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noralia20 · 2 days ago

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omg I see you’re french too!! can you do a x jannik where he is dating someone who is a ballerina for the paris opera ballet??

Dancing through love

sum up : You like to spin around, dancing through your existence. But it's always nice to have a partner in the waltz of your life.

Love the idea, had trouble representing, so I hope it’s what you hoped for.

Paris always held a certain hush at nightfall—the kind of soft silence that settled over the city like a silk curtain. The streets near the Palais Garnier were still, the buzz of daytime tourists long faded, leaving only the glow of warm streetlamps and the occasional hum of a distant car. Somewhere above the grand façade of the opera house, a lonely window glowed faintly—studio lights dimming as the last dancer finally finished her routine.

You exhaled as you stepped out onto the front steps of the opera house, your ballet duffel slung over one shoulder, the evening’s sweat drying on your skin beneath your coat. Your legs ached in that familiar, almost comforting way—rehearsal had gone long, and your director had been relentless in notes about your arms, your neck, your “presence.” You were tired. Bone-deep tired. But satisfied.

You had no idea he was watching you from across the street.

Jannik had arrived that afternoon from a quick tournament in Sweden—exhausted, jet-lagged, and still riding on adrenaline. He hadn’t told you he was coming. You’d always been patient with his constant travel, and he loved you for it. So this weekend, rare and golden as it was, he decided to spend it entirely in your orbit—even if it just meant watching you walk out of the building that stole so much of your time and soul.

You didn’t see him at first.

You were too busy digging in your bag for your metro pass when a quiet voice interrupted you.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle?” came the familiar teasing lilt and an accent.

You looked up—and froze.

He stood there on the edge of the sidewalk, leaning lazily against a lamp post as if he belonged in a postcard. Dressed simply—black hoodie, dark jeans, a soft beanie tugged low on his ginger curls. In one hand, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers: white freesia and eucalyptus. In the other, a carefully boxed mille-feuille from your favorite corner patisserie.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“Jannik?” Your voice caught like a breath.

He pushed off the post and crossed the street with a slow, easy stride. “Bonsoir, ma danseuse étoile,” (“Good evening, my star dancer,”) he murmured with a grin, offering the flowers first. “You looked tired in there.” You blinked up at him, heart racing as warmth surged to your cheeks. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you tell someone your knees are going to fall off,” he chuckled. “Is that normal for ballerinas?”

“Completely,” you replied, still stunned, still grinning. “What are you doing here? You didn’t say—”

“I know,” he said, shifting the box of pastry to one hand so he could cup your cheek with the other. “I missed you.”

You leaned into his touch without thinking, your eyelids fluttering shut for just a second. After so many days of texts, calls, and grainy FaceTimes squeezed between rehearsals and matches, his presence felt almost unreal. He lowered his forehead to yours. “Thought I’d steal you for the night. If that’s okay.” Your smile bloomed full and bright. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he whispered, then pulled back, his eyes gleaming. “Even when you smell like... ballet.” You laughed, punching his arm lightly. “You mean sweat and resin.”

“Exactly. Delicious,” he said, scrunching his nose. You laughed again, this time burying your face in his chest. His arms wrapped around you, grounding you completely in the moment.

The opera house behind you loomed silent and elegant, but none of its grandeur could compare to the simple magic of this: your boyfriend showing up unannounced, holding flowers and pastries, just to remind you that you are loved. He kissed the top of your head, lips lingering. “Ready for a walk?”

“Always,” you whispered, slipping your hand into his. And just like that, you disappeared into the warm hush of a Parisian night—his stride matching yours, the city humming gently around you, and your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

The evening had settled into that soft blue hour—when the sky above Paris turned velvet and the streetlights glowed like candle flames.

Your hand fit easily into his, your fingers warming against his calloused palm as you walked without a destination. The streets around the opera house were mostly empty now, save for a few late diners chatting softly under café awnings and the occasional hum of a passing scooter. Paris, at night, felt like it belonged to you alone.

With Jannik beside you, the city looked different—more open, less weighed down by routine and fatigue. The tight bun on your head had loosened, tendrils of hair escaping to brush your cheeks. You didn’t bother fixing it. He liked you like this: undone, glowing from the inside out.

You wandered down toward the river, letting him lead, even though you knew every twist and turn of these streets. He wasn’t dressed for Paris the way most people imagined it—no polished trench coat or fancy scarf—just his soft hoodie and those worn-in sneakers he swore were good luck. But somehow, with his height and easy gait, he moved through the city like he belonged here anyway.

As you crossed toward the Pont Alexandre III, the Seine shimmered below you, catching the light from ornate streetlamps that arched across the bridge. The water whispered beneath, slow and silver, and the gold statues that flanked the bridge stood proud and quiet, guardians of the night.

“I missed this,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the breeze. “Just… being outside. Not rushing to rehearsal, not thinking about whether my hips are square or if my fifth position is clean.”

Jannik glanced over, a smile tugging at his lips. “Your hips are perfect. That’s all I know.” You laughed under your breath and nudged him. “You’re biased.”

“Very,” he admitted, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “So… what’s this big performance you’ve been stressed about? The one with the really angry rehearsal director?”

“Oh god, him,” you groaned dramatically. “Yes, that one. It’s La Bayadère. I’m doing Gamzatti.” Jannik blinked slowly. “Gam…zatti?” You giggled. “Exactly. I knew that’d confuse you.”

“No, no,” he said seriously, “I’m invested. Tell me everything. Except maybe don’t use any words I need to Google.” You grinned and launched into it anyway—about the story, the rivalry between characters, the variations and the steps you were struggling with. He nodded along, soaking it in, even when you got too technical. That was the thing about Jannik—he didn’t have to understand it all. He just listened. Always.

As you reached the center of the bridge, the Eiffel Tower winked in the distance, its golden lattice twinkling like a secret. The wind picked up slightly, tugging at the hem of your coat. Jannik adjusted your scarf without a word, careful and gentle, and you leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head up, “you’d never survive as a ballet dancer.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“You’re too tall,” you said matter-of-factly, “and way too clumsy. You’d knock someone out doing a simple lift.” He gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”

“I’m just saying—your pirouette would cause property damage.”

“I don’t even know what that is, but I feel insulted.”

“It’s a spin,” you giggled. “A simple one.”

"Semplice, eh?" (“Simple, huh?”) he said, stepping back.

“Wait—Jannik, no—”

But it was too late.

There, in the middle of the bridge, framed by Parisian lights and backed by the golden river, Jannik planted his feet, held his arms out in some version of first position, and began to turn.

It was the most absurd thing you’d ever seen.

His limbs flailed in a slow-motion blur, one leg coming up in a bent angle that made zero sense, and his arms pinwheeled like he was trying not to fall. It was somewhere between a ballerina and a malfunctioning windmill.

You burst into laughter—real, sharp, head-thrown-back laughter.

You laughed so hard your knees nearly gave out, and you had to grab onto his hoodie to stay upright. Jannik was laughing too, a rare, free sound that warmed your chest more than the city ever could.

“I told you!” you wheezed. “You’d cause a scene!”

“I was the scene,” he replied proudly. He tried again and his legs tumbled like a newborn giraffe, his hair messier as he spun too fast and stumbled into a streetlamp.

You doubled over laughing. "C'était quoi ça ?" ("What was that?") He clutched his hest dramatically. "I was giving swan !"

"You were giving seagull that hit a window !" When your giggles finally calmed, you stood chest to chest, your arms still around his middle. “Ti amo,” ("I love you") you whispered without thinking. He paused, just for a heartbeat, then kissed your forehead and said, “Je t’aime aussi.” ("I love you too") It wasn’t perfect French. The accent was slightly wrong, and the “aussi” came out shy and soft—but it melted something deep inside you anyway.

The river kept flowing beneath your feet. Paris kept breathing all around you. And in that moment, the world felt like a stage meant only for the two of you.

The morning sun filtered through the tall arched windows of the rehearsal studio, painting long, golden stripes across the polished wooden floor. The building was still asleep—the halls silent, the usual chatter of dancers and echoing piano absent. The only sounds came from your soft footfalls and the gentle creak of the studio door as you led Jannik inside.

He looked out of place in the best way possible—six foot two of sleepy tennis champion in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, blinking against the light, clutching a paper coffee cup in one hand and your ballet bag in the other. His curls were slightly flattened on one side, his eyes still heavy with sleep. You had dragged him here just after sunrise, and despite his protests, he hadn’t really resisted.

“Looks like a church,” he murmured, glancing up at the high ceilings and white plasterwork. “But with mirrors.”

“It kind of is,” you said softly, stepping onto the floor. “A temple for perfection. And a graveyard for knees.”

Jannik gave a quiet laugh and set your bag down, his eyes trailing after you as you slipped off your sweatshirt and bent to tie the ribbons on your slippers. You moved so naturally in the space—like you were a part of the studio itself. He was used to watching you stretch in cramped corners of your apartment or backstage after a show, but here, in this quiet, airy room, it was different. This was your world.

You straightened, brushing your hair back into a quick bun. “Okay,” you said, hands on your hips. “Lesson time.” He stared. “Wait, really? I thought that was a joke.”

“Nope. You insulted the art of pirouettes last night. Time to redeem yourself.” He sighed dramatically. "Avrei dovuto offrirti la colazione." (“I should’ve just bought you breakfast.”)

You crossed the floor and took his hand, guiding him gently to the center of the studio. “You’re not getting out of this, Sinner.”

There was no music—just your laughter echoing off the walls and the soft pad of your steps as you placed him in first position. His legs were too long, his posture awkward, his toes not turned out nearly enough, but he followed your instructions with the kind of focused intensity he usually reserved for serves and backhands.

“Arms like this,” you said, circling behind him to adjust the curve of his elbows. “You’re holding a beach ball.” He looked down at his hands. “What kind of beach ball is shaped like this?”

You ignored him. “Now plié.”

"Un cosa?"

"A bend if the knees, slowly, keep your heels down." you show him. He bent his knees, slowly—too slowly—and nearly lost his balance. He started tipping backward, luckily you caught his hand just in time. “Okay, that was—worse than I expected,” you teased.

“Thanks for the support,” he muttered, grinning despite himself.

You moved through a few more positions, watching him stumble and shift, his expressions a mixture of concentration and mild horror. Every time he caught your eye in the mirror, he smiled sheepishly, his ears turning faintly pink. He wasn’t built for this—not for the softness of ballet, the quiet control. But he tried. For you, he always tried.

Eventually, after one too many botched relevés, he gave up and flopped unceremoniously to the floor, long legs stretched out, hands behind his head. “I think I’ll retire now,” he said. “Leave the dancing to the professionals.”

You laughed and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Wise choice.”

He watched as you stepped to the center of the studio, your expression shifting from playful to focused. You didn’t announce what you were doing. You simply began to move.

The silence was broken only by your breath and the faint creak of the floor beneath your slippers. No music—just instinct, muscle memory, rhythm etched into your body from years of training. Your arms swept through the air with quiet elegance, your turns fluid and seamless, your movements so light they barely seemed to disturb the dust motes drifting in the morning sun.

No stage makeup, no lights, no costume. Just you- barefoot, hair in a loose bun, in his hoodie over your leotard, sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Controlled, fluid like water of the Seine.

Jannik didn’t speak. He barely breathed.

He watched you the way someone might watch a snowfall or the surface of a still lake—completely still, reverent. You looked weightless, like something untouchable. But you were his. And that thought hit him in the chest like a second heartbeat.

When you finally slowed to a stop, your breath uneven and your cheeks flushed pink, you turned toward him with a shy, slightly embarrassed smile.

“You’re staring.”

He stood slowly and crossed to you, he unzipped his hoodie and pulled it off you. The move was intimate. He knew you tented to get hot fast.

Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “You’re magic,” he murmured against your skin. You closed your eyes, heart fluttering. No loud applause, no orchestra, no bouquets.

Just him. His warmth around you. And his voice in your ear, quiet and certain. “I’m the lucky one, you're the only person who's ever made this place feel quiet,” you whispered. He pulled you close, and together, you stood in the center of the studio—her world, now his too—in the golden hush of morning.

The curtain fell in a sweeping hush, and the final notes of the orchestra dissolved into the thunder of applause.

From the wings, hidden just beyond the velvet drapes, Jannik stood frozen—shoulders tense, hands clenched around the bouquet he’d nearly crushed during your final variation. His heart was racing, not from nerves for you—he knew you’d be brilliant—but from something else. A quiet awe. A reverence, like he’d just watched something sacred.

The bouquet in his hands was simple but elegant: long-stemmed white roses, wrapped in soft cream paper and tied with a silver ribbon. He’d spent too long choosing them, pacing through a Parisian florist that morning with furrowed brows and too many questions. He didn’t want showy. He wanted yo*. Quiet grace. Strong lines. A little bit of softness.

He peeked through a small gap in the curtain just in time to catch you bowing—your chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths, eyes shining, sweat clinging to your temples like dew. You were smiling, the real kind, the kind that only came when you’d danced your soul out.

The applause echoed in his chest.

As the other dancers joined hands and bowed again, the curtain began to lower, the lights shifting slowly to twilight hues. The magic faded from the stage, but not from you.

Jannik stepped back, bouquet cradled in his arms now like something fragile, waiting near the corridor that led to the dressing rooms. Dancers began to trickle backstage, peeling off costume pieces, breathless and flushed with adrenaline. He stood awkwardly near the wall, nodding at anyone who passed, but no one gave him much attention. He wasn’t used to this kind of backstage—the satin chaos, the echoes of pointe shoes, the smell of hairspray and resin instead of sweat and clay.

And then you appeared.

Still in costume, bodice shimmering faintly under the backstage lights, your hair slightly undone and your cheeks glowing with post-performance warmth. You caught sight of him, and your whole face changed—your eyes lit up, your smile turning soft, full of disbelief and something deeper.

“Hi,” you breathed, stepping toward him. Your voice was hoarse from exertion, but your presence was radiant. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “You were…” He shook his head, struggling to find the right word.

You laughed softly, swaying closer until your fingers brushed his. “Lost for words? You, Mr. Press Conference?”

“I mean, how do you describe that?” he said, finally managing to meet your eyes. “It was like watching someone float.” You leaned your forehead against his chest, still catching your breath. “My legs are jelly. I might collapse. Catch me?”

“Sempre,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation. The bouquet was pressed gently between your bodies, crinkling softly in its wrap. You leaned back just enough to glance down at the roses, then up at him with a grin. “You brought me flowers?”

“I Googled what dancers get,” he admitted sheepishly. “They said roses. Yours are nicer though. Less… red-carpet.”

You reached up and tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “You really watched the whole thing?”

“Every second,” he said, tightening his hold. “Didn’t blink once. Might’ve forgotten how to breathe, honestly.” You laughed, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “And to think—you used to say ballet wasn’t your thing.”

He smirked against your temple. "Non mi piace il balletto." (“I don’t like ballet.”) You pulled back in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

He just looked at you, blue-green eyes steady, warm, completely sincere.

“Je t'aime toi,” ("I love you") he said, as if swithcing through so many languages was completly normal. “Ballet just comes with the package.” The words were simple, a little awkward—so perfectly him. But they settled in your heart like something meant to be there all along.

You stood there in the hallway, surrounded by backstage noise—dancers calling out congratulations, the rustle of tutus being packed away, stagehands moving set pieces—and none of it touched you. Not really.

Just him. The bouquet. His arms around you. And the truth of what he’d just said echoing in your chest.

“I think,” you whispered, looking up at him, “I’m keeping you.”

He smiled, that shy, dimpled smile he only ever showed you. “You already did.”

The night had folded itself into a hush by the time you both reached your apartment—a small, cozy space tucked between old buildings with ivy-covered walls and balconies that creaked when the wind stirred.

Jannik had to duck under the low doorway as usual, shoulder brushing the frame as he followed you inside. The place smelled faintly of jasmine tea and dried lavender from the sachets your grandmother insisted you keep near the windows. A tiny pair of pointe shoes hung beside the coat hooks, faded and ribbon-worn from a time when you were barely thirteen.

The moment the door clicked shut, you both sighed—one long, shared breath of release.

You kicked off your shoes and unzipped your dress in a practiced motion, tossing it across the bed without ceremony. He pulled off his hoodie, left in his plain white T-shirt, and padded into the kitchen like he knew the place by heart.

Because he did.

Ten minutes later, you were both in pajamas—his shirt too big on you, your flannel pants slightly mismatched with your fuzzy socks—and sitting cross-legged on the couch, balancing bowls of pasta in your laps. The small Bluetooth speaker hummed softly with Debussy, filling the room like candlelight. The Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance through the slanted window, but neither of you was looking.

You twirled your fork lazily, half-asleep already.

Jannik looked over, catching the way your shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "Vieni qui," (“Come here,”) he said, gently setting his bowl aside.

You shuffled closer without protest, leaning forward as he placed his hands on your shoulders and began to knead in slow, careful circles. His touch was warm and steady, his long fingers pressing into the knots formed by endless rehearsals and stress. You sighed into it, eyes fluttering shut.

“You missed your calling,” you murmured. “You should’ve been a masseur.”

“I’d have to talk to strangers,” he replied flatly, lips brushing your hair. “I’d rather keep my services exclusive.”

You laughed, and the sound came out sleepy and full. You tilted your head back against him, just watching his face for a moment—his soft curls mussed, his jaw stubbled, his expression so unguarded.

Then, with a mischievous smile, you tugged your foot into his lap. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“You promised,” you said, wiggling your toes at him. “Trade deal. Shoulders for feet.”

He groaned dramatically but took your foot anyway, beginning to rub gently, his thumbs drawing circles into your arches. “How are your bones even real?” he muttered. “You’ve got the feet of a battle-hardened warrior.”

“That’s ballerina for you,” you sighed contentedly. “Graceful on stage, gremlin backstage.”

He chuckled, and the sound buzzed deep in his chest. After a few minutes, your head dropped against his shoulder, your eyes closing, his thumb still moving in slow rhythm along the edge of your foot.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. Not really.

But eventually the dishes sat forgotten on the side table, and the lights stayed dim, and the music faded into silence.

You were curled on the couch like two commas in the same sentence—your head resting on his chest, his hand draped across your waist, fingers tangled in the hem of your shirt. His other hand lay limp near your knee, where it had rested after rubbing your calves until you stopped answering.

The streetlight outside cast soft patterns on the walls, and the quiet tick of the old kitchen clock was the only sound besides your breath, rising and falling in sync.

Jannik stirred once in the night, only to pull the blanket higher over your shoulders. He kissed the crown of your head, murmured something you didn’t quite hear, and then drifted back into sleep.

And just like that, the day that began with pointe shoes and pirouettes ended with bare feet tangled under blankets, the warmth of pasta lingering in the air, and a love that needed no grand stage to be felt.

dividers : @uzmacchiato @sweetmelodygraphics

#jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner imagine #jannik sinner fluff #jannik sinner x yn #jannik sinner x you #tennis imagine #jannik sinner

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iwritefanfictionsnottragedies · 5 hours ago

Text

You Up? (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: Bucky Barnes felt exhausted, out of touch with the times, and surprisingly vulnerable, when he asked you to teach him how to use Snapchat. You didn’t expect that he’d start sending you late night snaps from his bed, and he didn’t expect you’d send them back.

Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap, sexting, old-ass man baffled by modern technology, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving)

Kitchen, 1:04 AM

The hum of the fridge was the only sound in the kitchen until the cupboard door creaked behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder, spoon still in your mouth, and there he was: James Buchanan Barnes. Sweatpants, black t-shirt, dog tags faintly catching the light. Silent as a ghost.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Bucky murmured, stepping in with a nod.

“You didn’t,” you said around a mouthful of cereal. “You always move like all… stealthy like that?”

“Occupational hazard I guess.”

You watched him open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and lean against the counter. He looked tired. Not exhausted the way he usually did post-mission, but something softer. Restless.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

“Didn’t try,” he replied. “Didn’t feel like staring at the ceiling yet.”

You swallowed your bite and gave a half-smile. “Same.”

