the last place you’d expected. That was what this had been—home, family, love. That had to be why you’d stayed in New York, why you’d risked everything for these people, for Matt. You weren’t an idiot. You’d have run the numbers and the math, made your calculations.

You couldn’t bear to lose this. Not… not again. 

You threw stone after stone, hunting frantically as your fingers bled dry, desperate fury into the air, reddened drops disappearing before they ever hit the ground. The trickle of water in the center of the riverbed had churned itself into a frenzy, but you ignored it. There had to be something here that would trigger a memory, something that would let you remember being loved again, something big enough, important enough, so you grabbed and you grabbed and grabbed and grabbed and grabbed until at last, you found a stone the size of your fist. You snatched it up with a ragged sob, cradling it greedily against your chest as if doing so might let you carry it out of here, because you wanted it, you wanted him, wanted to remember more than anything in the world. 

“Let me have it!” you snarled, snapping your teeth at the howling winds of the storm as if you might catch this place between your jaws and tear it open until you at last found what belonged to you. “Give it back!” 

And with a blink—

He tore one of his bloodied gloves off, his hand shaking as he reached out to you.

You stilled the moment his fingertips brushed tenderly against your cheek, so very gentle, affection layered over blood and earth and hurt. And god, your skin was so terribly dry and cold, the beat of your heart uneven as it struggled to pump blood through your body, but he could feel you react to him, the barest parting of your lips as you dragged in a startled breath. He didn’t want to startle you further or risk you fighting him, so he let his voice drop into a whisper, soft as the brush of a feather.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

‘I heard you,’ he tried to say. ‘I heard you. I’m here.’

And your weakened heart… skipped.

He wasn’t sure if he reached for you or if you reached for him. All he knew was it was the sign he’d been looking for. In a heartbeat, he scooped you up off the floor, stealing you back from that dry, filthy cement and crusted blood that had tried to take you from him. He cradled your cold body against his chest, then, held you there where it was warm and where you were safe. You made the softest little noise, the sound choked and dry, but there was no disguising the heartbreaking relief in it. He pulled you in further, pulled you up until you were curled up in his lap, not an ounce of air left between your bodies, your head laying against his shoulder.

He would never let you touch the floor of this place again.

“D…” you mumbled, not one hint of fear in you despite what he’d just done, the blood on his hands and the burning heat of violence that still lingered in his bones. You wearily slid your head over, inch by inch, until you’d buried your face against the sweat-slick line of his throat, nuzzling in against him with a hoarse sigh that only made him hold you tighter. You inhaled slowly then, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat that coated his skin, your fingers coming up to hook weakly in the collar of his shirt. “You came.”

And you… smiled.

He buried his face against your hair and let out a shaky breath. As he did, he dug down past blood and dust and dirt, dug and dug until he found the sweet, familiar scent of you, a scent he never wanted to leave him again.

The stone fell from your limp hands, a ringing in your ears you could barely hear beneath the sound of the water nearby, frothing and wild. 

The increased sensory feedback had been bizarre, and there was… there was no reason he should have been covered in so much blood, his body burning as if he’d been fighting before coming to you. But…  

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

“D.” The letter felt strange, and yet… natural, as you cradled it on your tongue. “D?”

And you knew what came after that letter, shaping the word again in your mind. 

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

“Always,” you whispered, casting your eyes up the riverbed towards another large stone. “Always, D.”

He didn’t know what you were doing or why you’d climbed inside the thread. 

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

“You’re stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

He’d thought catching your scent, hearing your laugh, being forced to take back the key he’d given to you had been the worst of it. But no. It was far, far worse having to relive these memories of your time with him over and over and over without pause, his senses filled with you: with your touch, with your scent, with the taste of you on the air. He heard you whisper, laugh, and sigh; felt the brush of your fingers in his hair and your body shaking with laughter when he snatched you up during a game of Devil Hunt and the safety of you as you’d held him so tenderly after his fight with Foggy. All of it was a reminder of what he’d lost, what he’d never get back. 

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

He was in agony. There was no blocking you out like this, no escaping your memory no matter how much he tried to push back or retreat, until he wound up trapped and spiraling in his kitchen. 

“Kiss me when you come back.”

On and on it went, memories snapping at his heels until all he had left to hide behind was rage. He swept his arm across the counter, glass shattering as he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually he found himself backed up against the wall, sinking down as he hitched out something like an agonized groan, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, please—”

“Adoringly yours, because I do adore you, you ridiculous man...”

“Leave me alone,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone.”

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

In hindsight, it was a really bad idea to give back your key.

“Matt!” you shouted, pounding frantically on his front door. “Matt, let me in! It’s me, I swear, I can-I can—”

Silence. 

And you weren’t willing to wait any longer. This wasn’t something you could explain through the door, out here in the hall where the neighbors could hear. You needed to get inside. You knew he was in there somewhere. 

Red threads never lied.  

You wiped the blood away from your nose and took off for the stairs. It was only one flight up to the roof, and sometimes he left the rooftop door unlocked. Even if it wasn’t unlocked, you’d use the key under the mat. You didn’t remember everything. But you remembered that. And if the key wasn’t there? You’d break that fucking door down.

He sat unmoving in his meditation pose on the floor, the sound of your attempts to get into the apartment distant and far away. Meditation had been the only thing left he could think of that would allow him to escape the pain and the memories of you that had flooded his thoughts. Like this, with his mind and his focus withdrawn until it lay deep within himself, he’d hoped he’d be far enough away from the world that the ghost of you couldn’t reach. 

Yet even deep in meditation, his instincts were set off by the crack! of his rooftop door slamming open.

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his heart racing as he bared his teeth, his body prepared to face whatever threat had just broken in. The sensations of you, at the very least, had quieted during his meditation, which should have left him enough space for some small margin of peace as he threw himself into a fight. But that peace was nowhere to be found, because you were here again. 

He recoiled from that thought the second it crossed his mind. This wasn’t you, that much had become painfully clear. You’d passed away somewhere far beyond his reach, away from the home, the life you’d lived here. The woman that stood on his landing now was nothing but a ghost, a fading memory and a terrible reminder of what he’d had and lost, what he’d earned by daring to reach for something good. There was no undoing it, no washing away the blood on his hands. If anything, how he felt for you had doomed any hopes of you staying long enough for him to reform that connection with you. He knew how you operated—hell, you’d tried to run on that hot summer night so many months ago after seeing just how much he’d cared, even if you’d ultimately changed your mind. At the time, he’d thought it was Destiny, the hand of God ensuring you remained in the Kitchen where Matt could keep you safe from the Man in the White Coat, here in this place where you both might… might shape something good out of all the broken pieces you’d both been left with. He knew better, now. Even the hand of God couldn’t break the curse Matt placed on those he loved. You would leave, leave like all the others, and he deserved it. 

The only question that remained was why you seemed so, so fucking determined to make him suffer. 

“Matt.” Your voice cracked as you stumbled down the stairs. “Matt, I—”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, sweetheart?” he grit out, reaching up to fist his hands tightly in his hair. He’d never known you to be unnecessarily cruel, but there was no other explanation. “God, I-I can’t—you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Matt, just let me—”

“Do you even care how much you’re hurting me?” He hitched out a broken laugh, something bitter and tormented, the sound absent all humor as you made it down the stairs. “All those months, all I wanted was for you to come back. I begged. I prayed to God, over and over again, that he would bring you back to me. And now that you’re gone, you just won’t leave. I can’t get away from you no matter what I do. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone you love only for their ghost to haunt you every time you turn around?”

A soft intake of breath. 

There it was. Now that he’d said it, you’d leave. There would be nothing more frightening to the You he’d first known than a word like love. 

“I just…” His breath hitched again, something thick building in his throat. It was just another sign of his weakness, the same weakness that had gotten you killed. 

‘I warned you, kid,’ came Stick’s voice, so smug that Matt bared his teeth. ‘I fuckin’ warned you the night I opened up her eye. But you didn’t listen.’

He started to pace wildly, ignoring your voice as he hunted for some opening through which he could escape, flee from Stick’s voice hiding in the corners of his thoughts, from your ghost. With every step his movements grew more frantic, more furious as his rage built like a rising wave: rage at himself, at God, at the monster who’d taken your memories and the possibility of a life for you here with Matt, and at you, too, because you just didn’t get it. “I just want to grieve, and God can’t even give me that much, can he? Is that what this is? Punishment? Revenge? Congratulations. Job well done. You can go.” 

You tilted your head as you watched him pace, the same cock of your head you got when considering your potential routes forward. As far as he was concerned, the only route he’d give was a route out the door.  

“I don’t know why you came back, and at this point, I don’t fucking care,” he told you hotly, nothing but burning smoke and thick venom in each word. “We don’t have a red thread anymore. There’s nothing to keep you here. Leave. Now. I’m not asking.”

Your soft response was a single letter, one that struck directly at the open wound inside his chest. 

“...D.” 

He snatched up an empty beer bottle from the kitchen counter in a sudden rage, turned, and hurled it past you. 

You didn’t so much as flinch as the bottle came within inches of your head. Nor did you react to the distant shattering of glass, the sound of it barely audible over his anguished roar. 

“Leave me alone!”  

And then he froze in sudden horror at what he’d done, his heartbeat almost drowning out the soft sound of your steps. All he’d wanted to do was scare you away, frighten you away so he could break where you couldn’t see, because it had hurt, it had hurt to hear you call him—

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

“My Devil Man, my Saint Matthew,” you whispered, the touch of your hands cool and endlessly gentle as you cupped his face. His skin was wet, damp beneath your thumbs as you swiped them across his cheeks, when had he started crying? You brought his head down until you could lay your forehead against his, the taste of salt hanging in the air. Your voice grew achingly tender, so longed for that he swayed helplessly on his feet, wanting nothing more than to be held like you’d held him so often before when he was hurting. “I’m so sorry, D. I’m so sorry I left you alone, sweetheart.” 

He closed his eyes tight, his breath growing shaky. You couldn’t know that he was two steps away from crumbling in your arms, fractures widening with every breath. He had no energy left to fight your touch, your misplaced mercy, but giving into the lie was another thing entirely. He couldn’t bear to hope again, not when it would crush him if he were wrong. “Foggy told you to… he told you to call me that, didn’t he? To see if you’d remember. But I can’t—you’re going to leave me, you’ll—” “Do you remember what I said before I left? Because I do.” You swiped your thumb gently against his cheek, your uneven breathing skipping and falling into rhythm with his as his hands shakily rose. They hovered hesitantly a few inches away from your face, terrified that you might vanish beneath his hands like a ghost. “I don’t leave my box behind, and I won’t leave you behind, either. I told you that you were stuck with me after Nobu. I meant it. It’s really me. I know you’re tired and hurting, sweetheart, but listen to my heart. What does it say? Truth or lie?”

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

He held his breath as he dared at last to touch your cheek, stirring the fine hairs as he stroked his way along the familiar shape of your face, one he’d traced so often in his dreams. Your skin was damp with tears just like his, another sliding down to bump against his thumb as your lips quirked up into a brilliant smile. And the moment his trembling fingers passed your lips, you kissed the tip of each with a warm fondness, a mirror of that night you’d held his broken, torn body and he’d kissed your fingers and palm. 

“How much do you… do you remember?” There was a ringing in his ears as the world beneath him seemed to roll beneath him. “Everything?” “Not everything. Some pieces are still missing, with Foggy and Karen and my job, but I-I remember enough. I remember you, and what I had with you.” Your voice grew fierce and fervent then as you drew in a sharp breath, preparing yourself. “I remember you, D. And I remember that I love you. I love you, Matt Murdock, all of you, so, so much. And I will never leave you alone again.” You loved him. 