Bucky’s eyes landed on your phone next to the bowl. “That the one that makes your face look like a cat?”

You blinked. “What?”

He gestured toward it, brow pinched in confusion. “There’s this app. You were showing Yelena yesterday. It"s got filters, right? Turns your voice all squeaky?”

“Snapchat?”

“Yeah, that one.” He cleared his throat. “Can you explain it to me?”

You paused, spoon halfway to your mouth again.

“…You want me to teach you Snapchat?”

“I don’t want to,” he muttered, a little sheepish. “But the kid we pulled out of that HYDRA site yesterday, I think he sent me something. Said he’d ‘snap me later.’ I have no idea what that means.”

You blinked again. Then you laughed.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “I’m serious.”

“No, I believe you,” you said through a grin. “It’s just… you asking me to teach you Snapchat is like…I don’t know. A medieval peasant asking about TikTok.”

He looked unimpressed. “I know what TikTok is.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer.

Still smiling, you unlocked your phone and turned it toward him. “Alright. Let’s start with the basics.”

He sat beside you at the island, arms folded as you explained how to take snaps, send them, use filters, and view stories. He was attentive, really attentive, the way soldiers listened during briefing. Like it mattered.

“You’ve got to press and hold to record video,” you said, demonstrating. “And that’s where the filters are. Tap through them. And that,” you pointed, “that’s my Bitmoji. Don’t laugh at her.”

He stared at the cartoon version of you on screen, blinking slowly. “That doesn’t look anything like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And people use this… why?”

You shrugged. “To send life updates. Memes. Flirt. Post thirst traps.”

Bucky frowned. “Traps?”

You just grinned. “You’ll figure it out. There's also a normal chat feature, kind of like text messaging. All of this disappears after a certain amount of time unless you change some settings around.”

He was still looking at the screen like it was speaking another language. “There’s too many apps now. Used to be, you just called someone. Or wrote a damn letter.”

You leaned back on your stool, watching him with a small smile. “You really are a hundred years old, huh?”

“I’m a hundred and nine,” he corrected, dry.

There was a beat.

Neither of you moved.

Your smile softened. “Well… if you ever want help with anything else, I got you.”

Bucky’s expression twitched. Something between amused and unreadable.

“Noted.”

He stood, finishing his water, and turned to leave. Then paused at the doorway.

“Thanks for the lesson.”

“Anytime.”

You watched him disappear down the hallway, and then you gathered your bowl and phone and padded off toward your room. Just another late night in the Watchtower.

Your Room, 1:32 AM.

You’d just climbed into bed, blanket pulled up to your chest, when your phone buzzed.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

You sat up straight.

No. Way.

You tapped it.

It was a blurry picture.

You could see the corner of a pillow. Part of his stubbled jaw. A little bit of his collarbone. Shadows.

Caption: “Did I do this right?”

Your heart flipped.

You snapped a reply. Smirking into the camera, hair a mess, and your blanket pulled up to your chin.

“you did perfect, grandpa”

Two minutes later: @jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“You’re lucky I like you.”

And for a long, long time, you just stared at the screen, smiling into the dark.

Your Room, The Following Night, 1:04 AM

You told yourself to go to bed.

Your brain was, as always, too busy.

But when you finally crawled under the covers and picked up your phone again, your heart jumped.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

It was a photo of his face, dim, sleepy, barely visible. He was in bed. The sheets were pulled up to his chest. He looked... soft. Human.

The caption: “Are you awake?”

Your breath caught, and you stared at the screen for a while.

The snap sat, open. Just Bucky in his bed, dim and warm and undeniably attractive in that relaxed, casual way. He hadn’t posed. He hadn’t tried. And that was the problem.

There was something unguarded about it.

And something very deliberate.

You bit your lip and flopped back against the pillows.

You swiped to reply before you could think too hard. You adjusted the camera before taking the picture.

You, your face. Messy hair, moonlight brushing your cheekbone. You looked sleepy. Flushed.

The caption: “yeah. you?”

You hit send. Regret hit a second later.

But it didn’t last long.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

This one was darker, just the vague silhouette of his chest and shoulder, the curve of his dog tag chain barely visible against his collarbone.

The caption: “I can't sleep either. My brain is too loud.”

Your heart tugged.

That same tight ache from earlier. The kind that came with late nights and soft confessions from people who rarely if ever gave them.

You took another snap.

Half of your face. Blurry.

The caption: “what are you thinking about?”

There was a pause.

Long enough to make you incredibly anxious.

Then, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“You.”

You blinked.

Your stomach dropped straight through the mattress.

Not subtle. Not vague. Just the truth.

You stared at the chat, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Then you exhaled.

Screw it.

Snap sent: Your bare thigh on top of the blanket, the bottom hem of your shirt just barely visible.

The caption: “say more.”

The typing bubble started.

Stopped.

Started again.

You imagined him lying there, debating if he should answer. Imagined him in that dark room, lit only by the screen, chewing the inside of his cheek while his brain screamed not to do this.

Then your phone buzzed again.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

It's his face this time. Jaw tight. Eyes dark.

The caption: “This is dangerous.”

You stared at the message.

Then you snapped back, sending a blurry, close-up shot of your mouth.

The caption: “probably. and?”

No response.

Not for several minutes.

And then, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“Go to sleep, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, and sent your reply.

“whatever you say, gramps.”

And you both laid awake all night.

Your room, 7:02AM

The quiet hum of the Watchtower felt heavier than usual, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

You rolled over, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding too fast for this early in the morning. You replayed last night’s snaps in your mind; the way his words had set your skin on fire, the way the space between you had felt electric and raw.

The problem was: now that the night had passed, you weren’t sure what to do with all that heat.

He knew what the snaps meant.

You knew it, too.

But neither of you had any intentions of saying a word about it.

Not yet.

Kitchen, 8:17AM

You made your way to the kitchen, muscles tight and breath shallow.

You found Bucky already there, leaning against the counter, nursing a black coffee. The quiet between you stretched thin and taut.

He glanced up as you approached, eyes wary but soft.

“Morning,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Morning,” he replied, clearing his throat.

Neither of you moved to fill the silence.

You poured yourself some coffee, hands trembling just slightly.

Your eyes met his over the rim of your mug.

You wanted to ask him if last night had been a mistake.

You wanted to say something. Anything.

But all you managed was, “Did you sleep at all?”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Not really.”

The confession hung in the air, heavier than either of you expected.

You shifted, setting your mug down.

“I wasn’t expecting that snap.”

He looked at you then, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Neither was I.”

The space between you felt charged, alive.

You could feel the invisible thread pulling tighter.

But fear held both your tongues.

Neither wanted to be the first to say what was already known.

The Watchtower began to creak with the early stirrings of the team.

You heard footsteps, then John’s voice carrying down the hall.

“Hey, you two! There's breakfast in the lounge.”

Bucky shot you a glance, an unspoken question hanging there.

You nodded.

Later, sitting across from each other in the lounge, the rest of the team buzzed with casual chatter around you both.

But the silence between you was noticeable.

You caught Bucky’s gaze a few times. Each time, his eyes flickered with something raw and unsure.

At one point, Yelena nudged you, a teasing smirk on her lips.

“Something going on?” she asked softly.

You just shook your head, lips twitching.

She shrugged and sipped her coffee, but you caught her watching Bucky with sharp eyes.

Your Room, 12:38AM

You told yourself you weren’t going to do this again.

You were going to go to sleep. Like a normal person. Like someone who didn’t stay up fantasizing about a hundred-year-old man with a vibranium arm, copious amounts of trauma, and a voice that made you ache.

But still, Your fingers drifted across your phone, opening Snapchat before you could talk yourself out of it.

You snapped a photo from the bridge of your nose up, just your eyes. Sleepy. Bored. Safe.

The caption: “you up?”

A minute passed. Then two.

Then:

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“I thought we agreed that this is dangerous.”

Your heart thudded. You blinked at the screen.

No greeting. No pretense. Just… that.

Your fingers hovered over for a moment, contemplating before you replied.

“Couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t planning to snap you but alas.”

He replied instantly.

“Funny. I was hoping you would.”

You stared.

It wasn’t anything dirty, not really.

But it hit.

You felt it in your chest, in your stomach. Between your thighs.

You swallowed hard.

Your sleep shirt had ridden up a bit. You pulled the blanket aside and adjusted the angle, snapping a photo of your bare thigh, only the soft curve of skin showing.

The caption: “so now what?”

The reply didn’t come right away.

When it did, your breath caught.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

The empty side of his bed. A poorly drawn arrow pointing to the pillow.

The caption: “I wish you were here.”

You exhaled sharply.

Your stomach flipped.

He was always so careful. So distant. Always trying to pull away just enough to keep you at bay.

But this?

This was something.

You snapped a photo of your face, one eyebrow raised as if you were challenging him. Your skin flushed, and your shirt revealing a hint of cleavage.

The caption: “and if I was?”

You stared at the screen. Waiting.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

His hand. The metal one. Resting flat on his stomach. His muscles tight. You could see the waistband of his sweatpants.

The caption: “Then I’d ruin you.”

You sat up in bed, legs suddenly restless under the sheets.

You sent back a snap, one of just your shoulder and neck, blurry.

The caption: “i’d let you.”

He opened it immediately.

The typing bubble flickered.

Then, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“This is a bad idea.”

You replied.

“a really, really bad one.”

No reply came after that.

But you saw him open it.

And for the second night in a row, neither of you slept.

Your Room, 8:07AM

You tried not to rush through your morning routine.

You kept your hoodie zipped all the way up and your hair a little messier than usual, hoping it would hide the restless tension thrumming just beneath your skin. You hadn’t slept. You’d spent the night scrolling back to that final snap, your thumb hovering over the screen long after your phone dimmed.

He hadn’t replied.

But he’d seen it.

That soft, hazy photo of your shoulder. That quiet admission. And of course, was it a bad idea?

a really, really bad one.

You knew the message wasn’t just about sex. Not really. It was about the whole idea of you and him. About what it would mean to cross that line, and what they’d both lose if it went wrong.

You told yourself it was fine. You weren’t disappointed. You were a grown-ass woman who could handle a little sexual tension.

However, you were a grown-ass woman who found herself avoiding the lounge. Skipping breakfast. Keeping her head down.

Which is exactly why you ended up wandering into the kitchen, distracted, hoodie sleeves pushed over your hands, only to freeze at the sight of him.

Bucky.

Standing in front of the open fridge, looking just as tired as you felt.

He was in sweatpants. The ones you'd seen last night in that snap, the waistband resting low on his hips. His hair was still wet from a shower, and when he turned and saw you, his entire body stilled like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn't.

You weren’t sure what expression was on your face, but his eyes softened just slightly, like he could feel whatever heat still lingered from the night before.

“Morning,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

“Hey,” you replied. You forced yourself to move to the coffee machine, gripping the mug a little too tightly. “Sleep okay?”

He hesitated. You didn’t look at him, but you felt it, the way he paused before answering.

“Yeah,” he lied.

You smiled into your mug, looking up at him. “Liar.”

He grinned.

You kept your back to him, letting the silence stretch.

But the silence was disrupted by John Walker entering the room.

“Morning, sunshine squad,” he said, grabbing an apple off of the counter and taking a bite. “You two look like hell.”

You both ignored him.

He leaned on the counter, chewing obnoxiously.

“Sooooo,” he said, stretching the word out, “I got the craziest snap from Bucky last night.”

You blinked.

Bucky froze.

“What?” you asked carefully.

John smirked. “Yeah. Real late. Opened it around 1am. Thought it was a mistake.”

You felt your stomach tighten.

Bucky turned toward him slowly, brows furrowed. “What snap?”

John pulled out his phone and scrolled with theatrical flair. Then he turned the screen to you both and…

There it was.

A dimly lit snap of Bucky’s bare stomach, metal hand resting against his skin.

And the caption, clear as day: “Then I’d ruin you.”

Your jaw dropped.

Bucky looked like he’d just been hit by a truck.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, covering your mouth.

John burst out laughing. “I know that wasn’t meant for me, but damn if I’m not a little curious.”

“I meant to send that to her,” Bucky said without thinking, then immediately shut his eyes, realizing what he’d just admitted.

You choked on your coffee.

John’s eyes went wide.

“Holy shit,” he said. “You were sexting her. You nasty old bastard.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked like he wanted to disappear.

“I’m still figuring out how this app works,” he muttered, voice tight. “I didn’t realize it sent to you too.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” John said gleefully. “But I’m so glad I do.”

“Forget this happened, Walker,” Bucky said.

“Oh,” John said, still messing with his phone. “I'll be screenshotting it for blackmail purposes. This is gold.”

Bucky looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of tossing him out the window.

John winked at you. “Just say the word if you ever want a guy under eighty-five.”

“Get out,” Bucky growled.

John held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Don’t break your hip over it.”

He left, whistling.

The door closed behind him, leaving you and Bucky in the thickest silence yet.

You didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then finally…

“I would,” you whispered, “let you.”

Bucky sighed and leaned against the counter. “You’re trouble.”

You bit your lip, watching him quietly.

A flirtatious smirk crept across his face. He tried to suppress it. He grabbed his coffee mug and sauntered out of the kitchen without another word.

Your Room, 11:17 PM

You hadn’t spoken to him since that morning.

Not really.

You’d seen him in passing; at training, during a strategy briefing, when Yelena threw popcorn at Alexei’s head during movie night, but the tension had shifted. It was no longer something building slowly between you, unspoken and dangerous.

It was active.

It demanded attention.

And now you couldn’t look at him without remembering that snap. Without hearing the words in his voice.

Then I’d ruin you.

You had replayed it in your head so many times, you weren’t sure if you were turned on or emotionally unstable. Realistically, both.

You stared at the ceiling for a while after turning the lights out, curled beneath the blanket, your phone resting on your chest like a paperweight.

He hadn’t snapped you.

Not all day.

You told yourself that was good. Smart. Mature. He was pulling back. Being careful.

But you didn’t want to be careful anymore.

Not with him.

Not tonight.

So you opened Snapchat. Again.

You turned on the front-facing camera, adjusting the angle until it was just your mouth and chin. Lips parted. A little bit wicked.

The caption: “this still dangerous?”

You hesitated only a second before hitting send.

Then you waited.

Long enough to regret it. Long enough to bite your lip, curse under your breath, throw the blanket over your face like that would somehow undo what you’d just done, and yell into your pillow.

And then, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

It was a shot of his hand. The metal one, resting against his chest.

The caption: “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your breath caught.

This time, you didn’t reply right away.

You needed him to say more.

You needed him to risk it.

You needed to make him sweat a little.

A minute passed.

Then another.

And finally:

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“What are you wearing?”

You stared at the message, heart thudding in your chest. Heart thudding everywhere.

You rolled slowly onto your side, letting the blanket fall lower.

Sleep shirt. Bare thighs.

You adjusted the camera carefully, making sure it was suggestive, not graphic. A tease. A temptation. A glimpse of your hip, and the tiniest hint of blue lace panties, and the hem of your shirt.

The caption: “come find out.”

There was no pause this time.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

A selfie now. Bucky’s face. Hair tousled. Jaw clenched. His cheeks warm.

He looked… desperate.

The caption: “Don’t tempt me. I swear to god.”

Your thighs pressed together.

You opened the camera again, this time bringing the shot closer. Your fingers curled under your hem, not showing anything, but hinting at everything.

The caption: “i want you to.”

Another snap came instantly.

His bare chest. Dog tags. Muscle.

The caption:“Tell me what you’d let me do.”

You exhaled, hot and shaky.

Your whole body buzzed. Every inch of you begging for contact, even through a screen.

You snapped a photo of your shoulder, your collarbone, and your throat.

The caption: “i'd let you pin me down.”

Your phone buzzed immediately.

His hand. Gripping the bedsheet this time. White-knuckled.

The caption: “And then?”

You snapped back before you lost your nerve, fingers grazing just above your panties, shirt still hiked up high.

The caption: “Touch me. Make me squirm. Make me come.”

Another photo arrived in seconds.

His torso this time, arm flexed, abs tight. His skin glowed under dim light, sweat along his collarbone.

The caption: “You’d be begging me not to stop.”

A quiet, desperate noise escaped your mouth.

You adjusted again, this time your hand disappeared beneath the sheets, between your legs, nothing visible but everything implied.

The caption: “i’m already begging”

There was a longer pause this time.

You stared at the screen. Waiting.

You could feel the hesitation. The way he fought himself every step of the way.

And then, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“This is a really bad idea.”

You stared at it.

Bit your lip.

And sent the final snap for the night.

A photo of your pillow. Empty beside you. Invitation, suggestion, ache.

The caption: “Still, might be worth it.”

You waited.

Watched as he opened it.

The reply never came.

But you knew.

You both knew.

Kitchen, 8:05 AM

The kitchen was too quiet again.

You stared at the toaster, watching it slowly brown two slices of bread, pretending your heart wasn’t still thudding from last night. Pretending you hadn’t spent the past eight hours tossing under your sheets, skin hot, mind louder than it had any right to be.

He never replied.

Not after your last snap.

But you saw him open it. You knew what that silence meant.

And still, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked. That low light. That look in his eyes. Like he wanted you. Like he was struggling not to want you more.

You shifted on your feet, hoodie sleeves covering your fingers, trying not to look like you were waiting for him.

But then, he walked in.

Bucky.

Damp hair. Long sleeves. That damn quiet tension clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. He stopped when he saw you. Not startled. Just still.

You didn’t look away.

“Morning,” you said softly.

He nodded. “Morning.”

He moved past you to the fridge. His hand hovered on the handle. His back to you.

You stayed where you were, clutching your mug with both hands.

The silence stretched.

Thick.

“You didn’t reply,” you said finally, voice just above a whisper.

He closed his eyes for a second before turning, leaning back against the counter.

“I wanted to,” he said. His voice was rough. “But I didn’t trust myself not to come upstairs.”

Your stomach flipped.

He looked tired. Worn. And guilty.

Your throat tightened. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. “I regret not stopping this before it started.”

That stung.

Even if it was fair. Understandable.

Even if you knew it wasn’t just about the flirting. Or the sexting.

It was about the line you kept crossing. And what it would mean when it broke for real.

“You think I can’t handle you?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you then, directly.

“I think you don’t know what you’re inviting,” he said.

And then, softer, “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say something, anything, but you didn’t get the chance.

Because John Walker chose that exact moment to walk in. Again.

“Wow,” he said, biting into an energy bar. “You two have the most intense breakfasts I’ve ever seen.”

You both turned toward him in sync, like a pair of teenagers caught passing notes.

John grinned. “I’m assuming that I’m the only one of the three of us who didn’t get a snap last night?”

Bucky scowled. You stared down at your coffee.

John snorted. “Come on. Don’t look so guilty. I’m just impressed you figured out how to snap without sending it to the whole team this time.”

“Walker,” Bucky said, as a warning.

But John wasn’t done.

He leaned his hip against the counter, looking right at you with a smirk, "Whatever is good for team morale, I guess.”

John turned to the cabinet, fishing for a mug, and muttered to himself, “I give it two more nights before one of you caves.”

“What was that?” you asked innocently.

He grinned. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just betting against Bucky’s self-control.”

Your Room, 1:16 AM

You weren’t going to do it.

You weren’t going to open Snapchat.

You weren’t going to reach out first.

You weren’t going to let your whole body ache over someone who clearly didn’t want to cross the line… even though he wanted you.

But still, the app sat there. Waiting. And so did the tension. And so did you.

You scrolled back through the thread, past the soft snaps, the suggestive ones, the ones where he said too much without saying anything at all.

He was trying so hard, but he hadn’t stopped looking at you like he was two seconds away from ruining everything.

You pulled your blanket tighter, took a slow breath, and snapped a photo; just your fingers tangled in the sheets on your bed. Feeling brave, you typed it out.

The caption: “i keep thinking about how your mouth would feel on my skin.”

You sent it.

Then immediately wished you hadn’t.

But then, before you had time to panic, @jamesthefrozenone sent you a Snap

His chest, bare. Lit only by the glow of the phone. The curve of his shoulder, where his skin met with metal.

The caption: “Is that what you want?”

You sat up. Heart pounding.

Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket. Goosebumps across your skin. Every nerve in your body screamed.

You snapped a photo from the waist up, angled carefully. Your sleep shirt clung to the curve of your chest, just a hint of cleavage visible and your hard nipples visible through the fabric. Your expression said the rest.

The caption: “you already know it is.”

He opened it immediately.

You waited.

You didn’t expect what came next.

@jamesthefrozenone sent you a chat

“Open your door.”

You froze.

Then stared at it.

Then, you launched yourself out of bed, heart hammering so hard you thought it might bruise bone. You flung the blanket aside and scrambled to your feet.

You barely made it halfway across the room before there was a knock.

Three fast knocks. Barely loud enough to hear.

You opened the door, and there he was.

Bucky. Shirtless. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, chest rising like he’d sprinted the whole way to your room.

You didn’t say a word. Neither did he.

You just stared… and then you reached.

Your fingers curled into his chest like you’d earned the right by now. Like he was already yours. He surged forward, slamming the door shut behind him without ever looking back, lips crashing into yours with the kind of need that didn’t ask permission.

His hands were rough, urgent, gripping your waist and pulling you into him until there wasn’t a breath between you.

You moaned into his mouth, heat rushing through you as he backed you into the wall. His hips pinned you there. You could feel him, already hard through the thin fabric of his sweats, thick and heavy, pressing right where you needed him most.

“I feel like you're supposed to say you shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, voice wrecked. His mouth brushed your jaw, your cheek, your throat. “I know,” he growled, “so tell me to go.”

You didn't.

Instead, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and crashed your mouth against his.

He groaned, deep from his chest, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and hoisting you up, your legs wrapping tight around his waist.

“I mean it,” he rasped, carrying you toward the bed. “Tell me to leave. Right now.”

You clung to him, pulse hammering. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He kissed you hard, like it was the only thing keeping him alive. One hand slid up under your shirt, dragging it over your ribs, possessive. The other gripped your ass, squeezed hard, like he’d been dying to do it for years.

You barely had time to gasp before he carried you to the bed, as if he couldn’t wait another second. He dropped you onto the mattress, then peeled your clothes off with shaking hands—desperate, reverent, like he needed to see all of you *now* or he’d break.

“Jesus,” he muttered, looking down at you, eyes blown wide. “You’re unreal.”

“Then get inside me,” you said, breathless. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Oh, I want you to beg,” he rasped, crawling over you, mouth trailing down your chest, biting just enough to make you gasp. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you.”

You arched up against him. “Then have me god damnit.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He dropped to his knees on the floor with you still wrapped around him, peeled your panties down and shoved your thighs apart. His mouth was on you in seconds. His tongue hot and greedy, lapping between your folds, groaning like he was devouring his last meal. You cried out, hips bucking into his face, and he didn’t stop, just locked his arms around your thighs and fucked you with his tongue until you were shaking.

“God, oh my god, Bucky, I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” he growled, voice thick, jaw slick with you. “Let me taste it.”

You shattered.

Your body locked up and trembled, a sob tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, legs shaking around his shoulders. He kept going, licking you through it until you whimpered from the stimulation, clawing at his shoulders.

He stood, wild-eyed, flushed, jaw tight, and shoved his sweats down just enough to free his cock.

Big. Thick. Veins prominent.

He bent you over the mattress, dragged your ass back into position, and slid inside you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck—” he groaned, head dropping between your shoulder blades. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You gasped, your back arching, nails digging into the mattress. “Don’t stop. God, please don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

He fucked you like he meant to break you. Every thrust hit deep, hard, hungry. Metal hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you. You were soaked. Sloppy, hot, pulsing around him, and he couldn’t stop the filthy words from pouring out.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he rasped in your ear. “Wanted me to ruin you like this? You thinking about it every time I walk into a room?”

“Yes!” You cried out, helpless, twitching under him. “I’m so close, please- please-”

“I wanna feel you come.”

You did.

Loud. Messy. Legs trembling, vision white-hot.

Bucky swore, pulled you upright with your back against his chest, fucked into you hard a few more times, and then he came with a rough moan, teeth gritted, arms wrapped tight around you like he’d fall apart if he let go.

His breath came fast and ragged against your shoulder.

You both collapsed onto the bed, your limbs tangled, skin slick, and nerves fried.

“Still think it’s a bad idea?” you whispered into the quiet.

He laughed. Hoarse. Spent.

“Absolutely.”

And then he kissed you again, deep, slow, filthy, and he didn’t stop for a long, long time.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #thunderbolts #fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes smut

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moonlit-imagines · 3 days ago

Text

Headcanons for dating Guy Gardner

Guy Gardner x reader

warnings: like minor innuendos and like. guy gardner being a silly guy.

a/n: LEECH LORD I LOVE U FOR USING MY REQUEST TEMPLATE MWAH MWAH. also guys wouldn’t it be funny if i fridged reader. dont look up fridging if you dont know what it means its an infamous hal jordan reference and i dont want to be the reason you are traumatized.

prompt: @the-leech-lord: “Prompt: Headcanons for Guy dating a civilian”

guy was such a pain in the ass

but he was your pain in the ass

you had to put him in his place more often than not

“against my vows to do the dishes” -guy

“i’m gonna go to oa my damn self and tell the ‘masters of the universe’ youre using their vow in vain” -you

“guardians of the universe! masters of the universe is he-man!! and don’t do that, i will do the dishes” -guy

“and you can’t use the ring to do your chores” -you

“damn it!” -guy

dont get me wrong, guy was still a great boyfriend and he had his moments—but this man was such a punk

acclimating to being with someone in “the life” was hard but he was pretty good about helping you adjust

like he ALWAYS texted you back ASAP so you didn’t worry

even if he was off-planet (he gave you a extraterrestrial long-distance communicator and told you to keep it a secret)

“yes, honey, i am very much alive and well, but im fighting a fleet of alien spaceships right now so im gonna have to hang up now, okay?” -guy

when you were first introduced to the “justice gang,” michael and kendra were shocked guy could have an s/o

“you’re guy’s partner? how do you put up with his shit?” -kendra

“oh, it’s easy. i just threaten to tell the lantern corps whenever he’s being pouty and he immediately starts to behave again” -you

“would that even work?” -michael

“calling up the lantern corps? don’t know, never tried. he just looks so panicked whenever i say it, it’s never failed” -guy

“you’re incredible.” -kendra

guy def parades u around a lil bit. like he’s very proud to be able to call himself ur bf

sometimes you get a lil insecure bc he literally is a green lantern and knows so many powerful people and meets people on other planets?? and he still chooses you every day

when he comes home from off world missions he never shows up empty handed. either he found something to gift you from another planet or he’ll just show up with some coffee and donuts

“this is, uh, well i don’t really remember what it’s supposed to resemble, but it’s a very cute creature on their planet. this is the equivalent of a teddy bear for us” -guy

“oh! it’s so…unique. i love it” -you

“and i love you” -guy

he’s very passionate and his love language is 100% touch so he likes to have you close

when you’re out, his arm is around your hip at all times

when you’re home, he’s hugging you from behind and kissing your shoulders and back

he holds you and dances with in the living room while you’re having conversations in the living room, you’ll tell him about your boring day and he’ll brag about his battle feats

you cut his hair for sureeee

“just make sure the bowl is straight, i don’t want to look stupid” -guy

“oh, no, we wouldn’t want you looking stupid” -you

(a/n: idk if there’s any comic canon lore behind his bowl cut and i dont feel like researching but it’d be soooo funny if thats just how him mom cut it when he was a kid and he just never changed his hairstyle)

you middle parted his hair just to mess with him

“y/n, that is so not funny. don’t take pictures, i don’t want a digital footprint or whatever it’s called” -guy

*you actively posting it on your story and tagging him*

like i said, gotta put the man in his place. he’s far to cocky

he also posts date night pictures of you guys all the time he’s super proud of u

whenever there’s some insane thing going on in metropolis (where you live for the sake of the plot) he always makes sure you’re clear of danger before fighting the enemy head-on

“you took your sweet time” -michael

“oh, you know. had to check on the significant other” -guy, winking

“cool story, want to start helping now?” -michael

you were starstruck the first time you met superman

“y/n, you hang out with superheroes every day!” -guy

“yeah, but he’s superman!” -you

“so?! he’s just an alien. i go space all the time, i’m much cooler than him” -guy

“you’re right, you’re so much cooler than him” -you

guy enjoyed when you fed his ego

like lowkey it was the most flattering thing for him it always made him super happy

“so you think i’m super-cool huh?” -guy

“oh, yeah, you’re the coolest” -you

“well, since i’m so cool, we should go somewhere cool this weekend” -guy

“cool or warm?” -you

“you’re right, warm is better. how about the florida keys?” -guy

“how about greece?” -you

“oooh, fancy-schmancy” -guy

“oh, i’m not good enough for greece?” -you

“i didn’t say that!” -guy

he definitely would take you on trips since he had the ability to travel by ring lol

“when can i get one of those?” -you, tapping his ring

“are you asking me to propose?” -guy

“no, i want a cool superpowered ring, duh” -you

“well, in that case. probably never. only the the people with the most willpower in the universe get these. maybe if i forget to do the dishes again a red one will find you” -guy

you swatted him and he started laughing his ass off

you have to promise not to watch the shows youre watching together when he’s off world and its sooooo hard

sometimes it hits you how normal you are compared to him and life almost doesn’t feel real but he’s pretty good about making sure you know you mean the world to him

he likes to make little constructs to distract you when you’re busy doing stuff

like when you’re in the shower and suddenly there’s a transparent green bird perched on the curtain rod

“guy, what the hell are you doing?” -you

“just helping you live out your disney fantasies. he’s here to help you get ready” -guy, through the bathroom door

“cut it out, that’s so weird!” -you, watching the green bird hold your towel in its beak

“sing to it!” -guy, cackling

“no!!” -you

he loves outlandish pranks

non-harmful ones for you but if it were the justice gang it’d definitely be something a little more dangerous

speaking of the justice gang, you got to tour the WIP hall of justice and it was like the coolest thing ever

“we could do it here alllll the time” -guy

“ew, guy, why would you even say that?” -kendra

“save it for when we get home, smooth talker” -you

justice gang def texts you all the time and tells guy how much cooler you are than him and he actually usually agrees

because duh, if you weren’t cool he wouldn’t be dating you

guy 100% will say he’s gonna give you a back/foot massage or something and make the ring do it

you can tell the difference but the ring constructs lowkey do it better so you don’t say anything

i mean he is using his willpower to do it so its not like hes not trying

you wear his JG jacket sometimes and have requested your own honorary jacket but he likes when you wear his clothes so he won’t budge

tbh i may not have added it too much in this fic but he definitely lovesss to hear “i love you’s” and says it soooo much

and he loves compliments and always makes sure to compliment you back

and he loves deep kisses

and when you care enough to keep him in check

and any cheeky shit you end up doing like (forgive me lord) slapping his ass when he walks by (its funny ok)

he doesn’t do spooning tho bc he sleeps on his back and snores like a mf

you’re very grateful for the quieter nights

when you can’t sleep, guy will fly you two up in a bubble over metropolis at night and look at all the city lights

“it’s pretty up here” -you

“i can only focus on you” -guy

“yeah right” -you

“calling me a liar?” -guy

“maybe” -you

“ouch, not cool. guess we’re not getting froyo from your favorite spot in town” -guy

“oh, you’re evil” -you

taglist: @summersimmerus // @the-did-i-ask // NEW TAGLIST FOR DC MOVIES — DC UNIVERSE REBOOTED — SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED

#guy gardner #guy gardner x reader #guy gardner imagine #green lantern #green lantern x reader #green lantern imagine #superman 2025 #superman 2025 x reader #superman 2025 imagine #dcu imagine #dcu x reader #dcu #dcu rebooted #dc comics #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine

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meropeeonmee · 2 days ago

Text

TYRANT - Joe Burrow

Description: She was there before the fame. Now he’s everywhere—but not with her.

Authors note: I’m obsessed with this song dang. It got me feeling angsty

MASTERLIST!

I don’t want him back. God, I don’t. I’ve said it a thousand times—to friends, to strangers, to the mirror, to the ceiling above my bed on nights when the silence presses too heavy to sleep. I don’t want him back. I don’t want to retrace our steps or beg for another chance or believe in something that already proved itself breakable. But even now, long after he stopped being mine, long after I stopped being anything at all to him—I still can’t let go.

Not because I want to relive it.

But because I never got to leave it properly.

Not because I miss the way his hand fit around mine when the world felt too heavy—

But because I gave him everything when I still didn’t know what I was made of.

There are parts of me that only exist because I was with him. He saw them first. He named them. He made me believe I could carry his future without losing myself. And then he let go like it never mattered.

I keep telling myself it wasn’t him who broke me. That maybe it was what he belonged to.

The real tyrant.

Football. The god I could never compete with.

It was never another girl, or a lie, or even a betrayal.

It was always the game.

Hangman, answer me now.

Why does it always feel like I was the sacrifice?

I never hated the game. I never cursed the stadium or the playbook or the schedule that stole birthdays and anniversaries and Sunday mornings from us. I knew what I was signing up for when I fell for a quarterback. I knew there would be injuries and rehab and missed dinners and media obligations. I knew I’d be second—sometimes third, sometimes last. And for a while, I could live with that. I could sit in the stands with his parents and cheer for him with love that swallowed every disappointment whole.

But it didn’t matter how loyal I was, or how many home games I stayed up packing for, or how many nights I spent massaging ice packs into his shoulder. One day, he just didn’t have time for me anymore. He didn’t say it outright, but the silence between his texts got longer, the calls started coming only after games—not before. And I realized then that I wasn’t part of the dream anymore. I was the thing he left behind to become what the world told him he was destined to be.

They all say, “He’s living his dream.” And I smile. I nod. I repost the highlights like a good memory would. Because he is. He’s doing exactly what he said he’d do. I just wasn’t supposed to disappear from the picture.

But no one talks about what it cost me.

No one sees the debt.

You owe me a debt.

You stole him from me.

And by you, I don’t mean the girl he’s dating now.

Not even her. Not anymore.

I mean the machine that made him untouchable.

The destiny. The NFL. The path he carved so cleanly that there was no space for the girl who held his jaw steady in locker rooms and memorized his post-game silence like scripture.

Time took him. Ambition polished him. The spotlight erased me.

I was there for the soft years. The injured seasons. The nights he doubted everything and whispered, “What if I’m not good enough?” while I laid with him in the dark, hand over his heartbeat, promising that he already was. I loved him when no one knew his name. I watched him become everything. And then I watched him let go of the version of himself that needed me to get there.

College sweetheart turned ghost in the rearview mirror of his rising career.

That’s the version of me no one remembers.

And yeah—there was a time I hated her.

Whoever she was.

The new girl with the manicured nails and the glossed-over past. The one who met him after the scars had already healed. The one who didn’t have to pour him into sweatpants and drive him to physical therapy. The one who didn’t wait up alone during draft week or press her forehead against his when he thought he might not make the cut.

The one who didn’t have to earn him.

But got him anyway.

I hated her once.

But now?

I envy her.

Because he smiles differently now.

Like nothing ever cracked in him.

Like the past never left bruises.

Like I was never the girl who pulled him through the lowest years of his life.

And she gets that version.

The glossy, polished, post-trauma version.

The Joe who never needed to call at 2AM from a Walmart parking lot asking if I still believed in him.

The Joe who learned how to be comfortable in the spotlight because someone like me held him when he was still learning to breathe there.

She gets him after the work. After the climb. After me.

And I’m still here.

Alone in the echo of everything I gave, everything I lost.

Still wondering why the girl who stayed through the storm was the one asked to leave when the sun came out.

I told myself I was done thinking about him.

But then in 2024, the burglary happened.

I saw it on the news while scrolling in bed, mindlessly watching the world unfold. “Quarterback Joe Burrow’s home broken into late last night. No injuries reported.”

I told myself not to react. I told myself not to feel it.

But my breath caught anyway.

My body still flinched at the idea of him hurt.

Even after everything, I still cared that he was okay.

And just a few days later, his new girl’s name started trending. A blurry clip surfaced—just her, stepping out of a car, smiling when someone asked, “Are you dating Joe Burrow?” She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. Just that smile—small, knowing, practiced. I watched it on loop, trying to read her eyes like they held answers I wasn’t allowed to ask anymore.

I read the comments, the tweets, the fan edits that painted them into something perfect. And I didn’t want to gloat. I wasn’t bitter in the way people think.

I just hated the fact that I still worried.

Still wondered if he was okay.

Still imagined how his hands might shake when the cameras turned off.

Still had the nerve to hope he wasn’t handling it all alone. I hate that I still care.

Just tell me how.

Tell me how.

Tell me how he walks past our old diner on Vine Street without even flinching.

Tell me how he drives by the exit to our first apartment and doesn’t even take it for memory’s sake.

Tell me how he forgets the smell of that shitty lavender lotion I used to rub on his knees every time they ached after practice.

Tell me how he forgets my voice saying, “You don’t need the world to believe in you—I already do.”

Tell me how.

How do you delete someone who made a home in your ribs?

How do you stop wondering if his new girl ever hears him mumble my name in his sleep?

Because I know he did.

He used to.

One night, back when the weight of it all was too heavy and he couldn’t speak without choking, I held his face and whispered, “I’ll carry it if you can’t.”

And he let me.

For years.

And now he carries none of it.

No trace.

No guilt.

Just highlight reels and trophy cases and clean slates.

Tell me how to stop hating the fact that I still check the scores.

Still read the injury reports like they’re eulogies for the version of him I used to know.

Still get sick when I see her in my spot.

Still feel the phantom weight of his championship ring on my hand—because he promised it’d be mine first.

Tell me how.

Tell me how to let go of someone who never really said goodbye.

How to unlove someone who was mine in every way but the one that counted.

How to walk away from a future I was halfway through building in my head.

Because I don’t want him back.

I don’t.

But I do want to scream.

I want to scream until the world knows that before he was theirs, he was mine.

And I don’t want him back—

But I want the version of myself I lost when he left.

The girl who believed that loyalty was enough.

That love could outlast ambition.

I don’t want him back.

But I want to stop waking up thinking I still matter.

I want to stop hurting like I do.

I want to stop being the silent casualty of a dream I helped build.

So tell me how.

Please, God—just tell me how.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x reader #cincinnati bengals #nfl football #nfl #fanfiction #nfl fan fic #angst #Spotify

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seitmai · 9 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

You weren’t here just for fashion. You were here for him. And the second he saw you, he stopped breathing. You always did this. Wreck his composure with nothing but proximity.

🤭🤭🤭

People in these two worlds didn’t really know what you and Ari were. Not yet. No hard launch. Just one half-blurry photo of him kissing your cheek weeks ago that disappeared in 24 hours that only your Close Friends saw.

Soft launch 😌

“Fitting, since I haven’t touched you in six fucking days.” You smirked. “Sounds like a personal problem.” “One I fully intend to solve tonight.”

Someone has a plan 🤭

You both remembered it, how you almost missed your flight last week, the way he ran down the street after you, barefoot and shirtless, just to kiss you again. The way you laughed, letting him back in to finish dressing.

Thats so romcom of him 🥰

You didn’t make it out if the gallery without his hand curling possessively at your waist. Didn’t make it to the car without his mouth crashing onto yours in the shadow of a Rodin. Neither of you cared who saw.

As it should be!

Your orgasm happened almost instantaneously, catching Ari by surprise. He choked on air, blinded, as your pussy tugged the cum out of his cock without warning. “Muse… oh FUCK.” He spilled inside you with a broken moan, forehead pressed to yours, his hips still rocking gently, like he didn’t want it to end. Like this was the only place he ever wanted to be.

🥵🥵🥵

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” You said the words over and over as the pleasure bonded you, body and soul. Because you were home. And home was with Ari.