You loved him. 

The weight of it—being forced to let you leave the city, the ensuing months alone, the agony of the past few weeks thinking he’d lost you entirely, and now this, this, knowing you loved him like he loved you—hit him all at once, and with a sudden groan he started to drop. You caught him in your arms, the two of you sinking to your knees as you held him tight and he wound desperately around you in return. Only then did he start to fall apart in your arms, shaking in your hold, his grief, his hurt, his relief spilling out in choked gasps where you’d tucked his head down against your neck. He fisted his hands in your shirt as you both rocked, and a ragged moan tore free from him, spilling against your skin when you lifted your hands to trail your fingers lovingly through his hair. You knew, you remembered just how to hold him when he was hurting, a balm across every last wound. His shivering, touch-starved body remembered your touch, too, drowning beneath the sudden surge of good, warm, safe, soft after months of nothing but pain, so much so he couldn’t help but gasp out your name. 

“I’ve got you now, D,” you whispered, burying your face against his shoulder until he could feel the heat of your tears against his shirt, too. “I’m here, now. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, Matt.” 

“I thought you were gone.” There was no way for him to truly sync his breathing with yours, not with the way you were both crying, but still his body tried on instinct, tried and failed over and over again. He closed his eyes tighter, burying his face deeper against your throat as he pulled you in even closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space between your body and his, where he could feel every beat of your heart against his skin, as if to make up for the way he’d almost… almost chased you away. “I thought you’d left me and I was alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, and that I didn’t-I didn’t go with you, but I couldn’t—I’m so, so—” 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok.” You kissed shakily at his hair, his shoulder, and whatever other parts of him you could reach, your breath, your tears, your absolution washing over him like rain. “It’s not your fault, D. It’s not your fault sweetheart. None of this was your fault.” 

“But—” “Hey. Listen to me, before you get any further down in that hole.” You lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his tear-stained face in your hands again. For a moment you both simply breathed with one another, your forehead to his, soaking in the contact, the affection that you’d both dearly missed and needed. “What happened to me outside New York, my memory loss… all of that is not your fault. It never was, D. There are-there are a lot of things we’ll have to deal with in the future, things I need to tell you. Consequences of what we’ve done, and—but this isn’t one of them. Never this. You’re what helped bring me back.” “How? I didn’t…” He let out a breathless, watery little laugh. “I didn’t do anything but try to chase you away.” “Some part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to you. I remembered, deep down, I think.” You gave an amused little huff. “And once Foggy showed me how to get into our thread, all your memories are what brought me back, helped me remember, because I could feel it, how you loved me. That was the key. Speaking of which…” You leaned in to nuzzle up against his cheek, your voice lowering to a whisper. “I think I made you a promise, you ridiculous man. And it’s one I intend to keep.” 

And with one small tip of your head, and a single slow breath… 

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

…your lips brushed against his for the very first time, tender and achingly soft, and so full of love that it would have stolen his breath away if he’d had any left at all. 

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d envisioned months ago just before you left, something triumphant and wild. Nor was it anything like the first kisses he’d imagined before that, the first kiss he’d thought this journey with you might lead to. And God only knew he’d considered kissing you for the first time more than was healthy.

Your first kiss with him was, instead, shaky and gentle, tasting of salt and tears and the fading shades of grief retreating like streamers of night before a welcome sunrise. Slowly, and then more surely, his lips began to move against yours, finally allowing himself to truly taste you for the first time, his eyes slowly falling closed as your fingers ran fondly through his hair, you, it was really you, you remembered. With a quiet moan, he breathed you in deep, calling your grace, your love deep into him until it settled there against his heart, knowing that, no matter what else might come, he would never lose it again, one of his hands rising to tenderly wind around your throat, his other hand finding yours so he could lace his battered fingers tightly with yours.

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d expected, but it felt perfect all the same. 

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

[naughtyneganjdm]

Favorite New Toy

Summary: Getting in trouble landed you into Ray Lasalle's personal chambers where he made a deal with you. Where you end up? Strapped down to his bed completely naked where he gets to have his way with you.

Characters: Ray Lasalle & the reader (OC, second person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59596456

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v, no use of Y/N, female reader, little to no plot, leather, praising kink, spanking, over stimulation, bondage, choking, gagging, paddling, dom/sub, slapping, squirting, use of a riding crop, etc.

Notes: This is day 5 to go with this kinktober list. The prompts I chose were Rough Sex and Bondage. This was the character most requested when I started writing it. I realize I'm behind on my days, but I'm working on it. Slowly, but surely.

Trying to move was useless. You were firmly tied down to the bed. Leather straps were wrapped around both your ankles and your wrists. There was no wiggle room or comfort. Nervous energy flooded your veins.

Why did he leave you here so long?

After you got caught boosting cars, you thought you were done for. And then when you ended up in Judge Ray Lasalle’s chambers and he knew that you had been the getaway driver in a few bank robberies, you were sure that your time was up. But then you were given an ultimatum. Work for Ray or go to jail.

Obviously, you picked the first of the two. But then he wanted more from you. And you weren’t eager to turn him down. Ray Lasalle asked you to come to his fancy apartment in Miami. He was rich, powerful and fucking gorgeous. You’d have to be a fool to say no. Plus, he held a power over you. Who knew if saying no would get you in some kind of trouble. Not that you would have said no.

The first thing he did was bring you into his bedroom, have you strip down and then lay at the center of the bed where he bound you. Now he just had you waiting. Which you wondered if this was part of his game. The coloring of the room you were in had a magenta, purple and blue tint to it. Ray was going for a certain aura with the whole vibe of the room.

Resting your head back, you wondered if this was punishment. Making you lay naked. Waiting.

“Comfortable?” a deep rumble of a raspy voice called out to you and you looked over to see Ray leaning against the doorframe wearing a robe. His hair was slicked back, his dimples prominent showing the amusement he had that you seemed tense at the center of his bed.

“Do I look comfortable?” you wondered, your eyes narrowing in frustration.

“Truth be told? I really don’t care,” Ray confessed with a tiny chuckle, moving over toward his dresser where a few bottles of alcohol were sitting. Pouring himself a drink, Ray turned to you and took a seat on the edge of the dresser. Taking a tiny sip of the drink had Ray wincing as he swallowed. “I don’t want you to be comfortable. I want you to be my subservient. I want you to do as I tell you. Even if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Shifting at the center of the bed, you felt a lump growing in your throat. You wondered if the people that Ray worked with knew he was such a freak capable of making anyone do what he wanted.

“You’ve been a bad girl for a long time, I think it’s good for you to finally understand what it’s like to be in this kind of position,” Ray suggested, finishing up his drink. Setting his glass down, he opened one of the drawers and you saw him pulling out several items that had your pulse growing faster. “I want you to understand that I hold your life in my hand. That’s how important this relationship is between the two of us. Do you understand?”

“I’m starting to,” you panted with Ray moving in beside the bed with two things in hand. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, he set down a gag that made your eyes gaze over it. What was left in his hands was a blindfold. “Shouldn’t we have a safe word? What if I decide this is too much and I want to stop?”

“You won’t,” Ray assured you with a wink, lifting your head up enough to wrap the blindfold around your eyes. It completely blacked out the light which made you nervous. When you felt his fingers touching your jaw you took the hint that he wanted you to open your mouth so he could put the gag there. The gag was the most uncomfortable part. “Good girl.”

Now you couldn’t speak or see. He was really taking the point home with this whole your life was in his hands thing. Shuddering, you felt his hand faintly skimming over your abdomen having you arch up toward him. Surprisingly, you never wanted to be touched by someone more. Dragging his fingertips over your ribcage, you heard a deep rumble fall from his throat. This was entertaining him. You were shaking and he knew what he was doing to you.

Small shapes were being drawn over your flesh and you sucked in a sharp breath of air. The two of you hadn’t even talked about what was going to happen between you. He just demanded you strip down to nothing and you did. And then in a silent agreeance you let him bound you to the bed. Maybe you should have been more nervous than you actually were. You couldn’t defend yourself from this man and you hardly knew him. Hell, he threatened you the first time you met him, yet you allowed this to happen.

“Look at you,” Ray hummed, his fingertips circling your nipple getting you to purr out at the contact. “You are such a beautiful thing, aren’t you?”

Every touch was soft, just skimming his flesh over yours. Hovering his hand over your chest, he went to the other breast and circled the nipple with his thumb. Your nipples were hard, aching from just the simple touch.

“For so long you’ve been running free, untamed,” Ray rambled finally lowering his palm down between the valley of your breasts. Sliding his hand down, he caressed in over your hip and hummed. “You need to be tamed because you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Your breathing was becoming uneven, making it harder for you to breathe with this gag in your mouth. Tipping your head back, you felt the warmth of his palm slide between your thighs. Grasping at your mound firmly had your heart hammering in your chest. It was just a soft caress over your body, but when he pulled his hand away you knew it was because he wanted to get you riled up.

“You’re lucky someone like me showed up in your life,” you heard him whisper with the weight on the bed adjusting. It was completely dark, you had no idea what he was doing until his short stubble scratched at the flesh just near your navel. Following it was faint kisses that had you purring out which sounded ridiculous against the gag. “The wrong person was going to get their nails in you one day. It’s best for you that it was me.”

Small nibbles against your flesh turned to bites that you were sure was going to leave marks. Kissing down over your hip toward your thighs had you hoping that he would pleasure you, but you knew the idea was too good to be true when he got up from the bed.

“We’re gonna start with something easy,” Ray slurred and it was followed by a gentle tickling sensation right below your bellybutton. The sensation slid up under your breasts and he clicked his tongue at the top of his mouth. You sucked in a sharp breath of air with the faint sensation teasing at your nipples. “It’s a feather teaser. Not too bad, right?”

All you could do was nod as he dragged the feather teaser down between your thighs and then up again to circle each of your breasts. It was then you felt a firm pinch to your nipple causing you to cry out against the gag. He pinched at the other nipple before the soft feathery touch of the teaser was back at your breasts again.

“Maybe we should take it a step up,” he thought aloud and you heard shuffling amongst the darkness. A moment passed before you felt the cool drag of leather up over the inside of your ankle. It made you suck in a sharp breath with the first gentle smack of whatever it was against your thigh. It left your flesh with a tingling, warm sensation. A deep amused rumble filled the air from Ray and he sighed loudly. “You know, the riding crop is essential for horse riding. It keeps the communication open between the rider and the horse. In this situation, I prefer to use it in terms of punishment.”

Another smacking down surrounded you with the pinging sensation over your flesh after he smacked at your inner thigh again. A few more whacks of the riding crop over your flesh had you panting. When he dragged it under your breasts it had you whimpering. At your breasts, he gave your body fainter smacks of it against your skin, but it still made a point.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Ray mused with the bed dipping again. The warmth of him beside you was felt. Then his palm covered your warmth again. Caressing at the flesh until he teased his fingers over the length of your sex between your folds. Meeting your clitoris with his rough fingertips had you arching up toward him. “I’m gonna destroy you in the best of ways.”

His touch was rough. You arched your hips up toward him enjoying the circular motions over your sensitive bundle of nerves. It felt like everything was spinning around you along with his touch. Dragging his fingers down from your clitoris to your entrance, he teased small circles over that as well before inserting a long slender digit. Pumping his finger into you, it didn’t take long for him to add a second with his skin smacking up against yours. Rocking toward the movements of his fingers, you did your best not to hyperventilate with this gag in your mouth, but what he was doing felt so good. It was incredibly rough, but he was hitting all the right spots inside of you. Using his opposite hand, Ray caressed at your clit firmly, matching the tempo that he set inside of you.

It was sensory overload. With your eyesight taken from you, it felt like everything was enhanced in sensation twice as much. Every touch, every caress felt amazing. By this alone? You knew that Ray knew how to pleasure the human body. Knowing exactly where to touch, how much pressure to use and how to set a mood.

“Almost there,” Ray’s voice coached you, keeping up the pace. You wanted to cry out, but it just came out as muffled sounds. Your thighs were tremoring with an ache at the pit of your belly. Every inch of you felt like it was on fire with you throwing your head back into the pillows. Continuing to finger you had wet sounds filling the bedroom along with Ray growling. “Good girl.”

Still, even after he made you come he kept up with his movements until he was satisfied. When he pulled his fingers from your body, you were still shaking. Panting against the gag he had in your mouth, you were fighting for air, but still were managing.

“See, I told you I was good for you. I’ll have you squirting plenty more by the time this night is over,” Ray assured you and you wondered how much more you could take. There was a pressure in your head along with your heart racing. You felt it in your chest and temples. Your bounds were being taken off your ankles and Ray was not gentle in the way that he flipped you over onto your stomach. You didn’t have the energy to move. You weren’t going to fight this. “Look at that ass.”

A firm spank to your bottom had you crying out, your hands squeezing tightly into fists. Smack. There was another. Followed by three more. When the weight shifted and he moved from the bed you were thankful. Your flesh was on fire with how hard he was spanking you.

Well, you were thankful. Until you felt the weight of something else at the fleshy part of your bottom. Trying to figure out what it was, it didn’t take long until it was being brought against your ass having you bounce forward. It was undoubtedly a paddle that he was using. Another hit was over your bottom and something that resembled a moan escaped him. Oh, this man was dark. Yet it had you soaking wet, wanting every part of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” Ray hummed, giving your ass a break by palming over it in gentle caresses. You only could picture what it looked like. Your flesh was stinging and you whined when he brought his hand down over your ass again. “Have you had enough with the spanking?”

You could have taken more, but you decided to nod. It made him snicker, but you heard the weight of the paddle dropping on the ground beside the bed. Moving in over you, you felt him straddling you from behind and what followed surprised you. He started massaging your back. Up toward your shoulders and then down again.

Comforting and relaxing you. Well that was a pleasant surprise. And then soft kisses started to follow the caress of his hands. Shuddering, you felt the warmth of his breath pressing in over the side of your neck. The weight of him was over you, trapping you beneath him.

“I have to warn you ahead of time,” Ray whispered, peppering faint kisses at your neck and over your jawline. “I have a big cock. It’s thick. It hurts. Especially with the way I fuck. But the hurt quickly disappears. Are you going to be okay with that?”

You barely considered the question before nodding. If you weren’t comfortable with that, would he really be letting you out of this? No. But the promise of having a big cock gave you something to look forward to.

“Good girl,” he praised you, lowering his hands to squeeze at your sore bottom. “Get up on your knees for me sweetheart.”

That was a harder request. With your hands cuffed to the bed, there was nothing for you to brace your weight on. Trying to get up, you needed his assistance to get you onto your knees. Pushing into the back of your neck, Ray got you how he wanted you. You felt the warmth of him behind you and by the way his body felt against yours, you knew that he was still wearing his robe.

His hands started at your hips, caressing down over toward your thighs. Squeezing at the flesh, he ran his rough palms back up over your lower abdomen and toward your breasts. Gently, he cupped the flesh in his large palms and it had you cooing out. Your body was very confused between both the roughness and tenderness he showed you.

Bucking forward into you had a purr escaping your lips. More than anything you wanted him inside of you right now, but you assumed this was just going to be a night of him doing exactly what he wanted. And right now, he just wanted to touch you. It had you a shaking mess with the way he caressed at all parts of your body.

Gasping against the gag, you tried to balance yourself as he tugged at your hips placing you exactly where he wanted you. Dragging his hands down your back, he gave your ass a firm squeeze. The weight shifted behind you and you felt hot kisses being pressed against your lower back. His hands squeezed at the back of your thighs. And that’s when you felt him nip at your bottom. It had you bouncing forward and he laughed at your flesh.

Mouthing down over your ass toward the back of your thigh, Ray kissed at your flesh until the warmth of his breath lingered over your most intimate parts. It had you tremoring. You were a quivering mess already and he was teasing you with how close he got to you.

“That is such a pretty pussy,” he stammered, his fingertips running a line along the length of your sex. A warmth dragged through your folds and you realized it was the tip of his tongue drawing lines over your body. A growl vibrated against your flesh having you bounce forward, but his hands kept a firm hold of your hips to keep you where you were. You were already sensitive from the orgasm he gave you earlier. Gradually, he started to kiss at your folds, sucking and nibbling occasionally. “Oh, you taste like honey…”

A deep rumble of a groan escape his throat and you bounced your hips back toward him wanting him to go back to pleasuring you. Hell, your body was begging for it. And by the sound he made? He knew it. Instead of giving you exactly what you wanted, he let the warmth of his breath linger over you. You whined. You wished you could talk to beg for him to continue, but this was the reason he put the gag in your mouth. To torture you.

This heightened all of your senses and by the time his mouth covered your body again you were shaking. You were a fucking mess and you knew it. The length of his tongue dragged a line from your clit to your entrance and back again. Repeating his movements a few more times, Ray suckled at your flesh before circling his tongue at your entrance. The grab he had on your body so he could feast on you was strong and forceful. His tongue prodding at your body, plunging into it in a teasing fashion.

Without warning he flipped you onto your back again. A hiss escaped you. The leather cuffs hurt with the way your wrists twisted. Ray hooked an arm around your thigh to pull you close to him. Burying his head between your thighs, his tongue went right back to lapping at your clitoris with his fingers pushing back inside of you. Again, he was focusing on your g-spot while his lips and tongue worked wonders over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You were shaking and tremoring. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to see him. But both of those things weren’t a possibility. He made sure of that. Hell, you couldn’t even beg him to let you see him. The gag made sure of that. You were at his mercy.

What he was doing was testing your limits. Punishing you, but in ways that you didn’t necessarily hate. If this was the kind of punishment he gave out, you’d openly welcome it.

“C’mon sweetheart,” Ray slurred against your flesh sending chills throughout your body. The sound of his voice alone was intoxicating enough, but what he was doing? It was such a euphoric sensation that you just wanted more of it. Whining against the gag, you rocked up toward him. A snicker escaped him before his tongue dragged across your sensitive flesh. For a judge, he knew his way around the human body. Which told you he did this a lot. You weren’t his first, you were his one of many. That thought was quick to leave you though when you felt that all too familiar sensation returning. Desperately rocking your hips against his motions had him humming out when you pulled your hips up and away from him. The sound of his moan filled the air and you were crying out against the gag. After an orgasm like that? You wondered if you were going to make it through the night or if he was actually trying to kill you. “Perfect.”

Your body lay limp at the center of his bed with his fingers lazily pulling themselves from your body. You couldn’t see him, but you knew that he was proud. Arrogance filled the room and his amused sound rumbled around you. This man had turned you into a mess already.

“Now, I hope you continue to be a good girl,” Ray spoke clearly, getting up from the bed. Your head was aching. Your heart racing and your body exhausted, but in the best of ways. “We’re far from done here and I’m gonna need you to keep up with things. Don’t disappoint me.”

God. That made you worried. After all this? The last thing you ever wanted to do was disappoint him because this? This was incredible. You didn’t want things like this to end. No one had been able to bring out orgasms like this from you. Especially so easily.

“I’m gonna take this gag off you, but I don’t want you to say anything. Do you understand?” he reached for your chin, grabbing it firmly between his fingers. A sharp tug had you wincing, but you nodded immediately after. He made his point. “Good girl.”

Right now, he was doing most of the work. You could barely move your body. He knew that. Lifting your head was even harder. When he finally got the gag from your mouth, you let out an involuntary wince. There was a large amount of spit that had come from it being there. The corners of your mouth actually hurt and it left your jaw aching. A thud filled the air and you assumed that it was Ray dropping the gag on the nightstand that was beside the bed.

“You have such beautiful lips,” Ray sat down on the bed beside you reaching out to sweep his thumb in over your bottom lip. Dragging the pad of his thumb agonizingly slow against your flesh caused a purr to fall from your lips. “I bet you give an incredible blowjob with that mouth.”

Taking the hint, you took his thumb between your lips sucking softly at it. A groan escaped him followed by an impressed sound. Instead of allowing you to continue, he pulled his thumb from your lips with a wet sound. Gasping out, you felt his arms hooking around your body to pull you into a seated position with your back against the headboard. It wasn’t the most comfortable position because he didn’t pull you up all the way, but you knew what he was doing.

Once again, he was back on the bed over you. The sounds of what you assumed to be him pulling apart his robe was heard. Pretty soon you were expecting him to be shoving his cock into your mouth, but you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands cupped at your face. That made your breathing uneven with his thumbs caressing at the sides of your face.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Ray slurred and the warmth of his breath lingering over yours made you want him. God, you didn’t know how much you wanted him to kiss you until this moment. Lifting up, you went in search of him in attempts to kiss him, but you couldn’t find him. This damn blindfold made everything hard. If Ray was going to kiss you? He was going to do it when he wanted to do it. Not when you wanted it. Hushing you, Ray’s bottom lip skimmed over yours and you tremored. Why was this something you wanted so fucking much? “You want me to kiss you?”

Giving a simple nod, you knew that you couldn’t talk. So you didn’t. You imagined you made him smile by your reaction. The warmth of his breath grew closer and you knew that he wasn’t far from you. But you weren’t going to push it. You wanted to show that you could be good.

After what felt like an eternity, Ray covered your lips with his. The kiss was slow, barely giving you more than just a little bit to have you yearning for him. Taking a pause, he pulled back slightly and you wanted to whine, but you didn’t. And you were thankful that you kept your mouth shut because this time he kissed you harder. It was a dominant sweep of his lips over yours, claiming you as his. The grasp his fingers had at your jawline grew tighter. The kiss grew in strength with every caress his mouth made against yours. Something about the way he tasted was addictive. Who were you kidding? Everything about this man was addictive.

The simple brush of his tongue over yours sent chills throughout your entire body. You never wanted him to stop kissing you. Maybe it was because you were blindfolded, but each touch of his lips over yours felt so good that you couldn’t even understand it. With your senses taken away, he knew what to do in order to drive you utterly wild with desire.

Pulling back with a growl, Ray’s fingers slid down over your throat. His thumb pressing at the soft, fleshy part getting you to suck in a sharp breath of air. Movement was felt in front of you. Again, you wished that you could see him. This was incredible, but you felt like getting to see him would have been the most amazing addition to this whole experience.

“Now I’m gonna put my cock in your mouth,” Ray informed you and that excited you. It wasn’t often the idea of giving a man oral sex had you thrilled like this. “I want you to be slow. I want there to be a build up and then I’m gonna be rough with you. I’m gonna wait until your ready and then I’m gonna fuck your throat.”

Licking your lips, you felt a lump growing in your throat, “Nod if you understand.”

Without even giving it any consideration, you nodded.