🥰🥰🥰

But you were still thinking about the way Ari whispered “mine” against your skin last night. So you turned the camera on him. You snapped the photo. You paused and bit your lip. You thought about the discussion you and he had, a couple of weeks earlier, about posting another photo to hard launch the relationship. You opened Instagram, typed one word, and posted the photo to your timeline. Claimed. Posted. Ari tagged.

Hard launch 😌

Ari came up behind you on the balcony, pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and held up his phone with a raised brow. “So. We’re official now?” You took a sip of your espresso, wondering how he’d react, but hid it with a smirk. “We’ve been official. The internet just caught up.” Ari grinned like a man who had no plans of ever letting you go.

So true!

You didn’t mean for it to go that viral. By the time your driver dropped you at the Grand Palais for your second show, your name was trending, not for the Mugler gown or your gallery moment, but for that photo. You didn’t flinch. You just adjusted your sunglasses and walked. But your phone buzzed constantly. Vogue wanted a quote. Peach texted You broke the timeline.

Whoops 🤭

We’ll get fresh croissants in the morning. Just bring those thighs. Deal?

But you just hought of how much you missed him, even though it had only been hours.

🥹🥹🥹

You didn’t mean to laugh aloud. But you did. And everyone noticed.

Of course they did 🤭

“Just warning you,” he said, “your inbox is… a lot. Vogue Paris wants a quote. GQ wants a bed shoot. With her. Quote, ‘the hard launch turned certified sex god.’” But he didn’t think about donors or deadlines. Or newfound infamy. He thought about you. In his shirt. On his balcony. That look in your eyes when you posted it. It should have terrified him. Maybe once, it would have. Instead, he saved the photo to his favorites.

I love that man for that 🥰

Come get me. I’m two seconds from climbing out the window. I need ten minutes with you. Or five. Just enough to feel you.

“So… the post. She’s really your Muse?” He didn’t even blink. “She’s everything.”

Easiest answer of his life

He didn’t reply with words. Just came in a black car.

Thats a statement 😌

“Are you sure? Still down for this? All of this?” “I want it all, Muse. Let them have the photo. They don’t get our souls.��

Period 👏🏻

The car came to a stop and Ari threw you over his shoulder, holding up his pants with the other hand as he carried you into the apartment. The blow job you’d just given him in the car had made him singularly focused on giving you multiple orgasms, and your upside down laughter just spurred him on.

Ahhh 🥰🤭

He didn’t care about the time. Didn’t care if you had fittings later or if the world thought he was some random art collector sleeping his way through fashion week. He just wanted you to remember this, to remember you two together. He loved you like you were art. And when he finally slid into you, pressing you into the mattress and filling you inch by thick inch, he didn’t move. “Still want ten minutes?” he asked, voice rough, hips barely rocking. “No,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

Urgh I love them 🥰😍

Yours had been Ransom Drysdale, the Amherst ex. The one who made you think “serious” meant something for two years until he told you, carefully and cruelly, that his family wouldn’t accept “someone like you.” You almost laughed. Of course he’d be in Paris. Of course he’d show up like a plot twist in a movie you thought you’d already finished watching.

Damn of course

You raised a brow. “Paris gets small during Fashion Week.” “Yeah,” he said, glancing at Ari. “Seems like you upgraded. Curator, right? I saw the Basel feature. Very… brooding chic.”

So very Ari lol

Instead, you looked at Ari. Not checking for his reaction, just anchoring in the calm he always gave you. He looked back at you like you were the only person in Paris that mattered.

🥹🥹🥹

You turned to Ransom. “I wasn’t restless. I just hadn’t found someone who could match me.” “You and me were bad timing. We were dumb. You wanted a romance novel. I wanted… not to get disowned.”

I think that's a fair observation on both parts

“My wife, Minx. Those are our girls, Golden and Elodie. They’re my world.” You blinked and tried to process the information. Ari nodded slowly as you closed your slightly parted mouth.

Oh, I did not expect this

“Anyway, they’re waiting upstairs. Just grabbing breakfast. Don’t want to face three hangry women empty-handed.”

Valid 🤷🏻‍♀️ also: Ransom spin off.👀

“I’m happy for you,” you managed. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you got what you deserved.” You held his gaze. “I did.”

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

The moment he left, you let out a long, quiet breath. Ari didn’t speak right away. He just slid his fingers into yours. “Handled that like a runway queen,” he murmured. You laughed, tension breaking. “I wanted to throw my cappuccino at him.” Ari shrugged. “I just wanted to punch him once. That’s all.”

That would have been fun too, not gonna lie 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

And maybe later, you’d talk about what it meant, that his wife looked just a little like you, that he’d married a version of the future he’d once denied. Or maybe, you’d enjoy your last afternoon in Paris and think about what came next. And that didn’t involve Ransom Drysdale at all.

Not the look alike 🫣

But you were greedy, too. You wanted the silence between sunrise and coffee. You wanted Ari’s bare chest under your cheek while he read the paper. You wanted the slow, quiet minutes that didn’t make headlines or social feeds.

I think it's fair to be greedy about those things 🤷🏻‍♀️

“You stood in front of a sea of paparazzi in Paris. Faced down your asshole of an ex in couture and heels. And now you’re scared of a lease?” That’s what broke you. Because it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. It was simple and sincere. And still, you pulled away. “I need time,” you said. “I just got home. I need to be home.” Ari stepped back like you’d slapped him.

Uff 😬

“I’m not going to beg you to stay,” he said, jaw tight. “But I thought we were building something.” You grabbed your bag, shoved on your sunglasses, and walked out before the tears could fall. It felt too familiar. To both of you.

Noooo💔

You didn’t open it. And he didn’t use the key you’d just given him. He wanted you to let him in. “I’ll sit on this floor all night if I have to.” “Because this is what people do when it’s real. They fight. They figure it out. They don’t run the first time it stops being easy.”

He is the realest thing she probably ever had and that's scary, but he is so good 🥲

You opened the door wider. “I wasn’t running,” you said. “I was scared. There’s a difference.” “Then let me stand with you in the fear.”

🥺🥺🥺

“I don’t care if you need a drawer. Or two apartments. Or a thousand feet of emotional buffer zone. But I’m not walking away because you got scared. I choose you. Every day. Even on the hard ones.” “I want to want it. I’m just not there yet.” He nodded. “Okay. Then we wait.” “You’d wait?” He smiled, a little broken. “For you? I’d wait forever. But I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long.” Because that’s what love was, after all. Not perfect timing, or instant ease. But showing up, even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard. And staying anyway.

🥹🥹🥹

You were quiet for a moment. Then you whispered: “I think I’m ready.” He didn’t gloat. Just kissed your temple. “Good.” You packed slowly. Left the lease open “just in case,” but you both knew.

He waited patiently for that moment but couldn't be happier 🥹🥰

Your name was on the buzzer now. Ari was barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring a sauce Bucky had taught him how to make. You were folding laundry on the living room rug, and humming under your breath. Everything was peaceful.

Domestic bliss🥰

“Where’s that coming from?” “I think about it sometimes,” he said, shrugging. “Not now. But someday.” “I think about you,” he whispered, “round with my kid. Your tits swollen. Waddling through this apartment cursing me out because I knocked you up.” “I’m on birth control,” you mentioned, even though you weren’t objecting. Not really. “I know.” His hands tightened. “Only reason I haven’t bred you already.”

Oh and he means it 🤭

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You really do have a breeding kink.” His grin was wicked. “Only with you.”

🤤🤤🤤

“If you ever actually try to knock me up...” He raised a brow. “You’ll what?” You smirked. “You’ll have to marry me first.” His grin spread slow and wide. “Deal.” And you knew he meant it.

Easiest deal of his life

Muse: Seven

Muse: Six | Muse Masterlist | Epilogue

Peach Masterlist | Knock You Down Masterlist | Minx Masterlist

Summary: Paris is for lovers. And hard launches. And exes. And you run again. How does Ari put up with you?

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader; Ransom Drysdale x Reader (past); Ransom Drysdale x Minx

Word count: 5.3 K

A/N: Muse has been a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the sixth one. This is the last chapter and I don’t want to quit them, so there will be one more, an epilogue next Monday. 🥹 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and has endured me being unhinged in her inbox. For this one, I was thinking of a movie with a scantily clad Daveed Diggs (for science, i was thinking of it for science), named Velvet Buzzsaw. That was my first time hearing about Art Basel, which is over 50 years old. Art Basel is an art fair that is kind of like fashion week for art but not really? It’s held annually in Basel, Switzerland, Miami, Hong Kong, and Paris. Ransom Drysdale and Minx (kinda) also make an appearance in this story. This AU is the nexus, not only connected to the Peach and Knock You Down verses, but also the Minx verse. I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, Paris brings out the ferality in Muse and Ari. Hard launches and Paparazzi.reference to anal if you squint, Oral (m/f receiving), mucho raw p in v creampie, partitions, SIZE KINK, breeding kink, multiple orgasms. Plot and porn.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

Paris always made you feel like the best version of yourself.

There was something about the buildings, the Seine, the sky behind the Eiffel tower, and the click of your heels echoing in a quiet alley that made you feel cinematic. Legendary. And Art Basel and Fashion Week had collided like a perfectly orchestrated climax.

You were running on no sleep, fresh off a red-eye and straight into a Montmartre shoot. It had been four hours under brutal white lights. But your skin still glowed and our smile was still soft. Because you knew what came next.

Ari.

Your phone buzzed just as you stepped out of the dressing room. One message. No preamble:

Thinking of that ass. And the way you let me have it seven nights ago, then destroyed my soul by jetting around the globe. I am a shell of a man.

You laughed quietly to yourself, then texted back:

Miss you too. Be ready.

An hour later, you stepped into the Palais de Tokyo, not just late, but intentionally so. Your black satin slip skimmed every curve, slits flashing thigh with every step. Your legs looked endless. And your scent, Guerlain Vanille, the one he gave you for your birthday, along with a rare art book and the vintage sapphire earrings you were wearing, left chaos in your wake.

You weren’t here just for fashion.

You were here for him.

The moment you stepped into the gallery space, the noise changed. You belonged to this world, but you weren’t here for them. You scanned the gallery, and found him instantly.

He stood by a sculpture made of raw steel and twisted silk, a dark suit stretched perfectly across his broad, tall frame, hand in his pocket, the other cradling a glass of something expensive. Ari looked like everything you ever let yourself want.

And the second he saw you, he stopped breathing.

You always did this. Wreck his composure with nothing but proximity.

Ari had been holding it together for six days. Endless events, curated smiles, too many people saying too much in too many languages.

But the second you walked into the gallery, everything narrowed into one beautiful point.

He didn’t come to you. Just stared. Ravaged you with his eyes like he’d been starved for weeks, not six days. But six days apart felt like weeks. LA, New York, now Paris. Your lives were runway fast and whirlwind cruel.

You drifted toward him slowly, although you wanted to run into his arms. You played it cool by skimming your fingers along the edges of the sculpture, pretending indifference while your body burned.

You tilted your head at the sculpture’s chaos.

“Entanglement or control?” you murmured.

Ari leaned in behind you, lips grazing the shell of your ear, spreading the low flame in your body into a wildfire.

“I think it’s about being tied to someone. Willingly.”

You glanced up at him.

“Is that a metaphor, Mr. Levinson?”

He just smiled, sipping his drink like he wasn’t two seconds from dropping it and hauling you into the nearest corner. Like he wasn’t picturing your thighs spread and your cunt on his tongue.

You read the title of the piece aloud.

Disconnection. You raised a brow.

He didn’t skip a beat.

“Fitting, since I haven’t touched you in six fucking days.”

You smirked. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“One I fully intend to solve tonight.”

His hand slid down your back, anchoring at your spine. He inhaled the vanilla on your skin and he was already hard, grateful fashion had done away with slim-fit pants.

You both needed each other’s keys.

You didn’t make it out if the gallery without his hand curling possessively at your waist. Didn’t make it to the car without his mouth crashing onto yours in the shadow of a Rodin.

Neither of you cared who saw.

And by the time you got back to his rented flat in Le Marais, it wasn’t a question of if.

It was how fast.

The door slammed behind you.

He kissed you against the inside of it, his mouth wild against your skin, his hands pushing your dress up and off your body like it wasn’t worth a small fortune. It puddled to the floor. You stood before him in heels and nothing else.

“I fucking missed you,” he growled, hoisting you into his arms. “Every second.”

He carried you down the hall, undressed you slowly as he peeled off his own clothes, kissing you, whispering words of devotion as his mouth devoured you.

“I love you,” he breathed against your skin.

“I love you so much, Muse.”

His mouth closed around your nipple, teasing and tugging with his lips, tongue and teeth and driving you to the edge of delirium. Every sound suck tightened the coil in your belly.

Molten heat was curling through your veins.

A thought pinged in the back of his mind to try and make you cum that way, but that was for later. Now, he was too desperate.

“Ohhhh. Ari.. Love you too.. Missed you so much…”

He kissed a trail down your stomach, each press deeper, rougher. He held you down as you writhed, hands planted to keep you from floating away.

“I’m going to love you so hard you won’t know what hit you. Gonna remind you who you belong to.”

He parted the soft lips of your cunt, skating his fingers over your clit.

“So fucking beautiful.”

His tongue slid over your slick folds, and you whimpered, fisting the sheets, thighs falling open in surrender. His tongue danced over your clit. He licked and sucked, coaxing you apart like he knew your every nerve ending.

Ari devoured you with patience and precision, whispering filth and praise between every stroke as he drove you higher and higher. He felt like a king as he earned the flavor of your orgasm on his tongue.

“So sweet. So mine.”

You reached for his thick cock with its beautiful roping veins, sliding your fingertips over the pearl of pre-cum at the tip. He hissed, jerking slightly as he spilled a little more and you slid your fist along his length

“Need you,” you gasped. “Inside. Now.”

“Shit. I need it too. For the rest of my life…”

You pulled him closer, so crazy in lust and love that you needed him like air. He slid into you in one deep, thick push that stole your breath. He stretched you out, and your cunt wrapped around his big cock and took him deep inside your body.

You wrapped your limbs around him, needing him closer, needing all of him.

“Fuck, Ari, yes, right there, just like that, ahhhh!”

Your orgasm happened almost instantaneously, catching Ari by surprise. He choked on air, blinded, as your pussy tugged the cum out of his cock without warning.

“Muse… oh FUCK.”

He spilled inside you with a broken moan, forehead pressed to yours, his hips still rocking gently, like he didn’t want it to end. Like this was the only place he ever wanted to be.

You weaved your fingers through his hair and kissed his perfect mouth.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You said the words over and over as the pleasure bonded you, body and soul.

Ari didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that he did it with you in his arms.

Paris never stopped. But tonight, the city could wait.

Because you were home. And home was with Ari.

—--

The next morning, Paris looked like a painting outside the window, and you were tangled in Ari’s sheets, sore and satisfied, your limbs boneless and your heart embarrassingly full.

He was still asleep beside you, hair a mess, mouth slightly parted, one hand flung lazily across the pillow you’d shared. You slipped out of bed slowly, wrapped in his white button down, and padded barefoot into the little kitchen.

Coffee brewed. Toast popped. You walked out to the balcony, took a bite, sipped your espresso, and scrolled through the chaos of your tagged photos from last night’s event.

You were tagged in numerous pics, photos of the exhibit, fashion crowd candids. The usual chaos.

But you were still thinking about the way Ari whispered “mine” against your skin last night.

So you turned the camera on him.

He was still asleep, arm flung across your pillow, sunlight catching the ridges of his bare back like marble. So fine. So utterly yours. And you were his. No more questions about it.

You snapped the photo. You paused and bit your lip. You thought about the discussion you and he had, a couple of weeks earlier, about posting another photo to hard launch the relationship. You opened Instagram, typed one word, and posted the photo to your timeline.

Claimed.

Posted. Ari tagged.

Hard launch, achieved.

—-

Ari’s phone buzzed somewhere beneath a pile of sheets. Then again. And again. With a groan, he fished it out, not even opening his eyes as he unlocked it.

IG notifications lit up the screen like paparazzi flash. DMs, tags, texts from people he didn’t even remember giving his number to.

Confused, he opened the app.

And there it was. Your post.

His body. Your intimacy now public. The caption, a single word that hit him like a shot to the chest.

Claimed.

He stared, breath knocked loose, then grinned like a man who’d been struck by lightning and liked it. You already owned him. Now the world knew it too.

Ari came up behind you on the balcony, pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and held up his phone with a raised brow.

“So. We’re official now?”

You took a sip of your espresso, wondering how he’d react, but hid it with a smirk.

“We’ve been official. The internet just caught up.”

Ari grinned like a man who had no plans of ever letting you go.

Then he kissed you. For a long, long time.

��------

You didn’t mean for it to go that viral.

By the time your driver dropped you at the Grand Palais for your second show, your name was trending, not for the Mugler gown or your gallery moment, but for that photo.

Your agent had texted twelve times.

Your stylist simply said: Iconic.

Your mother had replied with: Is this serious? Should I meet him?

And when you stepped out of the car, clad in couture, the paparazzi didn’t scream the name of the designer.

They screamed, “Is Ari Levinson your boyfriend?!”

You didn’t flinch. You just adjusted your sunglasses and walked.

Inside, makeup artists talked in whispers. Models stole glances. Some who probably dated him in the past. You tried to focus on fittings and lighting and the rhythm of the runway.

But your phone buzzed constantly. Vogue wanted a quote. Peach texted You broke the timeline.

But you just hought of how much you missed him, even though it had only been hours.

Until he texted.

Hope your feet are okay. You looked deadly in that cape. You killed them, sweetheart. All of them.

Your heart did this weird thing and you typed back fast.

They screamed because of the buzz. Because I belong to you. I can’t wait to come home. Even if it’s rented. Even if the toast’s burnt.

He replied instantly:

We’ll get fresh croissants in the morning. Just bring those thighs. Deal?

You didn’t mean to laugh aloud. But you did.

And everyone noticed.

—--

Meanwhile, Ari was supposed to be discussing sculpture installation timelines. Instead, he was fielding interview requests and dodging offers for reality appearances.

Even his assistant, usually unflappable, raised an eyebrow over the phone.

“Just warning you,” he said, “your inbox is… a lot. Vogue Paris wants a quote. GQ wants a bed shoot. With her. Quote, ‘the hard launch turned certified sex god.’”

“Jesus,” Ari breathed.

“Page Six has already run a story. And word is you’re going to be a soundbite on the Deuxmoi podcast.”

Ari pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.

“Nothing changes, strictly business. No comment on my personal life.”

Ari closed the call and looked out of the window.

But he didn’t think about donors or deadlines. Or newfound infamy. He thought about you. In his shirt. On his balcony. That look in your eyes when you posted it.

It should have terrified him. Maybe once, it would have. Instead, he saved the photo to his favorites.

He’d never loved anyone like this. Never felt owned in a way that thrilled him. Still, he had work to do. Paris didn’t wait.

Later, at the opening of Form and Fracture, Ari moved through the crowd like nothing had changed. He toasted and smiled with wine in hand.

Until someone leaned in and asked, too curious:

“So… the post. She’s really your Muse?”

He didn’t even blink.

“She’s everything.”

—----

By afternoon Ari had fielded three interview requests, dodged two offers for reality show appearances and spent 45 minutes arguing with a Swiss collector who thought Disconnection was about him.

But at 1:03 PM, when his phone buzzed again, it wasn’t business.

Come get me. I’m two seconds from climbing out the window. I need ten minutes with you. Or five. Just enough to feel you.

He didn’t reply with words. Just came in a black car.

You slipped out of the side entrance. Hood up, walking fast. Ari pulled you into the car quickly and the partition went up.

Suddenly, you were alone with Ari.

You straddled him in the back seat before he could even say your name. Your lips crashed together. His hands found your thighs under your leather skirt and he kissed you breathless. But then you pulled back, suddenly fragile.

“Are you sure? Still down for this? All of this?”

“I want it all, Muse. Let them have the photo. They don’t get our souls.”

He kissed your temple.

“Let them guess,” he said against your lips.

“Let them think they know everything,” he whispered at your throat.