“Good girl,” he praised you again. This time his movements were slow, the bed dipping when he straddled over your body. Patiently, you waited. Soon you were rewarded with a soft rumble of a moan and you heard movements before you. Imaging what was happening, you pictured that he had just taken himself from his boxers and he was caressing over his body. You must have not been far off because soon you were given the faintest of teases of what you assumed to be the tip of his cock over your lips. Mewling out, you pressed a faint kiss at it. Extending your tongue out, you brushed faintly at the velvety skin getting a sharp exhale to escape his lips. “That’s it.”

Start slow. That was the direction he gave you. So that’s what you did. You wet your lips, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses at the tip of Ray’s manhood. Then you dragged your tongue out across the ridges of it. This was the only way you could create an image of what his dick looked like without seeing it. That movement had him bucking his hips toward you and it made you feel good that he wanted more from you. If he wanted more? You’d give him that. Dragging your tongue over the slit collected the taste of him and it made you moan. If you had your hands, you knew this would be such a better experience for the both of you, but they had now become numb with being cuffed to the headframe. Circling your tongue over his body, you were careful with the way you moved. Not wanting to hurt him.

Parting your lips further, you took Ray into your mouth realizing that he wasn’t totally hard and you could tell that he was being honest with you. By the length of his partially erect cock in your mouth, you knew that he was big. Taking him as far back into your throat as you could, you heard his groan surround you. Then his fingers hooked at the back of your head. Your nose buried against his groin knowing that when he was fully hard that wasn’t going to likely be possible. Dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft when you pulled back had his length growing harder.

Keeping him in your mouth like this would certainly leave to you choking if you allowed him to get completely rigid in your mouth, so you pulled your head back. It didn’t take long with the bobs of your head and the laps of your tongue at his sensitive flesh for him to be completely solid inside of your mouth.

“That’s it,” he coached you, helping to move your head over his body now. Your tongue lapped at the prominent veins over his shaft, your throat opening up to him to try to give him what he truly desired from you. Spit was collecting at the corners of your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut when he started to follow through with exactly what he promised. Both of his hands grabbed a hold of your head. After that, he started thrusting into your throat. Like this, you couldn’t really bob your head over his length. You just sat there, allowing him to use you the way he needed. You could only breathe out of your nose, your throat making a very wet, gagging sound every time his cock hit the back of it. When you felt like it was too much, he seemed to pick up on it with him pulling his hips back. Spit was dribbling from your lips with you panting, but he seemed to caress over your jawline trying to comfort and calm you. “Open up.”

Your jaw was hurting. Ray didn’t fuck around when he told you that he was thick. Between this and the gag? You were going to be feeling it later. Parting your lips for him allowed him to push his girthy cock back into your mouth and down your throat. Now it was getting harder. Each movement made it hard to breathe and you were fighting gagging. When you felt like he might ease up, he instead pushed you down his cock as far as possible. You didn’t want to wiggle too much. The last thing you wanted was to throw up or actually choke. It lasted what felt like a long time, even if it wasn’t. Coughing, you tried to get the air back into your lungs when he let you pull from his cock. You couldn’t imagine you looked very pretty right now. Tears were developing at your eyes beneath the blindfold from nearly choking and he brought up a lot of spit.

“And now you have me ready for you,” Ray breathed, sweeping his thumb over the side of your face after he collected it again. Rewarding you with a lingering kiss, you knew by the sound that he made that he liked the taste of himself over you. Wincing, you felt him forcefully turn you over again bringing you to your knees. Fuck, he threw you around like a ragdoll and he really didn’t care how rough he was with you. This time you were rewarded with the sensation of his thighs pressing in behind you. Expecting him to just jump right into this was stupid. He didn’t jump right into anything. No, what followed was a firm smack over your bottom. It had you bouncing forward, but he brought you right back to him. God, it hurt. It hurt to the point that it reminded you of all the earlier spanks he did over your bottom previously. And then there was another. And then another. God, you were getting so wet from this. You shouldn’t have. Your ass was going to hurt later but having him spanking you had turned you on more than you ever thought possible. “Oh, honey. You are fucking soaked. I love that.”

Tracing his fingertips over the length of your sex, Ray hummed with your arousal coating his fingers. It sounded like it impressed him that you were actually turned on by this whole thing. There was silence and a lack of touch. You hated it. But you were too afraid to say anything in case he got upset with you. So you waited.

A moment later, you cried out when he led himself toward your entrance. He didn’t wait to thrust forward, sinking the swollen tip into your body. This wasn’t about comfort now. Swiftly, he thrust forward bottoming out inside of you. Filling you completely to the hilt. Involuntarily, you bounced forward, but he pulled you right back to him. He wasn’t going to let you off that easily. Fuck, he felt even bigger inside of you than he did when you were giving him a blowjob. It left you with an ache from the incredibly full, stretching sensation. Staying stagnant inside of you wasn’t helping. Wiggling your hips, you wanted some kind of movement. You needed it.

Tsking, Ray’s grasp on your hips grew tighter, not allowing you to move. You whined.

“Please,” you begged eliciting a disappointed breath. Palming up over the center of your back toward your shoulder, Ray’s fingers wrapped around your mouth to keep you silenced.

“I said no words,” he reminded you, pulling his hips back so it was just the tip barely inside of you. Then he smacked forward, filling you completely again. Gasping against the palm of his hand, your eyes slammed shut. You were feeling all of him. There was no question about that. “Now, I’m gonna take longer because you were bad.”

Smack. Another firm spank covered your bottom with his girthy length inside of you. Panting against his hand, you wished he would just fuck you. But you stayed still like he demanded of you. Yet, you couldn’t stop the tiny tremors that you had on your knees.

“Good girl,” he complimented you, releasing your mouth and returning his hand to your hips. The most delicious sounding moan escaped his throat. Even though he was trying to play a hard game with you here, he still was reacting to how snuggly he fit inside of you. “Goddamn.”

Good. This time you were glad that your pussy was effecting him in that kind of way. Wincing, you felt him pushing into your shoulders to get you to lower down closer to the bed. Not exactly was that the most comfortable of positions with your hands locked into place, but you did what you could. It left your ass in the air allowing him to grab firmly to your hips.

That’s when he finally gave in. At first it was slow movements. Very pronounced and drawn out. Every pull back was agonizing and every thrust forward had you bouncing up toward the headboard. Yeah, you were going to be feeling this tomorrow. Probably even the day after that.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ray growled out, his fingers digging firmly into your hips helping to lead you over his fat cock time and time again. “I think you just might become my favorite toy to play with.”

So that’s what you were now. His toy?

Focusing more on that would have driven you crazy because soon his thrusts grew in both strength and speed. Now, he was wincing and moaning. Matching the sounds you were making. It was also nice because that ache was starting to mix with pleasure. It was strange how the two walked hand in hand.

“I knew the moment you walked into my court that you would be fun,” Ray boasted, hissing out with his rough thrusts behind you. It wasn’t long before he was plowing into you from behind. It led you further toward the headboard. Crawling forward had him matching your movements until you were up on your knees pressed firmly against the headboard. It gave your wrists a break, but with him on his knees pressed against you from behind it only enhanced the sensation of everything more. Ray’s nose was buried against the side of your neck, his hands holding tightly to your hips with him smacking up against you. Now he had you moaning like a bitch in heat. You wanted to grab onto something, but he was fucking you so masterfully that you honest to God felt like you were going to pass out. “You can say my name.”

Being given permission to speak? That wasn’t something you expected, so you happily took it. Whimpering out his name and moaning it between broken breaths. Which only seemed to fuel him even more.

“You were fucking made for me,” Ray’s arm hooked around the front of you, his fingers connecting with your clit which was already so sensitive. His touch was rough, matching that of his thrusts. The headboard was smacking against the wall helping you to realize just how hard he was fucking you. “Tell me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you didn’t have to fight him on that one. Ray bit at your jaw, his winces growing louder. “Jesus Ray.”

An amused rumble followed when he pulled his hips back with another wet sound erupting from your body. Falling in against the headboard, you sobbed with your whole body shaking. That one sent a rush throughout every part of you with an ache at your head that had you certain you blacked out for a moment. Your breathing was uneven with him yanking at your legs to pull you back down the bed. Getting you onto your back, Ray pushed into your thighs getting your legs up toward your chest.

Balancing his weight on his palms, Ray moved in over you and you liked the weight of him there. Hissing out, Ray thrust forward and he was inside of you again with one fluid movement. You enjoyed that he was a verbal lover. This wouldn’t have been anywhere near as good if he wasn’t. His moans were like music to your ears. When you heard it, you just wanted more.

Again the headboard was slamming against the wall. You were surprised that the bed nor the wall was breaking. This was the hardest fuck you had ever been given in your life, but you liked it. It was going to drain you and it would leave you aching, but you knew you’d be thanking Ray for it afterwards.

“Do you like squirting like a fucking fountain?” Ray breathed out, pushing himself in closer to you.

Fuck, you were too lost in this to even respond. The drag of his hand across the side of your face was felt followed by him firmly smacking at your cheek. Hissing in a sharp breath, you nodded and he chuckled, “I fucking love it.”

“Of course you do,” Ray lowered down enough to press a kiss at the tender flesh over the side of your face. Every plunge in this position felt that much deeper and he was hitting spots you wondered if you ever felt before with another man. “You fucking belong to me now. You understand that?”

You nodded. When he smacked at your face again, you knew that he wanted you to speak, “Yes. I’m yours. I don’t want to be anyone else’s.”

“That’s a good girl,” he rumbled, driving you crazy with the way his body moved inside of yours. Not to sound pathetic, but you actually did wonder if Ray had ever killed someone before because this was all very extreme and hard on the body. Of course, it wouldn’t be a horrible way to die. Being forced to have multiple earth-shattering orgasms was probably a good way to go for most people. “I want you to try something. Something that feels really good and I know from experience. I’m gonna make you come, but I’m going to be choking you. Is that okay?”

Shockingly, you nodded. Lowering your legs, Ray’s body covered yours, balancing his weight on his left arm. Wincing when his fingers curled around your throat, you felt only a soft pressure at first. You were surprised that he asked for your permission with this one, “If it gets to be too much, tap the headboard.”

One single nod was all it took for Ray to be back at pounding inside of you again. And that’s when his grasp tightened. It was firm and you wondered if you were going to be regretting this. By the sounds that Ray was making, you assumed he was close to his release too. Lifting your hips, you wanted to meet every thrust he made over you. You loved that deep penetration, especially with how full you felt with him. Having your hips lifted allowed the friction of his groin against your clit too which only made this whole thing enhanced.

Fuck, you were starting to get lightheaded. Maybe this was too much.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” Ray hummed against your ear and it sent chills throughout your body. “When I come, I’m going to fill you up with my cum. Paint the walls of your tight little cunt with my seed. Would you like that.”

With a tiny nod, you knew you couldn’t do much more. Especially since his fingers were wrapped so firmly around your throat. By now the ache was growing. Both in your head and in the pit of your belly. Something that resembled a gurgled moan was escaping your lips from the air that you still had. Your brain wanted to tap the headboard, but your body wanted this oncoming orgasm. With a wail, your whole body shook and Ray’s lips covered yours. Kissing you firmly and being very dominant with you. Even with your orgasm, his grasp didn’t let up. Things felt like they were fading, but you didn’t know since your world was already dark.

“Fuck…” Ray roared against your lips smacking firmly up against you, his fingers releasing your throat. Inhaling sharply had the air filling your lungs again and everything felt like it was spinning. Inside of you, you felt him throbbing. His release was warm with him bucking up against you through his orgasm. And by the time he was done, Ray had fallen in over you with his head buried against the side of your neck. Silence filled the room, you didn’t have the strength to speak or move. By the time he unhooked your wrists, you didn’t know if you even had any sensation left in your arms. It would likely take a while for it to come back. Ray’s fingers hooked with yours and you knew that his cock was growing soft inside of you. “Amazing.”

Pushing the blindfold from over your eyes did nothing at first. It took a while for your eyes to grow used to the dim light again, but by the time that your eyesight finally did come back, it made your heart skip a beat. Ray’s hair was messy and his body was covered in a thin sheet of sweat. It had the dark curls of hair sticking to the flesh of his torso.

“You okay?” Ray confirmed, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip which you happily kissed at. It made him smile and suck in a sharp breath of air. You nodded. “Good.”

Getting up on his knees, Ray pushed into your thighs watching closely when he pulled his cock from your body. The sensation of his cum sliding down your body was hard to miss and the smile he had over his handsome features told you that he enjoyed it.

“Give yourself some time,” Ray instructed, sweeping his thumb across your clit and it had your hips tremoring against him. An amused rumble escaped his parted lips when he pulled back and away from you. It was the first time you got to see his naked body and you actually appreciated the way it looked. Moving toward the bathroom, Ray reached for a wet hand towel to wipe himself off and your throat went dry looking at him. Rolling over onto your stomach, you were in absolute awe of him. Noticing that you were watching him had Ray’s smile growing larger over his features. Moving back into the room, Ray snatched his robe from the floor and pulled it over his naked form leaving it still open in the front. “You are so high off my cock right now.”

Pouring himself another drink, Ray took his time finishing that one down before moving in beside the bed again to lower himself beside you. Caressing over the lengths of your body, Ray hummed and nodded slowly, “I think this is gonna be the best business proposition of your life.”

----

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[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: Language, Smut, 18+, NSFW

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER FOUR

The doors to the loft suite that Joe was staying in swung open to reveal the damp pair. Nessa enters before him, her eyes immediately shifting to the high ceilings above them. Her lips part, and she lets out a breath. “Wow,” she starts. “I have never been in a hotel room this big before.” She says, turning to face the large man behind her. He was dumping their clothes onto the L-shaped couch in the center of the suite. “Calling this a room would be an insult, right?” She asks, getting a chuckle out of him. “This is like a condo.” She corrects herself.

Joe glances briefly at the floor, an award-winning smile on his lips. “It can be whatever you want it to be,” He says humbly. “Room works.” He assures her. Vanessa turns away from him once more, now walking over to the wall of windows that overlooked downtown Miami. Reflections of lights below filled her eyes, brightening them more than ever. For the first time, she felt like a tourist in the city she’s known her entire life. It’s the same one she’s known for thirty-two years. Same buildings, same lights, same trees, same ocean, same night sky, but here, with him in this room, it felt different. Something felt different. 

And he’d agree. 

The dazzling smile he wore so perfectly melted as he watched her. He's now putting one foot in front of the other. He felt great turmoil as he slowly walked toward her. Though his mind was sure of what Joe was about to do, his heart was beating out of his chest. His head filled with the thunderous rhythm of his heartbeat, but the vigorous flutter made him feel like he was having an out-of-body experience. Perhaps he was.

Silence makes Nessa anxious, and it’s quiet behind her—a little too quiet. She turns, meeting his gaze for only a moment. His large hands were on her face, pulling her in for a grand kiss. Slowly, she sucked in a breath, her body finally catching up to what was happening. Her lips would move against his in that same passionate manner from before. Her hands find the center of his chest, her nails curving around the mounds of his collarbones as she felt him out. Her fingers curl against the thickness of his throat before her left arm takes the lead and wraps around his neck. His warm hands moved from her face, his knees bending as his palms quickly found the flesh of her under thighs. He hoists her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his thick torso with ease.

Her right-hand travels up his shoulder and down his back, capturing water droplets. His skin was feverish compared to the icy touch of his wet locks against her skin. Despite the contrasting temperatures, goosebumps developed, stimulating her.

Joe swayed slightly with this kiss, his equilibrium getting the best of him. He felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the unknown. He takes two steps forward, pinning the woman in his arms against the glass behind her. She breaks the kiss, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she arches off the chilled surface. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologizes frantically. His brown eyes were wide with guilt. He takes a few steps back from the glass. “Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” she promises. “It just…startled me, that’s all.” She laughs slightly.

“Okay.” He nods once. 

Silence fell on the pair as they searched each other’s eyes. Their chests quickly rose and fell as they recovered from that head-swimming kiss. Vanessa brings her free hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Who was this man that had this beguiling hold on her? She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. God, how can one man be so attractive, and what could he want with me? She thought. “Can I be honest?” He asks as if he could read her mind. 

Without a word, she nods, her eyes venturing down to his full lips. His lips appeared swollen and perfectly pink. “Would you…” He drifts off. Asking for sex was always awkward for him. “I mean, if you’d like?” He finishes. Consent was the number one rule of the game with Joe. He would do nothing she didn’t want him to do. If she just wanted to kiss all night, he would do that with no questions asked, no pressure given, but if she allows him to do this, he’ll make it an unforgettable evening for her. 

He didn’t have to finish his words for her to know what he was asking. He wanted her, and the feeling was mutual. She could feel her temperature rising by the second, the fever that Joe was feeling transferring to her. She’d release her bottom lip from her teeth, her body nearly screaming at her to allow him to put out the blaze that he started.

Slowly, she leans down, letting her lips hover over his. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she murmurs. If it weren’t for the glasses of wine, she probably wouldn’t be here in this room. She’d be in an Uber on her way home by now, and he would have let her go. Liquid courage prevails for both parties. Nessa presses a teasing kiss to his bottom lip. “Take me.” She tells him, now gently kissing his top lip.

Joe elongates his neck, closing that toying gap between the pair. Their lips reconnect for the third time tonight, but only briefly. He reluctantly parted from her, his head turning as he did so. His eyes darted around the room as if he had forgotten where he was. Brown eyes landed on the stairs that lined the east wall, his legs carrying them over to it. He ascends the steps quickly, taking two steps at a time.

Nessa glances behind them, watching as they quickly leave the first floor. She giggles, her legs tightening around the man.“Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.” She tells him. Joe stops at the top of the steps, a huff leaving his lips. His heart had an extra reason to soar thanks to the weighted cardio he had just endured. 

“I know, I know,” He breathes. “I’m just…” He drifts off when she pulls back to look at him. The moment their eyes meet, his thoughts leave. “Just…”

“Excited?” She finishes. He lifts his eyebrows at her, considering her word choice. He presses his lips together, pushing them up into his nose.

“Something like that.” He murmurs. 

Vanessa unwraps her arms from his neck, her small hands resting on either side of his face. He is one beautiful man, she thought. Though she wanted to tell him that, her brain would stop her. Joe is well aware of his beauty. He wakes up and looks at himself in a mirror every morning. Women probably jump at the opportunity to have his attention, and men likely envy him. Joe was undeniably handsome—there was no denying that. “Something like that.” She repeats. Her thumbs would brush over his cheekbones briefly before she leaned in to kiss him again. 

Joe could find his way to the bed now. It was a straight shot back, ten steps, and he would be there. One, he thought as he took the first step. He takes the next step, counting silently in his head with each step he takes. Nine, ten—. The front of his thighs hit the edge of the bed, informing him he had reached his destination.

He leans over and presses Nessa into the soft bedding beneath them, their lips still attached. His hands slide up the curves of her hips, his fingers wrapping around the elastic of her underwear. He breaks the kiss, standing from her. Joe taps her left hip, silently requesting to remove her undergarment. 

Without a word, Vanessa lifts her hips, allowing Joe to remove the damp panty clinging to her skin. He balls up the article of clothing and tosses it over his right shoulder. His hand would move between her legs, finding her warm, wet center. In response, she shivers at the feel of his hand against her. Two fingers would slide along her folds before slowly pushing into her. She sucked in a loud gasp as she squeezed Joe’s hips with her thighs, her back slightly arching off the mattress. He presses his right knee into the bed, leaning over her again.

Joe would kiss her lips to her cheek, trailing along her jawline, before burying his face in the softness of her throat. His thick fingers move slowly within her, pulling a scant breath from her with each thrust of his hand. He hungrily kisses her neck, biting and sucking to create little markings on her throat. 

Wow, they were really about to do this. Despite both previously deciding not to pursue this course of action, they ultimately ended up in bed together. Hypocrites. Drunken, lustful hypocrites. Oh well, this will be a problem for tomorrow if they want to consider it one. Either way, the pair would have to address it.

“Joe,” she moans, her hips moving against his hand now. Her breathing gradually became labored, her body feeling like a fire was consuming it. She was bound to orgasm soon. It had been so long since the last time she had even cared to be intimate with someone, and this feeling she was experiencing was not containable. His hand would quicken in pace, drawing her closer and closer to her climax. “Wait, wait…” she panted. She squeezes his hips with her thighs once more, her hips tensing as she does so. Toes would curl against the edge of the bed as Vanessa pushed her hips further into the mattress.

Her walls begin to spasm around his fingers as she cums. “God!” She exclaims, relaxing into the bed once more. Joe lifts his head from her throat, his dark hair covering their faces. Her chest rose and fell as she attempted to catch her breath. That was...wow. Their eyes would lock with each other only briefly. Joe removes his fingers from her, causing her eyes to flutter at the sensation. He brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly lapping her fluids from them. He maintained eye contact, humming at the taste while he did this.

That was the hottest thing she had ever seen before. Heat settled between her legs again, followed by a swelling pulse. Vanessa flips them over, trading places with the man now beneath her. She sits up in his lap, her hands grabbing the bralette she had on. She tugs it over her head, tossing it to the side to join her underwear on the floor.

Dark locks would perfectly frame themselves around his face as Joe stared up at the naked woman above him. His tongue would drag along his bottom lip at the sight. The growing bulge in his boxer briefs was aching to be free from its fabric confines. His hands would find her thighs, his thumbs caressing the skin beneath the pads.

Nessa reaches forward, her hand wedging between the bed and the back of his neck. She pulls the man up to her, their lips colliding in a ravenous kiss. Joe wraps a strong arm around her waist, lifting off the bed slightly. His other hand was peeling the elastic band of his underwear down, freeing his lower half from the piece of clothing. 

Without hesitation, Nessa reaches down between the pair. Her hand wraps around the shaft of his cock, positioning it at her entrance. She breaks the kiss, a shaky breath leaving her mouth as she lowers herself onto him. "Fuck," He breathes. Their foreheads gently pressed against each other in response to the feel. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of soft panting as she started to move her hips. 

Her head drops back, exposing her throat to the man beneath her. His warm breath tickled her neck as his lips grazed its surface. Joe shudders slightly before allowing that muscle within his mouth to taste her skin. Though they just left a saltwater pool, she was surprisingly sweet on his tongue. At this moment, he decided to make it a mission to taste every inch of her tonight.

And so he did. It was an unforgettable night indeed. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As if someone shouted at her to wake up, Vanessa's eyes opened suddenly. Her gaze meets the high ceilings above her. She blinked a few times before slowly turning her head towards the figure she was lying in bed with. Joe was sound asleep beside her, his hair shielding his face from sight. Her eyes widened as she quickly looked away from him. 

Oh God..., she thought, bringing her hand to her face. She pinches the bridge of her nose, gently shaking her head in disappointment. May the morning after regret commence. 

Carefully, she begins to remove herself from the bed. Joe's arm was draped across her body, holding her in place like a clip. Delicately, Nessa grabs his forearm and lifts it, careful not to disturb him. She gradually shimmies from the comfort of the bed. Once out of his arms and the bed, Nessa skims the room for her underclothes. She spots them on the opposite side of the room. 