You laughed, relieved and dizzy. And kissed him harder.

“I want to keep you,” you whispered.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

His hips rolled into yours and your breath hitched.

“Not here,” you gasped. “Somewhere quiet.”

He told the driver to take you to the flat. Fast.

But you were already unzipping your jacket, already tugging his belt loose.

He didn’t care about the time. Didn’t care if you had fittings later or if the world thought he was some random art collector sleeping his way through fashion week.

He just wanted you to remember this, to remember you two together. He loved you like you were art. And when he finally slid into you, pressing you into the mattress and filling you inch by thick inch, he didn’t move.

Just held you there and watched your face

“Still want ten minutes?” he asked, voice rough, hips barely rocking.

“No,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

So he gave it.

Again and again, until your cries turned to gasps, and gasps to sighs, and the only thing louder than the thunder of your bodies was the silence after.

Peace.

—----

Your last morning in Paris was unusually warm for October. You and Ari were tucked into a quiet corner of the terrace of the Café de Flore.

It was one of those rare still moments after a week of chaos with lots of afterparties, fittings, exhibits, and barely any sleep. But here, with Ari’s espresso half-drunk and your croissant mostly devoured, everything else had fallen away.

Until the bell above the café door jingled. You looked up and froze, the smile falling from your face.

You and Ari had already had the “who hurt you?” talk. His story had been honest and quiet: a high school sweetheart who followed him to college, then bailed when the baseball dream died with his shoulder injury.

You almost laughed. Of course he’d be in Paris. Of course he’d show up like a plot twist in a movie you thought you’d already finished watching.

He hadn’t changed much. That soft, prep-school arrogance still draped across his posture like a monogrammed scarf. He still looked like the kind of man who got away with things just because he could.

He looked around and his eyes went wide when he spotted you.

Ari looked up at your shift in energy and the change in your breath and followed your gaze.

“Shit” he said quietly,

When you’d told him who your ex was, Ari had recognized the name immediately. He’d sold the Thrombeys more than one piece of art.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m good.”

Ari watched you carefully and decided to believe you.

Ransom sauntered over, one hand holding a bag full of food, and one in his coat pocket.

“Well, damn,” he said with that same cocky grin.

“Didn’t expect to see you outside of a campaign spread.”

You raised a brow. “Paris gets small during Fashion Week.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at Ari. “Seems like you upgraded. Curator, right? I saw the Basel feature. Very… brooding chic.”

Ari didn’t so much as blink, but you felt the weight of his palm steady on your thigh.

You leaned forward, syrupy sweet.

“Still collecting degrees you don’t use?”

Ransom chuckled.

“Touché. You always had that mouth. And what a mouth it is.”

Your jaw flexed. You were about to say something you’d regret when Ari squeezed your leg.

Ransom seemed to remember himself. He glanced at Ari with what might’ve been an apology and back to you with something that wasn’t quite regret.

“Anyway. Glad to see you finally settled down. You were… restless after we ended.”

You almost laughed. You weren’t "restless" until he broke your heart. But you didn’t rise to it.

Instead, you looked at Ari. Not checking for his reaction, just anchoring in the calm he always gave you. He looked back at you like you were the only person in Paris that mattered.

You turned to Ransom.

“I wasn’t restless. I just hadn’t found someone who could match me.”

He paused. Then gave a sheepish shrug.

“You and me were bad timing. We were dumb. You wanted a romance novel. I wanted… not to get disowned.”

It was the closest to an apology you’d ever get. Maybe the closest he was capable of.

Ari set down his cup a little more forcefully than necessary. Ransom clocked it.

“Relax, man. I’m not here to stir up ancient drama. I’ve got a family now.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. A couple of taps, and he turned the screen toward you.

A photo of a gorgeous woman with warm-eyes. And beside her, two small girls, one maybe three years old, the other still a baby, smiling wide in matching dresses.

“My wife, Minx. Those are our girls, Golden and Elodie. They’re my world.”

You blinked and tried to process the information. Ari nodded slowly as you closed your slightly parted mouth.

“They’re beautiful,” you said.

“I know,” Ransom replied with a proud grin.

“Anyway, they’re waiting upstairs. Just grabbing breakfast. Don’t want to face three hangry women empty-handed.”

“I’m happy for you,” you managed.

And maybe it was true. In the distant, abstract way you could be happy for someone who no longer had the power to hurt you.

Ransom looked at you for a second longer than he should’ve.

“You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you got what you deserved.”

You held his gaze. “I did.”

He nodded, gave Ari a respectful incline of his head, and turned disappeared into the crowd.

The moment he left, you let out a long, quiet breath. Ari didn’t speak right away. He just slid his fingers into yours.

“Handled that like a runway queen,” he murmured.

You laughed, tension breaking.

“I wanted to throw my cappuccino at him.”

Ari shrugged. “I just wanted to punch him once. That’s all.”

You laughed. “I love you so much.”

“So You’re not restless anymore?” he teased.

You smiled. “Only for you.”

“I love you too, Muse.” Ari’s voice dropped. “He might’ve had a version of you. But he never had you.”

Your eyes stung, just a little. “And you do?”

Ari kissed your knuckles, one by one.

“I do. And I’m not letting go.”

And that didn’t involve Ransom Drysdale at all.

—------

Back in New York, everything felt louder. Sharper. It was going to be a busy season ahead. The buzz from Paris followed you home and tour bookings doubled. Your inbox was chaos. Everyone wanted a piece of you.

But you were greedy, too.

You wanted the silence between sunrise and coffee. You wanted Ari’s bare chest under your cheek while he read the paper. You wanted the slow, quiet minutes that didn’t make headlines or social feeds.

So you gave him your spare key.

“Here,” you said, tossing it to him like it was nothing. “So you don’t have to buzz every time.”

He caught it easily, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned, slid open the drawer by the sink, dropped the key inside, and looked up at you with that steady, devastating gaze that always seemed to knock the wind out of you.

“Or,” he said, looking up, “we just have one set.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“One set of keys. One home. Yours. Mine. Ours. Move in.”

“Wait. You’re serious?”

Ari tilted his head like he couldn’t understand your confusion.

“You’re here more than you’re not. There’s a half-eaten container of kimchi in my fridge I’ve never touched. I’ve memorized your shampoo scent. And my super thinks I’m dating a model who moonlights as a cat burglar. So, yeah. I’m serious.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. You couldn’t seem to find words.

“That’s... fast.”

“Not really.”

“It feels fast.”

You took a shaky breath. “We were just in Paris.”

“And now we’re in New York.”

“That’s the point. Paris wasn’t real.”

Ari’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t raise his voice.

“We’re in it. We’ve been in it. I thought we were past the pretending part.”

Your chest twisted. Not because you didn’t love him; you did. That was the problem. You loved him so much it scared the hell out of you.

“It’s not pretending,” you said quietly. “It’s pacing.”

He let out a short breath.

“You stood in front of a sea of paparazzi in Paris. Faced down your asshole of an ex in couture and heels. And now you’re scared of a lease?”

“It’s not about a lease,” you snapped, sharper than you intended.

“It’s about space. About not rushing into something just because Paris felt like a fairytale.”

“This isn’t about Paris,” he said, voice tightening. “This is real life. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to stay.”

That’s what broke you. Because it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. It was simple and sincere. And still, you pulled away.

“I need time,” you said. “I just got home. I need to be home.”

Ari stepped back like you’d slapped him.

“I’m not going to beg you to stay,” he said, jaw tight. “But I thought we were building something.”

“We are.” Your voice cracked. “I just... I need to breathe.”

So you left.

You grabbed your bag, shoved on your sunglasses, and walked out before the tears could fall. It felt too familiar.

To both of you.

��

You were home twenty minutes before the knock came.

You didn’t open it. And he didn’t use the key you’d just given him. He wanted you to let him in.

He knocked again. “I’m not leaving.”

You pressed your forehead against the door. “I just need space.”

“I’ll sit on this floor all night if I have to.”

You cracked the door open, just a sliver.

“Why can’t you just let it go?”

Ari’s eyes were soft. And tired. But he was not giving up.

“Because this is what people do when it’s real. They fight. They figure it out. They don’t run the first time it stops being easy.”

You opened the door wider.

“I wasn’t running,” you said. “I was scared. There’s a difference.”

“Then let me stand with you in the fear.”

That stopped you cold. And he stepped in. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal.

You didn’t back away.

He closed the door behind him.

You looked up at him, tears hot behind your eyes.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” he said. “Unless you keep shutting me out.”

“I want to want it. I’m just not there yet.”

He nodded. “Okay. Then we wait.”

“You’d wait?”

He smiled, a little broken.

“For you? I’d wait forever. But I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long.”

You laughed through the tears. And then he stepped forward, pulled you into him, and held you close to him.

Because that’s what love was, after all. Not perfect timing, or instant ease. But showing up, even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard. And staying anyway.

—-

Weeks passed. You still kept your apartment, but most mornings you woke up tangled in Ari’s sheets. He never brought up moving in again; he didn’t need to.

Your toothbrush appeared next to his. Your oat milk showed up in his fridge. Your heels collected by the door, not because you left them, but because that’s where you kicked them off.

He didn’t push; he just made space. And something in you softened.

One night, you were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, the city glowing beyond the windows.

He was reading a gallery proposal, and you were half-asleep, thumb lazily tracing the line of his ribs under his shirt.

You said it before you meant to.

“I brought more hangers.”

He looked up, one brow raised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “And my skincare fridge.”

A beat. Then a smile.

“So,” he said, “This mean I can toss the expired sesame oil in the back of the fridge to make room?”

You laughed, curling closer.

“Only if I get the big dresser drawer.”

He closed the file in his lap and pulled you into his chest.

“You can have the whole dresser,” he murmured. “The whole damn closet if you want it.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you whispered: “I think I’m ready.”

He didn’t gloat. Just kissed your temple. “Good.”

You packed slowly. Left the lease open “just in case,” but you both knew.

Your name was on the buzzer now.

—--

The shift happened quietly. And then not so quietly.

It was a couple months later.

Ari was barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring a sauce Bucky had taught him how to make. You were folding laundry on the living room rug, and humming under your breath. Everything was peaceful.

Until he said it like he was talking about the weather.

“Did you know Ransom has a third on the way?”

You blinked and looked up.

“What?”

He turned to lean against the counter, spoon still in hand.

“Saw it on Instagram. His wife posted the ultrasound. Said it was an accident but a ‘happy one.’”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“Three? God. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”

Ari gave you a long look.

“You’d be a good mom.”

You froze mid-fold.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I think about it sometimes,” he said, shrugging. “Not now. But someday.”

You tossed a pair of socks at him. “Insane.”

He turned off the pot and walked over, crouching behind you, and kissing the back of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing slowly over your nipples through the thin fabric.

“I think about you,” he whispered, “round with my kid. Your tits swollen. Waddling through this apartment cursing me out because I knocked you up.”

“I’m on birth control,” you mentioned, even though you weren’t objecting. Not really.

“I know.” His hands tightened.

“Only reason I haven’t bred you already.”

Your eyes flew wide. “Ari…”

“It would be so fucking hot,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You, spread out in our bed, pregnant with me. Heavy and needy. Letting me take care of you. Letting me keep you full.”

You whimpered, climbing into his lap without thinking, your body already aching for him. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your hips.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You really do have a breeding kink.”

His grin was wicked. “Only with you.”

Your mouths crashed together like you’d been starving.

“You wanna breed me?” you spoke against his lips, already grinding into him. “Put a baby in me just because you can?”

His grip tightened, his voice ragged.

“One day, yeah. One day you're gonna be full of me,” he said, voice pure sin. “I’m gonna stuff you so deep you feel it for days.”

You nodded, almost dizzy. “God, Ari…”

“Not today,” he said it like a promise.

“But I want you to think about it.”

His hand slid down, pushed into your sweats, and found how soaked you already were.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re already ready. Just from talking about it.”

You pulled apart to take off your pants only to come back together like magnets.

“That’s because I want you to breed me,” you whispered, half-wild, your breath hot on his neck.

“One day. Fucking ruin me.”

“You know I will.”

He buried himself inside you with a deep, dragging thrust.

“Not today. But someday. You’ll be so full of me, baby.”

He fucked you slowly, thrusting deep, and talking you through it. He painted pictures in your head you couldn’t unsee.

“You feel that?” he breathed. “That’s how I’d put a baby in you. Not a drop wasted.”

You cried out, your nails digging into his back.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want it.”

“I want it,” you gasped. “God, I want all of it. You. Everything.”

He groaned like it gutted him. His thrusts were deep, dragging sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make. He didn’t stop until you were trembling around him and sobbing his name.

Afterward, limbs tangled and his warm cum leaking from you, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured.

You looked up, still breathless.

“If you ever actually try to knock me up...”

He raised a brow. “You’ll what?”

You smirked. “You’ll have to marry me first.”

His grin spread slow and wide. “Deal.”

And you knew he meant it.

-----

Ugh! Can’t believe its the last one. There will be one more, an epilogue next week. 🥹

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callmecallmecrazy · 1 day ago

Text

My Best Friend's Sugar Daddy

Back, back, back again! Big departure for me, himbos! And another big departure, gay sex! So beware. Please enjoy!

And remember, comments and likes are always appreciated!

*****

“Where the hell is Sit-guess?”

“Spain. Barcelona.”

“How do you know that?”

“It says so on his post.”

“Oh.” Amir and Neil continued scrolling through their phones.

“Well, it looks like he’s having fun!” Amir joked to an apoplectic Neil.

“In a speedo,” Neil shook his head in jealousy poorly masked as disgust.

“I mean, look at that body.”

“Yeah, but like, he didn’t used to look like that,” Neil stumbled over his words in his ill-contained anger. “He didn’t dye his hair blonde either, but people can look how they want,” Amir replied with a shrug, trying to diffuse Neil.

“I swear he used to mock those K-pop dudes who dyed their hair.” Neil continued his tirade as Amir rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“And now he did it. Neil, calm the fuck down. Jae-sung can look how he wants to look, act how he wants to act, date who he…” Neil cut him off.

“I’m not jealous of his boyfriend.” “Really? Cause, you were when we met him-” Neil interrupted the teasing, louder this time.

“And it’s Jai now, according to Instagram. J-A-I.”

“Eww,” Amir laughed and kept scrolling. “Pretty trips.” “Another beautiful day at the beach with Radden. Life is an adventure and I’m so glad to grab it. Hashtag gay boy. Hashtag beach. Hashtag beach life. Hashtag gay. Hashtag muscle. Hashtag speedo. Hashtag-” this time Amir cut him off.

“I get it Neil, Jae-”

“With an I,” Neil chipped in quickly.

“With an I,” Amir rolled his eyes to pure white as he repeated dramatically. “Is living life as a boytoy and not returning our texts anymore. Ever since he got a new boyfriend.” “Sugar daddy.”

“Whatever, I’m not interested in the merits of their relationship. I am interested in how he got that body. Rockin’.” Amir said while unconsciously rubbing his belly. He was the fat one of their little gayboy squad. Jae-sung had looked like a weightless twink while Neil at least lifted weights regularly. None of them was likely to catch eyes in a crowd, assuming anyone saw them at all. Mostly due to them all being short guys, Amir being the tallest at 5’6” and three quarters. It was what first bonded them together.

“PEDs, roids, illegal injections,” Neil flippantly replied. Amir choked back the desire to throttle Neil. He’d always been the jealous type, and until six months ago when Jae-sung disappeared off the face of the earth, the hot one in their little gay trio. And the snub from Jae-sung stung worse once they stumbled across his new instagram filled with luscious trips, hot men, and a head to toe makeover turning twinkish Jae into muscled, blond stud Jai.

“Holy shit! New post!”

“So?”

“What do you think, instafans? Always wanted to get my eyes done and @RadXZaddy paid for it. Loving the new me!” Neil read aloud as Amir refreshed.

“What happened to his eyes?” “He got that fucking eye lid surgery. The one he always called ‘anti-chi-’,” Neil coughed in place of finishing the word. Amir stared at the image long and hard. Was it true, did he really get the surgery? Jae-sung had bitched about stuff like that a lot. Maybe he was misdirecting? Or maybe it was something else.

“It’s that fucking boyfriend,” Neil said as though reading his mind. “All of this! He looks like some fucking doll practically now.” “I mean,” Amir spoke slowly. “He’s an adult.” “Look, this guy is clearly doing something to him. This can’t be a healthy relationship.” “Let’s say I agree,” Amir tentatively began. “What do you want to do? DM him? I don’t think he’ll reply. I mean, he’s got a lot of followers who I bet send messages. And he hasn’t returned our texts.” “They’re going to Balmora’s for brunch Sunday,” Neil said triumphantly.

“What?”

“In the comments, someone asked if they were going to be at some party, but he told them they were back here and had reservations at Balmora’s. Which does not require reservations, but apparently he has gone full insta-shallow.” “So, are we gonna go to Bals for brunch?”

“I just made a reservation,” Neil cheered triumphantly. Amir almost chimed in reminding him that you didn’t need a reservation for brunch at Balmora’s but decided to not push things.

“What time are they going?” “I don’t know,” Neil shrugged.

“What time are we going?” “At opening, and we’ll drink until they arrive. I asked for a table by the gate so we’ll see them come in.” “This feels kind of icky,” Amir sighed.

“Our friend has apparently fallen under the sway of some fetishy muscle daddy. We’d be bad friends if we didn't intervene. And they have bottomless mimosas.” “It’s a date,” Neil’s eyes never left the phone so he didn’t see the concern on Amir’s face.

-----

They pair arrived at Balmora’s when it opened. Their waiter was visibly annoyed when they said they were meeting friends who were always late and they’d be waiting to order until they got here. He huffed off as the pair watched him leave.

“He’s cute,” Amir said while sipping on a mimosa.

“I think we fucked,” Neil scrunched his face and stared into the sky as he tried to remember.

“I love how you act like any remotely attractive guy we meet has had sex with you,” Amir admonished. “What? I’m being serious!” “Sure thing Neil, I’ve known you for ten years. Your sexploits don’t fool me.” They clinked their glasses together and started chatting about other topics while keeping their eyes firmly on the gate. Their flippant waiter brought carafe after carafe of mimosa as the pair drank away the time. Finally, their quarry arrived.

Radden and Jai rolled in like a pair of movie stars. Radden’s big and powerful legs caused him to strut suggestively, an oversized package in the front bouncy playfully in his tight khakis. He wore a shiny oxford shirt buttoned halfway, leaving his smoothed bronzed pecs well on display. Jai followed a step behind, rolling his hips in a strange, mincing way. He had silver cowboy boots with an oversized heel, shiny white jeggings, and a pink crop top that hid the tits but exaggerated his ripped abs and tiny waist. Both of them had several bracelets and rings on and expensive sunglasses covering their eyes. Amir and Neil stared in shock for a moment, instagram was one thing but seeing it in person was still shocking. Neil recovered quickly and stood up.

“Oh my god, Jai!” He dragged himself up and grabbed his ex-friend into a tight hug. Jai squirmed a bit before hesitantly hugging in return.

“We haven’t seen you in forever!” Amir joined in, genuinely happy to see his friend. “How have you been?”

“Oh umm, hi, girls,” Jai’s voice had a small affectation to it, a bit of high pitched squeak that reminded Amir of guys who watched too much Drag Race.

“Are you having brunch? Are you meeting people? We have seats at our table!” Neil rambled quickly. Jai seemed completely overwhelmed. A throat clear behind the boys silenced everyone.

“Jai, babe, who are these boys?”

“Oh my gawd, this is my boyfriend, Radden,” Jai introduced the older and much taller hunk with the lustful adoration of a first kiss.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Amir smiled and waved slightly.

“And we haven’t seen you since,” Neil poked his finger into Jai’s hard pec, and then did it again and again. “Those are nice tits, Jai,” Neil admired openly. Jai perked up and puffed them out proudly.

“Well, we should eat with your friends!” Radden smiled with overly bright veneers.

“Uh, okay,” Jai sort of stuttered. “But like, I didn’t know if you wanted to.”