She turned her attention back to Joe, watching him as she quietly made her way over to her bra and panties. She leans down slowly, her hands quickly snatching up the undergarments. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as she peered behind her for the stairs. She descends them backward, keeping her eyes on the man sleeping peacefully in the bed on the second floor. Once he vanishes from her line of sight, she turns and rushes quietly down to the first floor. 

It has been years since the last time Vanessa had snuck out of a stranger's home. Seriously, it was a sport she ditched after college. Once her feet touched the first floor, Nessa put on her underwear. "What the fuck did you do?" She whispers angrily to herself as she moves through the living room. 

There was a dull aching behind her eyes from the alcohol she consumed the night before, and all the natural light pouring into this room was not helping her. Her clothes were draped over the back of the enormous couch that centered the room. She grabs the hoodie and sweatpants, quickly putting them on. Her phone was still in the deep right pocket of her pants. She fishes it out, immediately opening the Uber app. She needed to get out of here fast.

Her shoes were on against the wall next to the door. She slips them on, reaching for the door shortly after. With one last glance at the suite, she vanishes beyond the door.

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A/N: AHHHHHH IT HAPPENED! THEY FINALLY HAPPENED!!! There was so many people who wanted this to happen in the last chapter, but I had plans! Plans that involved writer's block for several weeks at a time lmao. I won't lie to you, I been getting my ass kicked mentally for like a month now. Hopefully, everything will start looking up soon. Don't worry, it's just work that's got me drained.

Shout out to one of my friends for spamming me with nothing but Roman pictures for 5 hours to force me to finish this lmao

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland @fandomphasess @evilli0s 

[tvchi]

Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, Prt 3

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Nudity, Female receiving fingering, Profanity

Pairing: black male x black female Words: 3,884k

A/N: Here is Part 3 of this series. I'm proud of myself for meeting this week's deadline. No real smut here. I'm so sorry, you're gonna have to wait for it. However, the suspense is building. Once again if suspense, thrillers, and espionage are not you're the thing, I get it. Please scroll.

Summary: Terry lets Y/N know that her Mark may be on to her and there are things that she may not be considering in this case. When she finds out that Adrian may not be completely forthcoming, how will she react?

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Terry

I walked into the building and made my way down the hall. I had to let Director Moore know I was being watched, and most likely, she was, too. Once I got to my office, I began getting intel on this Adrian guy. As soon as I got past his birth records, there was a knock on the door.

"Good morning, sir. I just wanted to know if you wanted some coffee because I made your fine ass some," said Brooke. I chuckled and smiled.

"Thank you, Broooke," I sang back.

"You say my name like that again, and we go together!" she retorted, gently laying the cup of coffee on the table before turning around to leave.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Maybe you could help me out. I've looked through all the files and there's not much about the Mark, Adrian. You've been on this case as long as Y/N has. Maybe you know something."

"Yeah, well, he went to Pembroke but got his master's in art history at NYU. He took some time off to travel. Went backpacking in Europe and then visited Columbia, Panama, and El Salvador. He stayed in Okinawa for 3 months before coming back to the States. He submitted a proposal for a PhD, but it was denied. I think I remember him getting a collections manager job for a small-time museum in Miami before coming back here. Why?"

"You keep giving me answers like that, we might just actually go together" I grinned mischievously, sipping the now warm coffee. 

"Stop playing with me before this whole office catches an early morning show; you hear me?"

At this, I couldn't help but laugh. 

"But seriously, why are you looking into him? Should we all be?"

"Yes, why are you looking into him?" said Y/N from the doorway. I hadn't noticed when she came in, and I always noticed.

She wore a cropped hoodie, an oversized blazer, dark-washed jeans that just kissed the bottom of her hoodie, and Air Jordans. Her braids hung freely down her back. Her lips were outlined in a soft chocolate, accentuating their plump center. I wondered what they tasted like. Trying not to let my eyes linger too long, I flashed my attention to her eyes. Hers met mine and quickly darted to Brooke and then to my desk. This was the third time she's averted her eyes from mine. I stood and walked around my desk.

"Brooke, thank you for the coffee and the intel. If I need anything else, you're my girl," I said, winking.

"You're too fine to be winking at me like that, sir. I'm going to mess around and pass out," she replied, giving me a wink of her own. I smiled. Grabbing my coat, I walked out of my office.

"So you're not going to answer me when I'm talking to you?" Y/N said, stalking down the hallway after me. 

"I speak to people who greet me in the morning and look me in the eyes when they're speaking to me. You do neither. If you want to run that question by me again, I'll be in the cafe for the next half hour." I threw over my shoulder.

When I finally got to the cafe, there was a line. I took everything in. The college students huddled around their different groups. All animated. All full of life.

There was this couple in front of me. The girl was trying to decide whether to get the scones or a croissant while trying to convince the guy to drop out of human sexualities because it's for "perverts" and join her in a sociology course. She was giving him good arguments, too, including the point about men only joining to learn different positions and not how to get better at pleasure. Most people who take that course never actually get around to knowing where the clit is. I chuckled.

As I looked around, I wondered if this would have been the life Mike had been living if he were alive. Whether he'd be love-struck, chasing some girl all around campus, listening to her world views, or convincing him to drop courses. I wondered if he would have felt more at home here than the cells he saw.

I placed my order and occupied a free table by the windows. I stared out of the windows, not really taking in the sights but riddling myself with guilt about all the things that I could've done to keep Mike alive. It was a once-a-week misery date I kept with myself so I would never forget that I am living as penance for what I wasn't able to do– nothing else.

A sweet smell filled the air. I turned my head slightly to see who or what it was coming from, and there she stood. She took the seat across from me and peered at the table momentarily before bringing her eyes to me.

"Good Morning ASAC Richmond. I don't want to bother you, but I wanted to know what the reason was for looking into my Mark. We ran background checks months ago. I placed everything in those files."

“Good Morning SA Olisa. You're not bothering me. To answer your question, I wasn't looking into him at all before he stopped me this morning and told me that he was looking into me." Her gaze lowered, and her brows furrowed. 

"What do you mean he's looking into you? How does he know you?" she said, confusion littering her face.

"It doesn't seem like he knows me. But it does look like he's keeping tabs on you while you're away from him."

"This is Adrian we are talking about. He's charming and doting. He also forgets his keys every other day, calls me for help when he accidentally trips the alarm at the museum and is actively boycotting Apple for handing over user data to 'The Feds'. I'm pretty sure he's not tailing me."

"Well, I don't know how else to explain him curb-side siding me on my way to the Box, asking me what I'm doing here and telling me that he's never seen me before." She laughed.

"I'm sorry, but there's no way you could be talking about Adrian."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yea. Okay."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm going to continue gathering intel on all members of this case, including the ones who actively seek me out, and you can continue maintaining that the Mark is incapable of any wrongdoing."

"I didn't say he was incapable of wrongdoing. I said he isn't a guy capable of surveilling me."

"Okay."

"I think I would know. I've only been—"

"Sleeping with him for the last three months," I finished flatly, attempting to hide my contempt with boredom. 

She inhaled deeply and slowly before speaking again. "I was going to say that I've only been at his side, living with him and monitoring his habits for three months. I'm not sure how anything else I do is any of your concern."

"It is if you forget that he's a mark," I replied too quickly.

"Forget?" she said incredulously, her eyes squinting and lips flattened into a line. Her head tilted to the side in smoldering anger. For a moment there, I was distracted. Even in her disdain for me at that moment, she looked incredible. Not wanting to escalate things, I quickly thought of a way to disarm her. 

"I just mean, when was the last time you did a sweep? When was the last time you tailed him? When was the last time you listened to the bug in his office? The last time you looked into the new clients he was purchasing for? Did you do a deep dive into his overseas contacts when he was backpacking in Europe and parasailing in Panama because I didn't see any details in the files?"

"Are you suggesting that I can't or didn't do my job?"

"I didn't say that. I think that we have a limited focus, and we need to broaden the net. He approached me. We were never seen together except for in the Box. So unless he's also a part of the case, I'm not sure how he would know me."

She pursed her lips. Her forehead creased in pensive thought or inner turmoil; I couldn't be sure. 

"If you need proof that he approached me," I started, chuckling, "There are thousands of cameras around this campus. Ask Brooke." With that, I stood and walked out of the cafe with my coffee in hand. 

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Y/N

He has no reason to lie to me, and he's technically my boss. He has nothing to prove. I've been studying Adrian's tells since he first asked me out on a date. I know him. He hasn't been lying to me. I also haven't been asking him very many questions lately. Nothing that would need him to tell a lie.

You sat at the coffee shop on campus, thinking for a long moment. What if Richmond was right. What if you haven't been paying as close attention as you should have. This is the part of the job you hated— the second-guessing. Being the first African-American female on the shortlist for Assistant Director was without its fair share of imposter syndrome.

Having to conduct meetings or manage briefings where everyone's eyes are constantly questioning you. Their perpetual state of disbelief or random inquiries on work that you've triple-checked always got to you. No matter how iron-clad your work has been over the years, there's always someone else who doesn't think that you should be here. Someone else looking to point out your mistake and hang you for it. Someone needs to find hard data to prove that you should've never been hired. Today, it's him.

The pressure in your chest starts to build as you begin to put into words a feeling that has been ruminating in the back of your mind for weeks. Always knowing you're alone in this world and seeing the hard proof of it are two different things. I know that if it were him or me, his connections or my word, his status or my truth, he'd always choose himself. I'm not entirely sure his sole purpose of coming here and shortening our deadline isn't because the hire-ups don't trust me to run point on this. You closed your eyes, hoping to dull some of the pain circling your temples. After a deep breath, you opened your eyes again.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure if you wanted to order anything, but if you did, you have to do it upfront," the waitress interjected.

"No, I was just leaving. Thank you" you replied and headed out of the shop and towards your car.

Driving back home, you tried to think about the case and what you could be missing. Adrian being into play was far-fetched but if Richmond was right, it may be the answer to why they've been behind for so long. That thought made your stomach turn. 

"Hey, Siri. dial Brooke"

"Dialing. Brooke. Now," Siri responded.

"Two days in a row. I must say, ever since Mr. Fine Ass showed up, you've either been calling the office or showing up way more than you have been. You tryna get perfect attendance in his class, heifer, 'cause he's mine." You laughed. Brooke always had a way of making you smile.

"Brooke, you know HR and IA exist, right?"

"I know. I also know that I'm the head of surveillance around this muthafucka, and won't be no evidence for them to find!"

"Lol. You got that."

"So, wussup?"

"I need some footage of all the library entrances and exits from early this morning till about now."

"Why, what's going on?"

"I haven't heard any chatter, but I wanted to double-check that I'm not being followed."

"Okay. I'll send those right over. Today's encryption code is 4761."

"Thanks, girl."

"Anytime. Oh, girl, I gotta go. Here comes Mr. Fine-Ass now. Heeeeeeey ASAC Richmond"

As the call disconnected, you wondered whether Richmond was in the Director's office right now telling him how he doesn't think you're fit to lead this operation.

After you got home, you headed straight to the den. You opened the government-issued laptop and typed in the code. An entirely new interface comes alive on the screen. You navigated emails until you landed on the one Brooke sent of the footage. Quickly, looking around the den to make sure no one else was there, you clicked on the video and began to watch.

Around 6:15:35am, there is a man approaching Richmond on the steps with a knitted hoodie and black denim. The face is obscured by a fitted cap, hoodie, and Richmond's frame.