“I have been hogging you, Jai. I’m sure your friends want to catch up!” He sat down cheerfully and took a swig from the latest mimosa carafe. “I told him he needs to keep in touch with his friends. But young guys get so caught up in relationships. Not that I mind having him all to myself. But everyone needs some girlfriends.” Neil and Amir glanced at each other curiously.

“Wait really? Jai, did you just blow us off?” Neil frowned. Jai kind of stuttered for a bit, flitting his hands in the air.

“Okay, like, I’m sorry I got obsessed with my hot daddy boyfriend.” Even with the sunglasses on, the boys could feel the eye roll underneath. “I felt bad at first, but we were taking trips and he hired me a personal trainer and a nutritionist…”

“You hired them?” Neil questioned Radden.

“After he asked,” Radden continued drinking straight from the carafe, his eyes scanning the restaurant for a waiter.

“Yeah!” Jai indignantly replied. “We were going to hot parties and cool beaches. I didn’t wanna be the ugly guy. And then I figured you guys would be judgmental about it that I didn’t wanna tell you.”

“Just so we’re clearing the air,” Amir stepped in. “You did all of… this,” he waved his hands in the air around Jai. “Because you wanted to be hot? Mission successful.” Jai giggled.

“And you didn’t want this,” Neil grabbed the carafe out of Radden’s hands to refill his own beverage.

“I liked him before, I like him now. I mean, I’ll admit, you are fucking sexy as shit now,” he rubbed his hands lecherously on Jai’s crotch. “But mostly, I just like Jai either way.”

After a moment of silence at the table, Radden spoke again. “So, we relieved you of your concerns? You weren’t very subtle about it. Not that the booze probably helped.” Amir and Neil blushed intensely and looked down. “I, personally, think it’s very good that Jai has such devoted friends. And I look forward to getting to know you both!” He finally flagged down a waiter and ordered more carafes in addition to shots. Jai, Neil, and Amir passed around a set of sheepish apologies.

-----

One month, several parties, two weeks attending exercise classes, and one shopping trip later, Neil and Amir found themselves climbing the steps to a private jet to join Radden and Jai on a fabulous holiday. Radden invited them to some island resort across the Pacific, and the boys never even considered saying no. Sure, the past month has been kind of odd. Jai wasn’t acting for Instagram– in real life he’d seemingly embraced being hot and shallow and catty. It caused a change in the friend group dynamic; Neil and Amir were suddenly demoted to Jai’s entourage instead of being an equal part of the trio. But on the other hand, they were dragging new suitcases filled with new clothing onto a private jet.

Neil and Amir oohed and aahed over the luxury of the plane, while Jai lectured them on the differences between PJs (private jets) and his newfound preferences among them. For his part, Radden seemed content to enjoy an herbal cocktail and admire the boys. Amir noticed he did a lot of that, just kind of looked at them. Lots of people looked at Jai– that came with hotness. But Radden gazed with more intensity, the primal energy of a seasoned hunter measuring prey. Still, he had been nothing but kind and pleasant and Amir liked him quite a bit. Aside from the obvious physical differences, Jai seemed very happy and well treated and you couldn’t want a lot more for a friend.

Radden disappeared at the start of the flight. The others didn’t even notice as they were already popping champagne and talking vapidly about things they’d seen on social media. The booze flowed as they gossiped about everything. Eventually, both Jai and Neil decided to get some shut eye, leaving a wide awake Amir extremely bored before Radden reappeared.

“So what exactly do you do, like for work?” Amir, slightly drunk and flushed, saddled up next to Radden. He laughed in response.

“I’m a trust fund baby!” He offered a toast from his champagne and brayed louder. “I mean, my family owns several businesses. Lots of luxury resorts actually.”

“Like White Lotus places?” Radden laughed again.

“I guess so. They tend to be, no offense, places normal people never hear of.” “None taken.” “You’re pretty easy going. I like that,” Radden reached out and brushed Amir’s cheek, who giggled and blushed in response. Radden exuded charm and charisma on a celestial level. “I seem to have won over Neil, too.”

“Oh, he has a crush on you,” Amir blurted out.

“Really?” Radden cocked his eyebrows in lurid interest.

“Did, I should say,” Amir backpedaled quickly. “You don’t remember it, but the night you met Jai, you met us too. And Neil hit on you pretty hard. And you turned him down.” Both men giggled. They continued having their pleasant conversation, though Amir couldn’t help but notice that Radden’s eyes kept drifting to Neil. Amir hoped he wasn’t going to say anything. He’d just put his friend group back together and didn't need it falling apart again.

“You should get some rest, darling,” Radden rubbed Amir’s shoulder tenderly. Amir bit his lip and blushed more. “Might as well take advantage of all the luxuries on board!”

-----

The four of them made for a strange pairing. Neil and Amir were dressed in cute pastel shorts and t-shirts that could come from any of a dozen stores or brands. Radden wore sharkskin trousers with a pleat as sharp as the namesake’s tooth. A linen button down with one hole buttoned in the middle, the fabric flowing around him like Fabio in a wind machine, covered his chest. Jai’s hot pink button down shirt tucked into white shorts. The orange hue of his skin made the pink seem to glow on him. The lobby was open air and spacious with gorgeous employees in white trousers and shirts helping guests. Gigantic marble pillars and floors, all in white, gave the space a heavenly look. A piano tucked in one corner belted soft melodies from its tuxedoed player. Jai dragged the boys along, their mouths agape at the divine monstrosity. Radden was already headed towards check in.

The man behind the desk glowed unnaturally, white teeth and painted skin ripped with muscles underneath his staff polo. Radden turned to the others.

“You boys give me your passports and head up to the room,” he offered Jai some woven bracelets that were apparently room keys. They slipped them on without thought. “I’ll check us in.” Neil immediately pulled his passport out and handed it over, but Amir hesitated.

“Should… is it okay to just give you our passports? And you already have a room key?” Radden shrugged.

“Yes, perks of money. And they have to scan them for check in. It’s totally normal, promise!” He flashed that award winning smile and Amir’s resistance melted away as he handed his little blue folder over. “It’s top floor, Jai, obviously. You boys freshen up!” He sauntered up the counter with a spring in his step, and all three of the boys watched his muscled ass shake from side to side in the tight pants.

“God, I wanna fuck him,” Neil didn’t even bother hiding his desire. Amir tried to shush him but Jai was already replying.

“He only tops.” “So much for you being verse,” Neil snickered.

“He’s got a hot cock,” Jai crudely replied. “And I’ve always loved sucking dick.” Amir nodded along as they ambled to the elevator. At least that hadn’t changed. Jae-sung had always been the kind of guy who’d suck off a stranger in a bathroom for the thrill of it.

The top floor was one giant suite, balconies lining every side with windows overlooking a jungle paradise and pristine cabanas where gorgeous men paraded around in tiny swimsuits while being served by dutiful staff who were tanned and toned clearly on display. Jai took himself to the master suite, while the other two slummed in smaller, though still luxurious rooms, to the side. They shared a bathroom, and Neil almost immediately walked through to Amir’s side with a swimsuit in hand.

“Just straight to a swimming suit, eh?” Amir laughed as Neil dropped trou immediately, putting his pale buttocks on display as he pulled up a camo patterned, square-cut swimsuit. Neil had a nice body, not an excellent one, but nothing to sneeze at. He obsessed over the really fit guys, the ones with huge pecs that look unnaturally glued on. Neil took a few moments to pose in the mirror, restyling his hair (which was too short to really change) and assessing his physique.

Unconsciously, Amir reached down and tugged at the modest pudge around his waistline. He was the “fat” one of their trio: Neil muscular, Jai thin, Amir fat. Although in straight world he’d be unremarkable. Still, he was the one with the baggy trunks that came to mid thigh. Which was a shame, because if he had any trait that made men stare, it was his derriere. Voluptuous, almost feminine in its curves, but distinctly masculine in muscularity. Amir wanted to look better, he always imagined what he’d look like with a trim waist to really set off his ass but he’d never really found the motivation to get there. Probably the same lack of motivation that kept Neil thinner than he wanted.

“Hey dolls,” the whimpery voice of Jai snapped him back to reality. Jai, formerly thin, was now ripped and toned and his body painted in iridescent orange that made it all pop just so. He blew a kiss in the air, which Amir thought was meant for him but then he realized he was standing in front of the mirror.

“Cute suit,” Neil commented with uncontained envy. Jai was in a hot pink speedo that rode high on his hips, sinking in the deep cuts of his Apollo's belt and clinging to his body like it was already wet.

“Jealousy’s an ugly color, Neil,” Jai quipped confrontationally. “Kind of like that suit. Kidding!” He offered the last word like a bitchy teenager who’d just been called out. Neil replied with a middle finger as he sucked his gut in even more.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Amir asked, hoping to break the tension.

“Party? Relax. Drink.” Jai said all the words dully, as if reading off a teleprompter.

“Where?”

“I dunno, around the pool probs. That’s usually where the hotties hang during the day. There'll be parties and clubs at night.” “You’ve been here before?” Neil asked, clenching his abs as hard as possible to his red faced reflection.

“Here here? No, but these places are all pretty similar. Spa, gym, pool, second pool, hot tubs, clubs, restaurants. It’s all about mixing and mingling.” Amir changed into his black suit and pulled on a loose fitting top that hid his arms. Not from embarrassment but from the sun. Neil finished dressing himself with a tank top.

“Wanna look around?” Amir offered.

“You guys take a walk. I’m gonna wait for Radden.”

“Where is he? Checking us in couldn’t take that long.” “Oh, he’s probably flirting with a manager or booking appointments. He loves a spa day.” Jai spent several minutes discussing the multitude of expensive spa time he’d experienced over the past few months, including the lurid detail that Radden always wanted a blowjob afterwards. Amir had never minded the sex talk; it was pretty normal among homos. But the way Jai described it always felt kind of… icky. Very Radden centric. Radden wants a blowjob. Radden only tops.

The pair left to explore, Neil started complaining about Radden and Jai, but Amir distracted him with the buildings, pools, clubs, and every hot man they walked past. Radden had said this was a gay resort, but Amir hadn’t expected it to be entirely men top to bottom. Every employee was a work of art. The guests ranged from ultra mega hot to merely passable, but they all exuded a level of wealth he couldn’t really begin to comprehend.

They went into a shop that sold nothing but tiny swim briefs in a variety of colors and patterns. Amir found some that look suspiciously similar to the one Jai was wearing, in a range of neon colors ordered like a pride flag. He tried to show Neil but found him outside the store.

“Goddam, look at those!” Neil’s voice rang green with envy for all to hear. He was slack jawed, staring at a dark-skinned (though Amir had no idea how natural the color was) man in an orange swim brief that made his dick look terrifyingly massive. But Neil hadn’t even noticed that. Instead, his eyes were fixated on a pair of thick juicy pecs that rose like dough from his chest, pushing out wide and broad, forcing the nipples down, almost underneath the curve of the muscle. They were so prominent and hard, Amir felt certain he could probably balance a drink on them.

“You should probably stop staring.” “I wanna touch ‘em.” Neil gasped. “I wanna grab ‘em and lick ‘em and ugh. Ugh. I want to have a pair on me!” He grabbed his own, not unnoticeable chest, like a pair of breasts and shook them for an imaginary audience. Then he deflated visibly.

“I’m sorry Neil,” Amir didn’t really know what to say.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m being dramatic.”

“And jealous.” “Is it obvious?” Amir burst out laughing despite Neil’s seriousness. He silenced himself and offered a quick apology.

“But yes, it is obvious.”

After a few more minutes of walking and admiring the resort and the men, Neil finally spoke up again. “I want a body like that.”

“Well, ask Jai. Or hell, ask Radden since he’s probably the one who knows how to get it.” He wasn’t sure how old Radden was, but he was definitely hot.

“Is that weird?” “He paid for us to come to an expensive resort for two weeks. I don’t think anything is weird at this point.”

“Why did we agree to come to a strange resort with our friend's new boyfriend?” Neil asked suddenly, giggling and shaking his head.

“Because we wanted to be featured on some murder mystery podcast?” Amir replied with a playful shrug.

—--

They didn’t see Jai or Radden until dinner. Their phones pinged with a dinner reservation notification that didn’t have an RSVP option. The place had several restaurants and this one overlooked the ocean with rattan furniture and excessive candlelight. Jai, dressed in a skintight, white shirt that looked like it chafed his nipples, offered droopy, drunken eyes and a giddy smile as they walked up. Radden also wore white, though his wasn’t spray painted on. He had a blush across his cheeks, likely from booze but seemed to carry himself better than Jai.

“Evening, dolls,” his silky voice greeted them calmly. He stood up and offered Neil a fake handshake before pulling him into a hug that pressed Neil’s face into his chest and then seated him next to himself. Amir was grateful to take the seat between his friends.

“We walked around. This place is gorgeous,” Amir answered when asked about their day.

“We went to the spa!” Jai burst out in rapturous giggles.

“Nothing better than a massage to start a trip,” Radden cocked a smirk at Jai as he spoke and Amir remembered Jai detailing Radden’s post massage routine. “Speaking of, I booked you two with some stuff for tomorrow.” He pointed quickly between Neil and Amir as he spoke. Radden reached over and tenderly rubbed Neil’s shoulders while devouring him with his eyes. Neil shyly looked away, but glanced back to see Radden glowering at him. The shoulder rubbing seemed to intensify.

Amir, eager for a distraction, chimed in. “You didn’t have to do that.” “But I wanted to!” Radden insisted with almost childlike glee.

“What, uh,” Neil’s voice broke as Radden seemingly plunged his fingers into a knot deep within Neil. It took Neil several seconds to recover. “What did you book?”

“Massage. Facials. Is there something else you’d want?” Radden’s voice tried to play soft and coy, but there was always something slightly predatory about it. He punctuated his question by tapping Neil on the chest then rolling his finger in circles around his nipple. Neil gazed into Radden’s eyes like a starstruck superfan.

“Umm, I mean, I did wanna ask you… stuff,” Neil was never one to be shy or bashful. He’d never once stuttered when complaining or asking for a refund. But he was down bad for this hunk. Neil tried to turn his face away, but Radden slipped his hand under Neil’s chin and directed his face towards his own before leaning in so close they were almost kissing.

“And what’s that?” Neil flushed red and rolled his eyes like having an orgasm. Amir looked at Jai who seemed content just sort of staring off into the distance. He’d figured his new bitch personality would assert itself, but apparently he was the passive in all aspects of this relationship.

Neil seemed to hesitate before responding, or maybe it was just the orgasmic release he was experiencing from Radden’s hands. When he finally responded, it was a moany, breathy voice unlike his normal one. “W-workout tips? Like, how, how are you so hot?” Radden’s face lit up like a kid who got their birthday wish after blowing out the candles.

“Oh, I can definitely help with that! After dinner, I’ll take you down to the gym. Jai and I already did our workout today. But I can get you set up. You’ll be absolutely amazed what good nutrition and a trainer can do. You won’t believe how quickly it can work.”

The rest of the meal was less dramatic. Radden swapped between being kissing and controlling with Jai, ordering for him and chiding him for slouching, and then being weirdly physical with Neil, brushing him or touching him or just peering into his eyes with devoted passion.

Amir felt like he was watching it all from the outside, and he partially was. His presence at the table went almost entirely unnoticed unless he spoke up. He didn’t really mind. He’d enjoyed some cocktails throughout the day and the wine with dinner. By the end of the meal, he offered a quick goodbye as Radden directed Jai and Neil towards the gym, one arm hanging over the shoulder of each. Amir turned around after a few steps and watched as Radden shifted his hands to grope the cheek of each boy’s butt as they went.

It was weird. Really weird. The kind of weird that a less sleepy Amir might have thought about more. But right now, all he really wanted was to sleep off the travel and the booze and wake up tomorrow morning refreshed and ready.

—--

Amir had literally never felt so relaxed in his entire life. The massage removed tension he didn’t even know he had and the facial left him physically energized and on a strange emotional high. Everything just seemed really great!

He hung around the room afterwards, expecting Neil to show up from his sessions, but he never did. Eventually, he tired of waiting and slipped on his bathing suit to hit the pool. It was packed with well-to-do men with harsh six-packs, juicy pecs, and bubbly butts. Designer labels clung to their suits and shoes and sunglasses like branded grades on cattle.

This was not a place of modesty. Everyone else was wearing something tight and vibrant, usually a well cut speedo though a few did have short little legs on the sides, usually older gents. No one wore black. Except Amir, whose baggy, black swimsuit might have made him feel self-conscious if he wasn’t still high on post massage endorphins. Fortunately, he was still feeling delightfully relaxed and at ease and just in a generally pleasant mood.

He’d meant to bring a book or something to do, but instead found himself slurping down cocktails brought by attentive staff and just sort of staring at the hot men and the beautiful water. He should have been bored or restless, but anytime his mind started to wander it just fizzled out. This was good enough; being here was good enough. Being happy. His empty brained revelry ended when a dark shadow cast over him. He glanced up to see a muscular, older man in Dolce and Gabbana staring down at him happily.

Radden made himself comfortable on the lounger with Amir, cozying up like an intimate friend, and placed one hand on his thigh.

“How are you feeling, Amir?” His voice oozed sensuality.

“Good, really good.”

“I’m glad,” Radden purred while drifting his hand high on Amir’s thigh, brushing under the hemline of his swimsuit. “I want us to have fun. Whatever that means to you.” He whispered the words with unspoken meaning that made the hair on Amir’s legs stand on end.

“Yeah, thanks,” Amir’s voice, intended to be strong but strict, instead came out small and wimpy.

“Of course, darling. And you know, if there's something you want, feel free to ask.”

“Mmhmm,” Amir couldn’t do more than moan as Radden’s hand reached further up his leg, brushing his manicured fingers into the slip between his thigh and hips.

“Good, glad you understand,” he finished with a kiss on the cheek that made Amir’s heart flutter. He pulled back and turned to leave, and Amir took the moment to admire the absolute size of Radden’s package, bouncing happily in a seafoam speedo. His mouth watered uncontrollably. A part of him wanted to call out, to say something to keep Radden’s attention, but it was quelled by the arrival of a staff member, bronzed to perfection, offering him another beverage with an obscenely white smile. He took it with a drunken grin and immediately slurped down the fizzy beverage.

He stayed for hours, applying some sunscreen the resort supplied and just admiring the patrons. Jai and Radden occasionally passed through, offering small waves before talking with other couples. It got more rambunctious as time wore on, younger guys became looser and freer, flirting aggressively and dancing sexually on the men with the most expensive watches or sunglasses. They flashed brand labels he’d never heard of but found himself obsessing over, wondering what they were, where they came from, and how much they cost.

Amir was not a fancy dresser. There was a part of him, the part that scrolled social media too frequently, that always imagined what it would be like to be like that. To parade around a hot (probably chemically altered) body in designer clothing, acting carefree. Peacocking about just to show off the goods, otherwise why the hell would you work so hard to have them. D&G sunglasses, Versace speedo, some silly, expensive bracelet that looked like it came from a vending machine. He watched as one guy, unnaturally tanned with jet black hair swept backwards like an ominous tidal wave, bounced his bikini briefed buttocks on the face of a man wearing tons of jewelry who seemed absolutely enthralled. Amir could be like. Maybe. Maybe he could be the hottie with the body acting a fool for laughs or gifts or fucks.

That bizarre train of thought actually snapped Amir back to reality. He laughed, feeling like he’d probably just woken up from a silly dream resulting from too much sun and too much booze. He resolved to sober up for the night, eat dinner, and head to bed.

—--

Amir hadn’t seen any of the others since the afternoon. He got food at a grab-and-go type cafe and ate in the privacy of the room. Initially, he’d hoped to see Neil and catch up about the day. He wondered if he’d seen him passed out by the pool. But the need for sleep came quickly, and before he knew it, he’d stripped off his clothing and crawled into bed in a pair of cheap boxers he kept just for sleeping in.

Amir awoke in the dark of the night to a slamming cupboard and running water. He heard muttering from the other side.

“Neil?” he went to the door and whispered.