Then, at about 6:17:45 am, he changes positions, placing his back to the camera. He continues to do so throughout the entire video. He must have known this camera was there. This could be anybody.

At 6:20:29 am, he turns to leave down the stairs of the library. Once down the stairs, he walks off to a vehicle that is out of frame. You rewind the video back to 6:17 and watch it again. This really could be anybody, I mean — you spot it.

[At a cookout last month, Adrian invited you to meet some of his friends. The park was teeming with bodies, from those who were well-known in the county to those who were just happy to be there. The DJ played all the Top 40 hits and mixed some 90s jams throughout. You spotted a friend and joined in a line dance on the grass. Finally spotting Adrian, you ran to him. 

"Wait, wait, wait girl. I will give you the world, but I will throw you somewhere if you get those muddy ass boots all over these 1s."

"What is so special about them damn sneakers that you'd risk your life like that?"

"Wouldn't be the first time"

"Now you gotta tell me."

"It was 2017. My first Mardi Gras experience. My brothers took me to the All-Star weekend festivities because their friends had the hookup. We were going from the games to the clubs. There was liquor, titties, and ass everywhere. That same weekend, they dropped these. There was a line down the block at every Foot Locker and Finish Line in the state of Louisiana damn near. I left the club early and stood in line all night and all morning. I finally got to the store, and there were only 3 left in my size. As soon as I placed my hand on the shoe, this other guy placed his hands on it. I looked at him and tugged the shoe away. The next thing I know, this guy is swinging at me. We fought, and security had to break us up. I told them that they had to go to the back and look at the footage of who got the shoes first and who assaulted the other first. I was not leaving there without those shoes. One of the employees and one of the security guards left together to watch the footage. I snatched the other sneaker out of the man's hand and walked up to the register to get my shoes. I got to pay for them, and I noticed that my wallet was missing. I called everyone I knew to either look for my wallet or come pay for the shoes. Eventually, my second oldest brother came and bought the shoes for me. Turns out, I had left my wallet in our section at the club, and he picked it up."

"Oh, you really went to war for these."

"Sure did. That night, we went out to celebrate.]

The special edition Air Jordan 1 Retro High OG All-Star with the iridescent detailing glistened into view on the computer screen. There was a white tag that he linked through one of the holes. You stared back at the shoes missing from the case and back to the video. Shit.

----------------------------------------------------

Y/N

"Babe, you home? Adrian's voice boomed from the front entrance.

"Hey. I'm here. What are you doing at home?" you quickly shut down the laptop and closed the lid as you heard his footsteps make their way toward the den.

"Got done early today, so I thought I'd pop in and get dinner started. I didn't want to order out again."

"Oh well, aren't you thoughtful"

"What are you doing at home? I thought you said that you'd be working a little later tonight. Something about moving up a deadline," he probed.

"Right. Well, you know me…I thought I would focus more if I was on campus like every other collegiate student. I kept getting distracted," you lied. "Then I tried my office, but I wasn't comfortable there," that wasn't entirely a lie. You wouldn't have been able to focus in the Box. Not with him there. "In the end, I just gave up and came home. But there is still very much a deadline that I have to meet," you finished.

"Sounds like you need some productivity. Lemme get out your way" he concurred, pecking you on the lips twice and then moving to the empty case.

"Oh, I see you brought out the big dawg today. What was the special occasion?" you asked, hoping that this would be the start of something enlightening.

"Oh, you mean the shoes. Nothing. I just felt like wearing them today."

"Mmm, well, what did you do all day today looking fresh."

He chuckled. "Nothing. I went by the office, spoke to a couple of clients who were interested in some pieces, stopped by the store, and then came home."

"You should've stopped by my office so I could show you off to those hating ass hoes at my job if you just wanted to look fresh running errands."

"I'll do that next time," he joked. "Alright, I'm really gonna leave you alone. Get that work done!"

"Sir, yes, sir."

He turned back and smirked. "Hold on to that. I may need you to say that to me again later." He turned and went up the steps. When the door shut, you exhaled. He was lying to you.

When did this start, and why didn't you notice? You started retracing your steps with Adrian to see if there was something you missed or maybe a change in behavior. When you couldn't pinpoint an inciting event, you left that task and adopted a new one that required you combing through his file piece by piece.

"Did you do a deep dive into his overseas contacts when he was backpacking in Europe and parasailing in Panama because I didn't see any details in the files?"

As Richmond's words echoed through your head, you started going back to all of the places that he had been seen and confirmed vacationing in. You worked all into the night.

A soft knock on the door alerted you to the fact that it was late. Adrian walked down and stood at the doorway. 

"Come eat, Alana"

"I'm coming. I just need to jot down one more thing." You changed your interface back to the default Microsoft interface and powered down your phone before he could get the chance to look at it. You climbed the stairs, wondering how you were going to muster the energy to withstand tonight's dinner conversation. You sat and ate dinner, slowly pondering the day's revelations. It must have shown on your face because Adrian stood up and asked. 

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking,"

"Talk to me"

"It's really nothing. I guess I just didn't realize I had so much to do behind this project."

"Yeah, I get that."

A moment passed, and you finally finished the last bite of your salmon when you heard some music playing in the distance.

"Dance with me," Adrian commanded, hand held out to you.

"Adrian? Right now"

"Yea. Dance with me. C'mon, woman", he repeated.

You took his hand, and you two danced to the sounds of Sweet Lady by Tyrese. His hands slowly trailed your spine as his head nestled into your neck.

It was the strangest thing. Feeling at home in the arms of someone you knew was lying to you, knowing that you were lying to them. Your bodies swayed together in tandem as you both held each other. It was everything you wanted. It was what you craved. Why couldn't this be…real?

After a couple of songs, he led you to bed. He slowly undid your jeans, helping you out of them one foot at a time.

Then, after applying short kisses up your happy trail, he stood up, removed your cropped hoodie, and undid your bra. Your breast spilled out of them. He took the left into his mouth as you moaned. Interchanging between nibbles and kisses, he stimulated the small whimpers you tried to stifle deep within your throat. After a few moments, he turned his attention to your other breast.

A trail of kisses slowly went up your neck and finally to your mouth. You took his lips in yours desperately. You hungrily sucked his tongue, hoping to salvage the last night you would be this version of yourself with him. He tugged at your thong until his hand found what it was searching for.

He traced circles around your pearl. You waited for a moment to feel that release. That dampness that never had to be beckoned. That exhilarating plummet in your stomach makes way for the honey coating that ruins the sheets. It never came. 

"Is something wrong?"

"Mmm, no, why?"

"Your panties are usually done by now."

"Maybe I didn't drink enough water today."

He looked at me intently. His eyes darkened with intensity, then softened slightly. 

"I took you to Cali for three days. All we had were shots of Tequila and a couple of Coronas. I had your legs behind your hand, and we had the sheets changed four times one of those nights. Water has never been a problem for you. Talk to me," he said sternly.

"I'm not sure what's going on, Adrian," you lied.

"Are you sure there's not something you want to tell me?"

"Like what?"

He paused for a moment. "I don't know. I'm just asking. Maybe you're upset or worried about something?" he probed.

"The only thing I've been focused on has been the deadline. I'm okay with that, though. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's okay. Let's go to sleep."

"Or or or…maybe we can try some lube," you suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"So now we're lube people?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with lube."

"No, but something is going on with you, and I'd rather we get to the bottom of it than throwing some lube on it,"

"But...but," you pouted as you looked at his erection.

"He'll be fine. Let's go to bed."

"You sure?"

"Yea, come here," he said, lying down on his side and pulling you close. Unable to fall asleep, you wondered how you were going to salvage this night. You needed to find out who the new buyer was going to be and fast because, at this rate, it would only be a matter of time before he found out the truth.

---------------------------------------------------------

Check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 4 coming soon.

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh @noirelyfe @moooonluvr

@kinginwithbreezy-blog @bunniibooooo @sk1121-blog1

[violetmuses]

Safety Net - A. Aretas 🌴❤️‍🩹🫂

Title: Safety Net - A. Aretas 🌴 ❤️‍🩹 🫂

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When Armando Aretas leaves Mexico and faces Miami again, you change his life.

@nelo0wesker @nobodygetsza @yeahnohoneybye @sofia-da-1st @spaceacelover @btitannaaaaa

=====

Safety Net: Chapter 1

2024

The quiet departure from Mexico took so much planning, but Armando Aretas returned to Miami at last. Hiding would just stall reality this time.

His biological father, well-known Detective Mike Lowrey, pulled strings and “eased” the lifetime sentence, but Armando just needed more.

Waiting around between missions seemed pointless. If not useful, Armando might as well go back to prison and lock that damn cell forever.

Taking one rental car back to the small apartment from Lowrey, Armando didn't contact his father right away and took this much-needed shower before organizing just a few belongings here.

“I'm back.” Armando called Lowrey by the early afternoon.

“Hey, man. Really? Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?” Mike was a little surprised while answering the phone.

“Nah. Already settled here, but I'm just telling you.” Armando cleared his throat awkwardly

“You found the house? Cool. Glad you called me, too. Need anything?” Even Mike clipped words at this point.

“Maybe a side hustle?” Armando tried to frame the question easily. “I don't wanna stay around if you'll just call for work.”

“Right, I didn't think of that idea. My bad.” Mike almost whispered. “Let's see if I can help out a little bit.”

“Yeah, bye.” Armando hung up and left once more, hoping to run errands.

____

Many ran straight to the grocery store for various reasons, but Armando didn't need much, unlike other folks with children and more vacation plans.

Leaving the self-checkout, warm sunlight hit the parking lot as Armando reached that car and settled items, but one person caught his eye.

One door opens from another storefront in the shopping center.

“Thank you so much!” You beamed toward restaurant staff while carrying takeout and kept walking in the direction of your own vehicle.

To Armando, you looked cute and raved as sunlight heats up the state of Florida.

Though watching you from a distance, Armando found himself smiling in return, but pulled together and drove away, simply refusing to act weird.

Who are you? Aretas ponders during the commute back.

_____

Cooking and eating alone, gentle music played from his Bluetooth speaker. The device stood as his most expensive item beyond weapons or gear.

One call interrupted washing the dishes, but Armando picked up regardless.

“Hello?” Armando greeted the caller.

“Hey, it's me. Got something. Do you mind if we meet early tomorrow?” Mike Lowrey picked up this call again.

“No. What's going on?” The day would have Aretas occupied.

“This barbershop owner needs help.” Mike explained. “You'll get paid for basic upkeep over there. Nothing fancy.”

“Doesn't sound terrible.” Armando grounded his plans for the morning.

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow.” Mike ended the call this time.

Better than nothing. Armando thought, sleeping without dreams in preparation.

_____

“What's up?” Cruising with style, Mike Lowrey arrived while driving his classic Porsche the next day and greeted Aretas in this lot. “We'll meet that owner first.”

“Cool.” Armando repeated the note of his estranged father.

“How was your flight?” Mike tried offering small talk.

“Good. Still getting used to the house.” Armando told the truth.

“You'll be fine.” Mike went on. “My first place wasn't always dope.”

“Wait. Didn't you grow up with money?” Aretas squinted near his father. “That's what Marcus told me.”

“Well, yeah, but your mother knocked out riches. I stood undercover and worked as her driver before you were born.” Mike cleared his throat. “Let's go.”

____

“Morning, Detective.” The barbershop owner spoke up while addressing Mike Lowrey.

“Morning, Sir.” Mike offered respect to the older gentleman. “We shared our phone calls earlier, but this is my son Armando.”

“Hello.” Genuinely kind while speaking English, Aretas offered to shake hands with the owner right now.

“Heard about you, but we don’t have much time for questions. Let me show you around.” The older man continued speaking. Even Mike Lowrey stepped back, letting this moment between two different people for once.

Let him grow and learn. That’s the only way out of this problem. Lowrey thought, quietly watching his son understand this new environment.

_____

For Armando, three important rules grounded his place at the barbershop:

Aretas needed to show up every day now, arrive on time, and avoid drama. Constant structure keeps this guy from trouble in the first place.

Clients for the barbershop varied all week and Armando would remain observant every time someone opened that chiming front door.

Sooner than later, staff knew his name and everyone laughed sometimes, offering Aretas this comradery that didn't include heartbreak.

“Have you met Mike's partner yet?” One employee chuckled while cleaning his station.

“Marcus?” Sweeping, Armando immediately rolled his eyes and workers cracked up about Detective Marcus Burnett, Mike Lowrey's famous partner.

“Oh, no! Tell us.” The employee settled down and resumed working.

“I joined special operations at the police department, but this barbershop thing is a temporary job.” Armando played up his role a little bit. “One time, Marcus accidentally set our car on fire.”

“Woah!” Voices gasped through shock and even the owner tuned in.

“Marcus didn't know that windshield wiper fluid is flammable, so we jumped out right before everything burst into flames.” Aretas nearly cringed.

“Damn!” This story just pulled everyone's attention.

“We made it out alive, but moments like that really happen.” Armando shook his head and still cleaned when the front door chimed again.

“Hi! How's everybody doing?” One greeting brightened up the entire space. “I'm just here to bring Dad some lunch.”

You walked toward that barbershop owner with the biggest smile on your face, carrying takeout.

“Hey, Sweetheart. Thank you.” The owner gently raved while facing you, his daughter.

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Charmer | TEASER | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader (ft. Lee Know) Genre: detective/crime au, smut, angst, thriller, mystery/suspense Warnings: murder, psychological manipulation and gaslighting, swearing, substance abuse, mutual obsession, strong violence, narcissistic tendencies, stalking, yandere, explicit sexual content (specific warnings will be posted with release) Release Date: TBA

As a detective, Hyunjin’s life is centered around lying and fabricating his own version of the truth. After all, to catch a mastermind, you have to be a mastermind yourself. 

On this fateful evening, Detective Hwang is working on his internationally sought-after case, which was assigned to only his genius after a string of brutal murders in the city. The savant he is, he finds his target sitting innocently in an upscale cocktail bar, instead of some kind of an underground lair. 

But he doesn’t expect this nefarious new villain to be so… beautiful. And it’s the kind of beautiful that would make anyone sink to their knees and beg for even an ounce of her attention. Hyunjin can’t help but be drawn to her charm and enigmatic persona, through their sultrily guarded exchange over drinks- but really, it’s laden with innuendos of the night’s secrets. And more than just secrets are bound to be revealed… 

...You know very well that the handsome stranger eyeing you at the bar is the Miami Police Department’s star detective, Hyunjin Hwang, and exactly what his intentions are. You’re one of the most notorious crime lords the world has ever known, overseeing every kind of illicit cartel agreement, from a global drug enterprise to a booming embezzlement affair. For years, INTERPOL has been after you, failing to capture you every single time, but somehow, this scrappy local detective managed to figure out who you are. Color yourself impressed. 

You’re new to the glittering scene of the Southern coast, looking for trouble, fun, and the best cocktails. And looks like you’ve found all three right here, in this bar next to a sexy detective. He’d treat you to great drinks and a good time tonight, and maybe, just this once, you’ll let yourself be handcuffed.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

TAGLIST @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi

If you’d like to join my taglist, click here!

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

[beomcoups]

Food Wars (teaser)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chef!Mingyu x chef!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, eventual smut, 18+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing (more warnings will be in actual fic)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1455 (just for the teaser, fic will be longer)

𝐀𝐍: This fic is for the world tour collab hosted by @svthub. Part 1 of the actual fic will be posted on July 21st. Thank you to everyone who helped me brainstorm ideas. I will tag everyone in the actual fic :)

You knew it would come to this, and as good as you are at hiding your poker face, you are pissed. A food competition, really? You almost burst out with laughter when Rich, the restaurant's owner of The Palm Cuisine, said it. The Palm Cuisine is one of the most popular restaurants in the U.S., with three locations in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. He is opening a new restaurant in Madrid, Spain, and wants to take one of the sous chefs to make an executive chef. You are the better chef, and everyone knows it, but in the spirit of “fairness,” you have to go against another person for the owner to make their decision. That other person is no other than Kim Mingyu, the golden boy of the restaurant who is almost as good as you in the kitchen. Almost.

It’s not like the position was directly promised to you, but deep down, you always assumed it would be yours. You have been there the longest, know the menu from top to bottom, and have even stayed extra nights you didn’t have to for the benefit of the restaurant and the team. You eat, breathe and shit this place. It feels like a slap in the face. “Put the knives down, girlie,” your coworker and good friend Shena nudges you. 

You sigh, gently setting down the knives you used to cut your potatoes. “I’m fine,” you whisper, turning around and rolling your eyes. “I am totally fucking fine.” You close your eyes and take a small, deep breath, centering yourself before returning to reality. Disappointment would be an understatement if you had to describe how you feel. The Palm Cuisine is the first and only restaurant you have worked at, starting as a prep cook and working your way up to sous. You always imagined yourself making it to Executive chef—overseeing the restaurant's menu, preparation, cooking, ordering, and operations. The place specializes in Spanish food, and you can confidently say you can plan a Spanish menu with your eyes closed. Tapas, gazpacho, paellas, you name it, you’ve done it. And yet, you must constantly prove to everyone (mainly the men) that you deserve to be here. It’s exhausting. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, wondering if you will snap and break a rolling pin or cry in the bathroom.  Instead of giving them the satisfaction, you turn around with a beaming smile. “Well,” you quirk an eyebrow. “Let the food war begin!” “Oh, splendid!” Rich squeals. “I was worried you would be upset.” “Why would I be upset?” You cock your head. “I mean, it’s only fair, right?” He chuckles nervously, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Why don’t you and Mingyu come into my office, and we can discuss it further?” You nod as he beckons Mingyu over and follows him into his mid-size office. It smells of fresh linen, courtesy of a scented oil on his bookshelf. It looked like a typical place of work, complete with a desk, laptop, and hundreds of documents related to the restaurant. It’s cold in contrast to the warmth of the fires in the kitchen, and you long to be back in front of the heat, cooking from your heart.

 You’ve been cooking since you were ten, watching your grandmother in the kitchen slave away for all the major holidays. You remember how it felt when you made your first apple pie. You went to the local market and bought the freshest green apples you could find. You cut them up like she did, adding the right amounts of nutmeg, brown sugar, and other needed ingredients. You made your own crust and watched everyone marvel at your dessert. You guess you could say that your grandmother stirred your love for cooking. God, you miss her. 

You hear Mingyu shuffle behind you, the scent of chocolate and cream greeting you before he does. You nod, moving to the seat furthest away from the door to give yourself space. You don’t hate Mingyu; you two are friendly with each other and help each other out when needed. He’s always treated you with respect and never condescended you when you made a suggestion. Your eyes undoubtedly work, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit he is handsome. His model-like looks, toned body, great hair, and he just happens to be a good cook? It’s almost not fair. But fortunately for you, you haven’t fallen for his charms. He’s the golden retriever that everyone wants to be around. Well, except for you.

“So,” Rich starts as he shuts the door. I want you to know that I respect both of you, and it was tough to make this decision; hence, we are doing this. Plus, it’ll be fun, bring up the morale of the restaurant while we’re in Madrid—” “Wait,” you hold your hand up. “Are we going to do this in Madrid?” “Well, yes,” he says casually. “It’s only fitting we do it in there. It’ll give you a chance to feel the vibe of the area and get some fresh ingredients. Lord knows you can’t get it here in the city.”

Mingyu chuckles, and you instinctively dig your thumb into your palm, your mind already thinking of the cost of a ticket, hotel space, etc. 

“We will cover everything, of course; all you need to do is be ready for international travel. You can bring one person from the restaurant as your assistant. Oh, and here is some paperwork you will need to fill out.” Several minutes later, with all the paperwork signed and details worked out, you shuffle out of the office one by one. Rich leaves first, rushing out like a bat out of hell, his wooden smell following him and the tension in your chest. You’re plagued with thoughts about coming up with a menu, packing to leave, and who’s going to watch your cat Grey while you’re gone. You feel undervalued, still bothered that you even have to do this. Does your many years of being here not mean anything to Rich? Is your cooking not good enough? Why keep hinting that you could have something bigger here just to string you along? All of this frustrates you with a passion. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Your nose wiggles at the smell of rich chocolate, your mouth salivates, and your stomach rumbles shortly after. You have a terrible habit of not eating when hungry as you focus on making food and serving others. While your mind is on food, you aren’t paying attention to Mingyu in front of you, bumping into his back. Your face grows hot with embarrassment, refusing to meet the gaze of your competitor for your dream job. “Hey.” His deep voice knocks you out of your mental fog. 

“W-what’s up?” You stumble through your words. “I just want to say it’s an honor going toe-to-toe with you for this spot. There wouldn’t be any other person I would want to go against. You’re a great chef.” 

For that tiny moment, you felt seen and appreciated. Aside from Shena, no one seemed to care about the hard work you put into The Palm Cuisine, and you thought about quitting so many times. But despite being unappreciated, you love the food, the culture, and the customers that come in. You can’t imagine yourself anywhere else.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat. “You’re good too.” Mingyu nods, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Seeing him up close, you have to admit, he’s attractive. You get why everyone trips over their feet when he’s around. You have much more discipline than that despite the vibrations through your body. “Also, you need to eat,” he says matter-of-factly. “I heard your stomach before you bumped into me.”

Whatever spell you were temporarily under ceased immediately, knocking you back into reality.

“Ladies first,” he says, moving out of the way to let you through. His hand lightly touches your back as you walk by, making that part of you hot as if it were touched by something warm. You return to your stations, cleaning off your station to be ready for the customers set to come in later on. “What was that about?” Shena pops up beside you, eyeing you suspiciously. “Just some stuff about this unnecessary competition and getting an assistant to help me and whatnot,” you shrug. 

“Wow, that’s kind of grand,” she looks perplexed as if you are telling a joke. 

You nod, grab a banana nearby, and take a bite, curbing your hunger a bit.  “So…” you let your voice trail off in suspense. “How about you come with me to Spain?”

[petit-papillion]

The journalist's question is cute and it's so healthy that he has people around him who treat him the same way. It's cute when she said you're still Madame Pascal's son, but I noticed that she paused and then she said again, you're just someone's son. You can see that she hesitated to talk about his father and I find it very kind of her to have done so.

It was a great question and although people have asked him similar questions before, the wording made it special for sure. I thought the answer was interesting as well. We see Joris go with him everywhere, but he is from that close friend group whom Charles has known since he was a kid, and they are like his family. I love that he keeps his friends and family close to keep him grounded. It is so easy to start thinking you are all that when people constantly pay you compliments, want your autograph, and you are generally just the center of attention.

I also love how in Miami he spoke about just trying to still have a normal life, do his own shopping, etc. (Interview linked below for anyone who missed it.) We joke about his terrible parking jobs, but forget to think about what it must be like for him to just do a quick run to a store to pick up something, or that he still fills up his car himself at the gas station, and that he regularly drives himself to Italy in his own car, rather than being driven (or flown) around.