“Oh, um, heyyy, Amir,” his voice was drawn out and slurry, sounding both drunk and stoned.

“You alright? I haven’t seen you all day.” “Yeah,” the h sounded like a relieved sigh. “I was at the spa. It was really fun. I’m gonna go back tomorrow.”

“Wait really? What did they do?” Amir jiggled with the door but found it locked.

“Just like, a massage and stuff. It was so relaxing. I really needed it.” “Oh, okay,” Amir felt like he was talking at a club where the other person was only half hearing what he was saying. “You need anything?” “Sleep, I’m super sleepy. Just gonna rinse off and sleep.” Amir wanted to ask Neil some more questions but he found himself drawn back to his bed and fell asleep without effort.

—--

It turns out Neil wasn’t the only person hitting the spa the next day. Radden had seemingly booked treatments every day at random times. Massages, facials, cleansings, steams, saunas, manicures, foot scrubs, acupuncture, Amir kept getting notices on his phone of another booking, with easy check-in and constant reminders. And he went. It felt a little too aggressive, a little too showy. But then again, he had happily flown here on Radden’s PJ. It’s not entirely shocking that he’d throw money around like a drag queen throwing shade.

The first few days rolled together. After yet another session where handsome staff doted over him obsessively, if he didn’t end up lolling around a pool or on a beach, Radden or Jai were grabbing his attention, insisting on hot tubbing or checking out guys or dancing or eating or doing shots. Each day, he kept not seeing Neil. And while he wanted to worry, every time it crossed his mind, Radden seemed to pop up out of nowhere to distract him with another drink, another event, another shopping trip.

Despite the fact that they seemed to own everything in the shop already, Radden and Jai always took a cruise through the resort’s stores each day. And they always picked up some new designer piece, whether it was a shiny watch, tight swimwear, or just some generic piece of trash that would likely sit on a shelf for a few years before being tossed in a refuse pile. He’d watched Radden try on pair after pair of spandex swimming suits in pastel colors with floral prints that Jai seemed to ooh and aah and agonize over. Jai spent nearly an hour obsessing over turtle shell engraved bracelets that all looked the same to Amir. Each time, Radden always tried to get Amir to try something on. Amir’s attempts at resistance became more and more perfunctory each time.

“What about these?” Radden handed Amir a pair of square shaped, black sunglasses trimmed in gold around the lenses. They looked good. Amir put them on, admiring how they framed his face, the harsh lines perhaps a bit too bold for his square face. He turned his head, admiring the cut of his jaw line when he noticed the sides had the most ostentatious logo he had ever seen. D&G embossed on a golden plaque attached on each side. It was utterly, completely, fabulously ridiculous. He wanted them so much.

Amir couldn’t even hide his desire. “I mean, I like them,” he tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably. “They’re probably really expensive.”

“Nothing’s expensive, babe,” Radden winked as he whisked the glasses off Amir’s head, an AmEx Black already in his other hand. They were bought and back on his face within seconds.

He couldn’t stop admiring his reflection in the mirror. Amir liked it. Really liked it. Liked it on a level he hadn’t even imagined liking something before. All the sun and spa treatments had given his dark skin an almost ethereal glow, like spit-shined leather. Soft and supple but strangely masculine. He felt imbued with a strange confidence, a need to sort of strut, to puff out his chest and stick out his butt and hold himself with all the attitude of a needy social media influencer.

After that, it was a little easier to let go and just sort of flow. Radden wanted him to add tanning sessions at the spa and soon his skin had taken on an artificial sheen that matched Jai. He refused to hop into a swim brief, but accepted designer shirts and sandals. Soon, he was misting himself with aromatic colognes from brands he’d never heard of while sipping on champagne, real champagne, and gossiping about celebrity plastic surgery.

And still, Neil was nowhere to be seen. He heard him, each night, in the bathroom, and could see the remnants, opened toothpaste and used floss, of his activities. But he hadn’t come face to face in days. And that should have worried Amir. Really it should.

He knew that it should. But he didn’t care. He was having fun. Real fun, the kind of fun you see people on TV having. Everyday was just another party. Every man was a stunning stud with bulging biceps and hard cut abs who flounced and flirted without a care in the world. More and more, he spent afternoons chatting with overly muscled hunks with jaw implants and waxed bodies who giggly happily about getting fucked and who only worried about the calorie count of a cocktail and who was paying attention to them.

—--

Jai started taking him to an early morning aerobics class where swarms of beautiful men with perfect (and likely plastic) jaws and chins shoved their nuclear tanned muscles into shiny lycra that hugged each and every curve and striation as though desperately clinging onto a lifeboat. Mister Giant Pecs, the one Neil has drooled over, was shirtless, wearing peach color tights that shimmered in the morning light and did nothing to hide his massive bulge. Another stud with huge blond hair and an unending, dopey smile was shoved into a yellow leotard that sunk between his ass cheeks and wasn’t big enough to cover his pecs, instead the straining fabric nestled underneath his pecs. With the thin straps rolling over his shoulders, it looked like a window into his chest.

Amir wanted to die. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who was struggling. Sweat, scented with poppers and booze, seeped out of every man as they strived to cut the teeniest bit of fat or water from their bodies to be just a smidge hotter, make the waist just a bit smaller, make Daddy just a bit harder.

But the atmosphere of the class was infectious, cotton candy in event form. Despite the grueling workout and the aching pain, like he’d had teeth extracted from his muscles with no drugs, everyone was happy. The instructors had the wild enthusiasm of theme park guides, every man in the class giggled and groaned with each new movement. Vapid pretty boys constantly encouraged him to push harder, stretch further, breath deeper. And he did. Each time a little better, a little harder, a little tougher.

He had never felt so much pain and so much pleasure simultaneously. The dopey fun and physical arrogance on display made him horny and competitive. And before he knew it, he was prancing to a Britney song alongside the rest of them. Afterwards, he asked Jai to sign him up for every additional class they had.

—--

Another day, another shopping trip, Radden clenched Jai’s speedo clad buttocks with one hand while keeping the other tightly wrapped around Amir’s waist. The physical contact, the almost pathological need for it, from Radden had initially bothered Amir. But now, it just was. That was Radden. He was gonna hold and touch and rub and kiss and there was nothing Amir could do to stop it. Nor did he want to anymore. It felt like getting attention from a movie star.

Without warning, Radden shoved baby blue briefs into Amir’s face, rubbing it in like a chloroform soaked rag intent on knocking him out. It was stretchy and sexy. But what really caught Amir’s eye was the waistband. He’d seen it dozens of times on internet “models” and obscenely wealthy trophy boys. The repeating Grecian pattern of Versace. God, he wanted it so fucking badly.

But there was no way, no power in heaven or earth, that could convince him to put such a tiny thing on. There was no way he was walking around this palace of sin with fat rolls hanging out while everyone else looked like they were sculpted from the world's most perfect marble by the most talented hands to ever carve stone.

Just looking at the suit made him kind of hard.

He wasn’t sure what it was, specifically, about that waistband that infested his mind so effectively. Perhaps it was the almost vulgarity of it, the prominence of the label, the idea of having a brand instead of a personality. He loved it. He hated himself for loving it. And that kind of made him love it more.

But he would not wear them. Not today at least. Radden insisted on something, anything other than his basic black suit. In the end, Radden made him try on a pair of floral print jammers that had the illusion of being loose while still fitting tighter than his underwear. The flowery pattern (a sort of shimmery orange on a blue suit) seemed to glow on his body.

“Those workout classes are paying off,” Radden purred in his ear like a sex deprived vixen. Amir knew, knew knew knew, this was messed up. He might not have been fat per se, but there had definitely been a noticeable ridge around his waist that should, at this very moment, be spilling over the side of the elastic waistband, flipping it upside down underneath the roll.

But it wasn’t there. He wasn’t cut. There were no visible abs or even hints of. But his waist, while thick and stocky, formed a smooth line from his rib cage down to his hips. The suit fit fine. Not the aesthetically superb bodies all those other boys had. But he honestly felt so fucking sexy in it. His skin radiated and glowed, his face looked light and heavenly. Wrinkles and lines that should have dotted his face had seemingly vanished under the skin treatments and massages. His skin looked weightless, ageless almost. Vivacious. He barely even processed Radden buying them.

Radden made him wear them out of the store. His previous suit was left in a trash can. Amir felt different. It made him want to walk differently, to feel the tight fabric glide across his thighs and sink into his ass crack. He rolled one leg over the over, causing his buttocks to sway behind him. And he giggled happily when Radden’s rough hand possessively groped his spandexed ass.

—--

He paid more and more attention to the vapid himbos. No longer just admiring their asses or envying their pecs, but really focusing on their behavior. They were all so bouncy, there was no other word to describe it. They moved with a spring in their step, every time they got excited they seemed to jump up and down which caused their massive pecs to tremble and their gorgeous asses to shake like a rap video. Every movement oozed sexuality, their confident struts or rolling hips and puffed out chests were obvious. But it was the little things, the way a guy bent over, forcing his ass out just a bit too much, or how another seemed to just touch everyone whenever he spoke, that drew his attention. There was a need to show-off and a need for validation, each reinforcing the other.

Speaking of, one of those hyper muscles himbos, this one with a gravity defying quiff and a lime green speedo containing an ass that shook gloriously with every movement, was rubbing a giant black dildo between his pecs while two older men groped him lecherously. The himbo seemed to be having the time of his life, titty fucking himself to ogling onlookers. And Amir had to admire, those were the nicest pecs he’d ever seen. Huge, round, high and tight, luscious hard mounds of striated muscle that would never be contained by a shirt or jacket or sweater, permanently on display. Which is surely the point. No one spends that much time, money, and energy making those perfect meaty globes without wanting to show them off to the world. It made him think of Neil, ever envious of perfect pecs. In fact, this dude would probably make Neil cream himself on site.

But as he got closer, he couldn’t help but notice that despite the bronzed, smooth skin and blissful smile, that face was awfully fucking familiar.

“Neil? What. The. Fuck?” For a brief moment, the mental fog Amir had been under thinned. The image of his friend, formerly uptight and always on the verge of arguing, titty fucking himself in broad daylight and laughing like a moron snatched him fully to reality.

“O.M.Geee! Amir, like, yay! Where have you been?” Neil’s voice had never been deep, but it had always contained a sort of rough edge, like he was moments away from shouting. But now it was airy and empty, Loud but soft, like it couldn’t ever be angry or sad. “Where have you been?” “The spa!” Neil licked his lips lasciviously to the delight of the older men. Neil giggled in response as one of them groped his pecs aggressively.

“What happened to you?”

“Umm, I dunno. Radden set me up with some super fun treatments! Because, like, he said I was being so fun and he wanted me to have fun!”

“Listen Neil, something-”

“Niko, Radden wants me to go by Niko now! Isn’t that, like, so fucking cute!” Yes, it was fucking cute. This version of Neil was halfway between adorable and cum-on-sight-able. His now long hair was unnaturally blond and voluminous. The face was the same, just prettier somehow: the cheekbones a bit stronger, the jaw a bit more defined, the eyes a touch wider. The body, on the other hand, was absolutely astounding. It wasn’t even like Neil had improved. No, this titan’s body looked like a gymnast on steroids. The waist was minuscule, the pecs bobbled out in front of his body like floating balloons. His thighs were thick and veiny, seemingly like they should move mountains as he marched, but instead slipped over each other with dainty precision.

“Listen, Neil-“

“Niko, baaaabes!” Even the correction has such an air of passive joy that Amir almost forgot what he was saying.

“Niko,” Amir continued, the name slipping through gritted lips though it tasted like silk as he said it. It felt good to say. Calming and soothing. Fun. “But like, Niko… what happened?”

“When?” He bounced his pecs obliviously while sipping on a neon green drink with a curly emerald straw.

“When you, umm…. With Radden?”

“Oh!” Niko's voice perked up when Amir said his name and he couldn’t help but notice a stiffening in Niko's speedo. “Yeah we, like, talked. I told him I wanted to be hot. And he helped! He is sooooo sweet!” Niko giggled, like schoolgirl giggled, and then grabbed Amir’s hand and placed it on the curve of his pec right over his nipple. And then bounced them happily, causing Amir’s fingers to rub over his nipple as Niko’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Amir was taken aback. He and his friends were many things, but not sexually active with each other. It seemed gauche. And many a queer groups had broken up over break ups and jealousy and hook-ups. But the most shocking thing about it was how not Neil’s type Amir had ever been. Neil liked guys who looked like they walked off the cover of a fitness magazine, plastic sheen and all. But now, here he was, forcing him to rub his nipples while making orgasm faces with no shame or embarrassment.

It was hot. So fucking hot. And for a brief moment, that hotness was all consuming.

But then Radden arrived. Somehow, Niko became even bubblier, his sexual aura spiking to eleven as he ran and jumped into the much taller man’s arms and proceeded to make out like two guys in a porno. Again, soooo hot. But then Amir remembered Jai and wondered how he’d feel. But there he was, another pink speedo covering his essentials and pink sunglasses over his eyes. He had a snotty smirk on his face as he sauntered up, drawing the hungry eyes of men nearby.

“Listen slut,” Jai commanded. The pair stopped kissing but Radden still held Niko, whose arms and legs were coiled around Radden’s body. “I’m the boyfriend. You’re just a side piece, got it.”

“Babe, that’s, like, soooo hot!” Niko might have twirled his hair if his hands were free. Jai looked satisfied at the response.

“I’m the queen bee. You’re just a fun, dumb fuck doll. Fun and dumb,” Jai’s words had all the venom of a teen queen.

“And I need to be filled with cum!” Niko responded obliviously. Jai just laughed and agreed.

“I need a refill. We’re going,” Jai ordered Niko, who nodded like a golden retriever. He took one last gooey kiss from a satisfied Radden before bending over backwards, his legs still around Radden’s waist, and then performing a backwards handspring to right himself. Radden swatted his ass as Jai grabbed his hand and pulled him away. They minced towards the bar together, swishing their hips to show off the prime real estate to the pleasure of everyone watching.

A smug Radden wiped his face and watched lecherously as the two sauntered off. Amir, on the other hand, immediately turned and hustled the other direction. He slipped past a trio of bangable bros in tight suits who were playfully grabbing at each other’s crotches. Through the lobby, past the shops, swiping his bracelet for the elevator and immediately heading upstairs to his room.

Weird things were going on in his head. Things and thoughts that didn’t make any sense. Watching Nei-Niko… Niko make out with Radden was weird, right? Radden was Jai’s boyfriend. But Jai didn’t care. Maybe they had an open relationship? That would at least make sense. His brain kept dancing around the actual questions he wanted to think: what the hell had happened to Neiko. Neiko. Ne-ne-Niko.

Ugh, it made his head hurt. Surely, the booze didn’t help. Nor did the sun, the workouts, the protein, the long nights and endless debauchery. He felt very lightheaded and not like he had the previous days. His head felt dizzy and uncomfortable, not the effervescent fluffiness that had been slowly turning his brain into cotton candy. He felt like vomiting or maybe passing out, but then a very strong set of arms wrapped themselves around him and pulled him into a muscular body so tightly he almost gagged on the scent of Armani cologne.

“Feeling alright, doll? You ran away so quickly, I knew I needed to come check on you,” Radden whispered in his ears. Amir couldn't tell if he wanted to push off or snuggle in. He settled for doing neither, simply looking up to stare into his wondrous eyes. He reached down and cupped Amir’s face like Hamlet holding a skull. “You are so very pretty. You know that, right? All three of you, honestly. You just need a little touch up.”

Amir wanted to fight back, to squirm and pull away, but he also wanted to sink into Radden’s eyes and voice and just let himself dive into his muscled body like some romance novel slut.

“Jai had those pretty, pretty lips that just NEED to be on a dick. And Niko, well, those pecs are the stuff of dreams and now he can live out his fantasies of being a cum whore in peace. But you, you dear, sweet, Amir, you have a glorious ass. And I bet a pretty pink hole under there that is just quivering to take me.”

Amir bit his lips and looked at Radden with eyes made of melting butter.

“You’re going to look so hot taking my cock and squealing like the little whore I know is inside you.”

“But first,” Radden pushed Amir back, analyzing him coldly. “You need to get some work.” Amir tried to speak up but Radden shoved a thick finger in his mouth, silencing him. “Nothing major, nothing you don’t want. Just a hot body, bigger muscles, really turn that ass into a work of art. And tousle the hair, fill the lips, you know I think a big bottom looks great with a bit of a pelvic tilt. Not too much, don’t want to ruin a prize bull. But you’ve got those beautiful features and some bronzer wouldn’t hurt. No, no, Daddy’s got it all worked out. You just need to hit up the spa starting tomorrow.”

Amir didn’t speak, lips sucking on Radden’s finger in surprising delight. He tasted salty and musky and his brain couldn’t help but obsess over what his cock would taste like.

“It’ll take a few days, you know. But don’t worry. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. And your friends won’t even notice you’re away. After all, they’re just dumb cumsluts now. Don’t you think that’s so hot?”

There wasn’t room for disagreement. Amir just nodded, eyes wide as he stared into Radden’s brown orbs.

“Good. Remember, Daddy knows best. And starting tomorrow, you’re gonna do what Daddy says.” He ruffled Amir’s hair affectionately and pulled his finger out of Amir's mouth with a loud pop. “Now, get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day, beautiful.” Amir’s brain felt mushy and odd, like the grey matter burst into rainbows and glitter that made it impossible to do anything other than smile and nod. He stripped off his wayward bathing suit and threw himself into the plush comforts of his bed with nary a thought in his head.

—--

Amir awoke to a pair of gorgeous men in tight, white uniforms knocking on his door, offering him a fluffy robe and slippers, before ushering him down the service elevator straight into the spa. The air smelled like honeysuckle and buttercream while an army of men of all shapes, colors, and ethnicities kept busy tending to their work.

He stripped at a locker before being directed to a sauna where he spent a few minutes soaking in the heat before being put under a cold shower and then moved to a steam room filled with overpowering oils. His body was scrubbed, then he swapped between hot and cold tubs before returning to a massage table where a man of unknowable ethnicity treated his body like unmolded clay and pushed and prodded his muscles into a new shape. Then facials and more scrubs, microneedles embedded into his face, and then a man who looked like a circus strongman pulled and twisted his hips in strange ways that made his back pop constantly.

He spent most of it wearing noise cancelling headphones that played soothing chants backed by repetitive static. The only interruption came when he was given orders: turn over, stand up, sit down. No one ever explained what was happening, only what to do. Which was fine with him. He felt an overwhelming calm echoing around inside his skull, making it feel as though his brain wasn’t present at all.

The day ended with Amir strapped down on a table while a collection of long needles were inserted throughout his body, along the edge of every major muscle group. And then they began pulsing. Tingly, nearly painful, waves of electricity spasmed through his body, each moment feeling like he’d just worked out his muscles to their fullest, only to immediately be forced back into the exercise at a higher weight or greater intensity. All the while, he could do nothing except twitch and drool as the physical exertion overpowered what little remained of his brainpower.

Before he knew it, he was again wearing a robe and slippers, consuming recovery beverages the texture of mucus, as the techs took measurements and prepared him for tomorrow. He stood up dizzily and was gently escorted back to his room by hypervigilant attendants.

The process repeated over several days. New treatments were introduced. Sterilized needles were inserted into his lips and along his jaw and chin that injected strange, stiff gels that made him feel like he’d been stung by a bee. His hair was wrapped in foil and subjected to treatments under an old fashioned hair dryer while he was allowed to watch porn videos of hot guys looking rapturous as they got railed by older men.

Soon the massages were followed by waxing, where each tiny little follicle of hair anywhere below his neckline was evicted from his body with resounding glee from a babyfaced technician with red hair spiked sky high. The muscle twitch needles followed again, sending larger and larger pulses of electricity through every inch of fiber in his body, thrusting his pecs and pulling his lats and crunching his abdominals over and over again. It hurt tremendously, but like a gym burn, like he’d just exceed his limits and immediately set new, higher goals. The needle placement slowly changed, further apart as he muscles responded to the stimuli and sustenance, as they grew into a bulky, masculine form like a gymnast in his prime. Those sessions were always followed by intense stretching where his legs were slowly pressed into perfectly straight lines, front to back, side to side, and over his head.

The back popper happened more frequently, moving up and down his spine, seeming to snap things into place. It kept feeling deeper, like the change happened further inside the spine, altering his stance outright. He began spending extra time right at his hips, pushing his buttocks back and forth in a small thrusting motion. His thumbs remained firmly pressed against Amir’s butthole the entire time, creating a not unpleasant sensation throughout the process.

The chanting began forming into words. Fun words. Things that made him want to have fun. To be fun. To not worry or think or stress. Instead, he focused on how good it felt to be pretty, to wear pretty clothes, to make men horny just by looking at you. God, he wanted men to get hard just seeing him! Wouldn’t that be the life, to be so fucking sexy that hot guys just threw themselves at him? And he’d want them all. Want to take them all. Want to be filled by their hard rods past the point of sanity, until he was just a writhing and moaning mass of muscles and rainbows.

He was constantly hard. And leaking. And harder muscles made his brain leak, too. Pesky thoughts and fears just drained out as his personality got polished and shined and plasticized. Nothing deep, nothing interesting. Surface. Hot. Fun. Dumb.

—--

Time became meaningless. His days were just cycles of being tended to in one way or another. It felt right. It felt like what he deserved. Another massage, some lotion, hair styling, and then suddenly things changed. The attendants took him to a large room with a circular multi-panel mirror. Andd he saw himself for the first time.

He was GORGEOUS!

Every inch of his dark skin, denuded of hair, now shone in amber brilliance, luminescent, obviously artificial, and perfectly smooth. No human on earth naturally had this color. It was a testament to tanning and skincare, a proclamation that the person who cultivated this amber glaze obsessed over their physical appearance on a level most people could only dream of.

Amir’s face had been cute, charming even, in the right lighting. But now it would stop traffic. His cheekbones rode high and wide on his formerly blocky face, giving it some harsh angularity that put runway models to shame. His lips were fuller, pinker, and hung ever so slightly open, a constant seductive pout. Bushy brows had been plucked and laminated into dark blades, inviting people to stare into his wider eyes whose brown color looked a bit lighter now, woodier with fantasies of forest greens amidst the bark. And on top of it all was bleach blond, pure white hair, mostly swept back but a few loose curls dangled just above his left eye.

But that was just the start. Amir’s body, previously thick and slightly flabby and devoid of any visible muscle, now shamed Apollo. His lats spread wider than his chest, reshaping him into a stunning male hourglass, thick, wide shoulders that cascaded into meaty pecs before tightening into hearty, natural abs– the kind of abs that existed for more than vanity, they suggested that he could bend or twirl into positions unimaginable by an average man.

All of that was nothing. Below his abs, his body ballooned out into the most delicious, curvy, round, perky, prominent, aggressively sexual ass he’d ever seen. This ass wasn’t a dumptruck, it was a fucking pickup truck because men would be riding in the back constantly! It was perfect! Huge and high and muscular with just the perfect level of fleshy bouncy that shook and wiggled with every step. It belonged on the Mount Rushmore of asses, a thing of such phenomenal beauty it just begged to be used.

And the thought of being used, of being fucked until dawn by some aggressive mega-dicked top with the stamina of a breeding ox just filled him with such passion, such lust, he couldn’t help but bite his lips like a vixen hoping to entice men. He wanted, no he needed, to be seen. Not as a person but as a sexual object.

God it made him feel so hot.

He stood, utterly transfixed by the myriad of flawless reflections that cooed back at him with ravenous, sexual hunger in their eyes. His hips tilted forward slightly, a little curve in his lower back, that caused his ass to jut out a bit further, a bit higher, a bit more enticing, like a fleshy bait to lure cocks to his hole. Never, in his life, had he stood in front of a mirror totally naked and felt nothing but admiration for the form before him. It had no flaws, no worries. There was nothing to improve. He looked like an Olympic gymnast with a great plastic surgeon who made millions of dollars on OnlyFans doing nothing more than exposing his body and offering sultry looks.

“Well, well, well,” the deep, breathy words came from behind Amir. He turned to see Radden, in a leopard print Versace speedo and a delicate linen button down left open to show off his pecs and abs, clapping softly as he admired Amir’s new form. “You look perfect,” he purred. Amir might have blushed, but instead he just posed, pushing out his glutes more and puffing up his lips as though offering a kiss. Radden strut over, the leopard print covered package bounding from side to side in a mouth watering and hole wetting display. Amir looked up expectantly as he approached, eager for more approval.

Radden didn’t say more, he just took in the sight of Amir’s altered form, playing with the curls in his hair and patting his muscles as though inspecting a product. He cupped Amir’s balls with one hand, gliding his fingers across their newfound smoothness in gentle appreciation. His other hand nestled up inside Amir’s gigantic booty until one finger was firmly planted on his butthole. Amir bit his lip and released a lush, porny moan that he would never, ever have made before. But now it slipped out as naturally as blinking.

“Good boy,” he whispered erotically into Amir’s ear. Amir whimpered submissively in response and then his face twisted into a lustful smirk as he began rolling his butt, slowly snaking Radden’s finger inside his hole. Radden let him continue for a few moments, proudly baring down on his latest conquest before pulling off as Amir released a squeaky whine.

“Not yet,” Radden put a finger over Amir’s lips. “We still have work to do. Now,” he turned the technicians with dispassionate professionalism. “Is everything as ordered?”

They confirmed, laying out a list of detailed improvements Radden had commanded: lips, cheeks, muscles, glutes, brain, personality. Amir just stood silently, not paying attention, as the details of his own transformation were laid bare. He did catch a few words, specific measurement of pelvic tilt, gluteal curvature, reformatted personality type. But none of that was very interesting. Radden, looking so serious and business-like, was more fun to watch. Despite being dressed in a showy speedo, he still commanded the room and the men in it like a ruthless CEO acquiring a rival company. Amir got hard again.

“Now that that’s settled,” Radden returned his attention to Amir. His voice dropped the harsh tones he’d addressed the help with and adopted the cloyingly sweet tones he used talking to his boytoys. “We just have a few more things to do, okay baby?” Amir was given a collection of jewelry, a turtle embossed bracelet, a dainty little silver chain, and a tiny stud in his nose. With grandiose flourish, as though introducing this season's debutante, he produced a tiny pair of baby blue fabric with a Grecian design on it. The Versace swim briefs from earlier. Amir clapped giddily and reached for them, but Radden shushed him and insisted on dressing him like a doll. He stepped into the swimsuit and Radden slid the tight fabric over his smoothed and enlarged legs, forced it backwards over the luscious rump of his titanic ass and pressed his cock and balls downwards as he allowed the waistband of the suit to snap around his tiny waist.

Amir creamed himself immediately.

“Now that’s my beautiful boy,” Radden cooed. “Oh, and one final note. Since you are such a good boy, aren’t you?” Amir nodded eagerly. “See, you’re almost perfect now, so pretty, so stupid, so obsessed with cock and cum that you’ll treat your body like a holy temple dedicated to the pleasures of homosexuality. And that temple deserves a good name, doesn’t it? Not Amir. That’s so boring, so lame. You wanna be fun and simple and stupid and hot, right doll?”

Ami was so hard, despite having just cum, that not a single drop of blood was pumping to his brain. His vision blurred and a bystander could almost hear the whirring clink of broken joints as Amir’s mind stopped and slowed and ceased. His face nodded in agreement.

“Good, cause I think it would be soooo hot if you were named Rio. R-I-O. Fun, right?” Sparkles, rainbows, a sun exploding into atoms, nothing could quite explain exactly what happened inside his head at that moment. Only that the words broke something, or rather fixed something, permanently.

“Tell me your name,” Radden’s command was strong but seductive, a dom coming home to roost.

“I’m Rio!” Sparkles, rainbows, cotton candy exploded inside his head.

“Again.” “I’m Rio!” Sweet, charming, hyper sexual, and completely and utterly devoted. Rio, freed from Amir and his body and brain, shifted just a bit. A bit cockier, looser, gaining full comfort in his new form and function like a prisoner freed from shackles and now standing upright.

Radden walked next to Rio and grabbed his glutes aggressively. Rio forced them back into his hand with a subtle moan. Radden slapped his glutes and watched them jiggle.

“Now, we’re gonna go back to the room and you’re gonna show me that pretty hole I paid for. And I’m gonna fuck you so hard that anything left behind in that pretty head of yours is gonna melt. I’m gonna turn your hole into a cavern. My cock is going to become your God and salvation.” Rio’s eyes fluttered and his heart raced at the promise of a good fucking. He needed it, like fundamentally needed it, as much as he needed water and food. Without another word, Radden slipped the D&G sunglasses over Rio’s eyes. The perfect finishing touch for a trophy.

Radden’s hand pawing as his newfound ass, Rio paraded through the main lobby like a hero from war. He could tell people were looking at him, knew they were devouring his ass with their eyes, knew they were envying Radden’s huge hand on his bulbous mound. It felt fucking great.

They were both hard and leaking by the time they got the room. Briefs were stripped off unceremoniously, though Radden didn’t bother taking off his shirt. He hoisted Rio up and fireman’s carried him into the master suite. Rio didn’t spend a second taking in the massive luxury of the room, superior to the practically pitiful room he had by comparison. His entire brain focused on the massive erection riding up from Radden, the purple head bobbing several inches above his bellybutton and dripping with semen.

Unceremoniously, he flipped Rio on his back and pushed his legs over his head, forcing them straight and insisted he keep the toes pointed. All the body reshaping Rio had undergone meant that it was completely natural. Radden admired the hole, praising its color and shape, and then with brutal efficiency, plunged his hard cock inside.

There was nothing romantic about the sex, no emotions, just need. Rio wasn’t his boyfriend after all; he was just a hole. And Radden pistoned in and out of him like a beast releasing years of pent up aggression as only sex can. For Rio it was more sparkles and rainbows. A cock, a huge cock, thrusting inside of him and treating his body like a fleshlight was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. He didn’t touch his own dick. He didn’t need to. His prostate was what mattered now; the top’s cock is what mattered now. He’d cum when they did, once they dumped their thick loads inside him and left him sweaty and leaky and ready for more. Rio would always be up for round two. And round three.

It ended quickly but ferociously, with Radden releasing a primal cry into the sky, veins bulging across his neck as the spasming rod inside Rio sent them both into orgasmic bliss. Rio’s own cock blasted out and launched his cum directly into his mouth. He let out a stilted moan as he slurped down his own cum with glee.

—--

Everything was soooo much more fun now. The boytoys got up, worked out, looked hot, and tended to Radden’s sexual needs. Otherwise, they did whatever they wanted. They’d flirt with other hot himbos or rich old men. They got shitfaced drunk and grinded their sweaty bodies on dance floors. The trio even ended up in a gymnastics contest, donning leotards and doing flips and cartwheels with relative ease, although their exaggerated physiques kept them slightly off balance.

Radden kept them color coded for convenience: pink for Jai, green for Niko, blue for Rio. Everyday he picked out matching swimsuits with flashy designer labels prominent and loud. Rio’s collection of high-end sunglasses grew daily as Radden shopped with him, happily choosing the perfect pair for his newest toy.

They still had the spa daily, though now the whole foursome went together and got their facials and massages. Jai still sucked Radden dry after a good massage, but Niko was on hand for a tit fucking while Rio kept his bussy clean and lubed just in case Radden needed to blow off some steam. And of course, any other guy who caught his fancy. Rio’s sex drive had turned from mild to insatiable. He LOVED it. But he never felt satisfied. Within minutes, he’d be ready to search for another dick, another load, another guy to flirt and flounce with.

Rio was hot as fuck, horny as hell, dumb as a rock, and could not have been any happier.

They’d have to leave soon, unfortunately. Rio briefly thought about his passport, what had happened to it, but that thought soon dissolved into nothingness. Radden would take care of anything important. His purpose wasn’t to stress or worry. That was for ugly people. Himbos like him were supposed to be hot, fun, horny, and available. And he loved it.

#callmecrazy #himbofication #himbo

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letsnowtalk · 2 days ago

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Let them Talk

Part 9

⸻

It always starts on TikTok these days.

No warning. No context. Just a screen recording uploaded at 2:17 a.m. by a burner account.

🎥: DMs from Azzi Fudd to a private group chat, supposedly with Nika Mühl and Paige Bueckers.

“I still love her.”

“She’s with Juju now but I don’t think it’s real.”

“That girl was mine first.”

The internet?

Imploded.

⸻

By morning, it was everywhere.

“AZZI FUDD PRIVATE DMS LEAKED. 😳”

“She really said ‘mine’ huh?”

“Reader hasn’t even flinched. That silence is louder than any post.”

Azzi’s reps didn’t confirm or deny.

Paige said nothing. Nika posted a video if her at practice.

And you?

You said absolutely nothing.

⸻

Your phone had hundreds of notifications.

Paige texted.

“Z didn’t mean for that to get out. Don’t let it mess with your head.”

Azzi called twice. You didn’t answer.

Your coach pulled you aside before practice.

“Just breathe. Don’t let it become your identity.”

You nodded. Then hit five straight corner threes without blinking.

Because nothing rattled you.

Not even Azzi Fudd publicly, accidentally, claiming you like a stolen trophy.

⸻

But someone else did have your attention.

Juju.

⸻

She didn’t say much about the DMs. She never did.

She just sent you a screenshot of the leak with one message:

JUJU: You still rocking with me?

You responded in four words.

YOU: Come pick me up.

⸻

That Night — Los Angeles

The two of you walked into a new rooftop lounge for an NIL afterparty.

Music soft. Vibe private. Still, the cameras found you.

You wore a sleek brown dress. Juju wore a black suit with a silver chain and a top open just enough to show her new collarbone tattoo. You were hand-in-hand before the valet even opened the car door.

She led.

You followed.

Not because you needed to.

Because you chose to.

⸻

Inside, the night was chill. Easy.

A few teammates. A few influencers. Some WNBA players off-season lounging.

Someone whispered, “That’s her.”

Someone else whispered, “Azzi’s probably dying right now.”

You didn’t flinch.

At one point, Juju leaned close, whispered in your ear.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I know.”

“But damn, you’re saying a lot just by being here.”

You smiled. Sipped your drink.

“I know.”

⸻

Somewhere in Connecticut, Azzi sat in the back of a media day panel.

A reporter asked about the leak. About you.

Azzi blinked, took a breath, and said, “I think some feelings don’t just turn off.”

Another reporter followed up: “What about her being out with Juju last night?”

Azzi’s jaw locked.

She smiled. Tight. Painfully polite.

“I don’t blame her. I’d want her too.”

⸻

Instagram the next morning

@LSUfanfeed posted the photo first

📸 Y/N and Juju walking into the lounge, hands clasped, paparazzi flashes behind them.

Caption? “Unbothered. Silent. Chosen.”

Top comments?

“She said nothing and still broke the internet.”

“Azzi’s dm said mine. Reader said prove it.”

“Y’all… Juju might’ve actually won.”

“That walk-in was a response and a threat.”

⸻

Back at the hotel, Juju was lying back against the headboard, scrolling her phone.

“Wanna see what they’re saying?”

You were curled up beside her, skin warm, cheek resting on her shoulder.

“Nah,” you mumbled. “They’ll say it anyway.”

She looked down. “You really don’t care, huh?”

You looked up.

“No,” you said. “I just trust what I feel.”

Her eyes searched yours.

“And what do you feel?”

You didn’t say it out loud.

But the way you kissed her told her everything she needed to know.

⸻

#wbb x reader #wnba x reader #uconn wbb #usc wbb #azzi x reader #azzi35 #azzi fudd x reader #azzi fudd #juju watkins x y/n #juju x reader #juju watkins x fem reader #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins

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meiyokbf · 8 hours ago

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under your spell | megan x g!p!reader | part five

author's note: took me long enough but i’m backkk! got down with a flu + writers block but now i’m better than ever, lmk what you think & i hope you guys enjoy this one. :’)

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara. no smut, just megan being scared and reader trying their best. kind of a filler chapter but in the best intention possible. also, meet sophia!

word count: 4,2k

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut, manon x lara, marz, sophia laforteza.

megan’s spotify playlist!

masterlist. | prev. I next.

you tell yourself you’re not going to text her.

and you say it out loud this time, a quiet promise to your ceiling fan, to the wrinkles in your sheets, to the ghost of her hand that still lingers somewhere near your ribs. you won’t do it. not again.

but, oh well. you open your phone anyway.

it’s muscle memory at this point: swipe, tap, check. still no new message. nothing since the one she sent at 2:17am.

megan: can’t sleep.

megan: thinking about the way you said my name.

you had read it twice. then again. then again until the words felt like they weren’t in english anymore. you didn’t know how to respond. or if she even wanted you to.

you think about replying now. type something. delete it. type again. delete.

(y/n): i didn’t sleep either

and leave it there.

it was wednesday now; three days since the last time you’ve seen her. but honestly, at this point, it kinda felt like three years. you couldn’t even focus on your uni work without thinking about her voice or her eyes, and the way she purposefully seemed to take hours to text you back was driving you insane. you needed to take a breather before going to class, in which you already knew you would doze off the entire lecture because you would much rather be around her instead.

so, you dress slowly. batman & robin tee, jacket, sneakers that squeak when you walk too fast. you grab your bag and ignore the pile of laundry in the corner, the coffee mug on your nightstand still full of yesterday’s tea. before leaving, you decided to grab something to eat on the way, already listening manon’s voice in your head about how you always forget to eat while studying and how your blood pressure is shit. so you decide to steal one of her granola bars. which, of course, had a heart-shaped post-it on it.

“these are technically for me, but i know your sad little raccoon hands will find them.

fine. take one.

ONE.

(ily though. please hydrate.)

- manz”

you laughed slightly and took one bar. this was your guys’ thing; you both knew that you could always talk to each other over text messages, but ever since you moved in together, post-its were the main mean of communication between you two. there were some things that could only be said on a paper, you thought. and you cherished that a lot.

you’ve got class in less than an hour, but your brain isn’t ready for structure. it feels like soup. or static.

you take the long way. the sun hasn’t fully committed to the sky yet and everything is washed in that early kind of light; soft and blue, like it doesn’t want to wake you up too quickly. birds chirp like they don’t know what day it is.

you pass three dogs, one crying baby, a couple making out against a bike rack. the world is still moving. it always is.

and then you think about her again.

the way she laughed back at her place last weekend. her hand pressed to your chest like she was checking for signs of life. the way she looked at you; half-there, half-running.

you stop by the café before class. it’s not your usual morning haunt, but you can’t sit still. you need something warm to hold.

you open the door. the smell of cinnamon and burnt espresso. the low hum of other people’s lives. this place always feels like a sigh.

you look up to the counter. you’ve seen her before —the barista with the glossy lips and flower name tag. sophia.

you’ve seen her smile at other people. never you. not because she’s mean. just because you’ve never given her a reason to.

you stand in line, staring at the drinks menu like it might give you a sign.

when it’s your turn, you step forward too fast, nearly bump into the display case. she glances up and smiles like she doesn’t notice your awkwardness. like she’s known you all along.

— hey. you’re usually here on fridays, right?

you blink. startled that she noticed. your mouth is slower than your brain.

— yeah, uh… i guess i just needed caffeine sooner this week.

she smiles, warm and easy.

— well, don’t we all? — she laughs. not mockingly. not like she’s uncomfortable. just warm. you look up at the menu like it might offer guidance. she tilts her head. — want me to surprise you?

— what would you recommend?

— hmm… maybe a dirty chai with oat milk and a side of emotional clarity.

you almost laugh. it comes out soft.

— can you do that?

— only the chai. emotional clarity’s a seasonal special. — she smiles to you like she just came out of a disney movie, then grabs a cup, scribbles something on the side.

you think you’ll leave it there; just a weird, slightly too-honest exchange with a stranger. but your chest is buzzing, and your mouth is tired of keeping secrets.

— can i tell you something insane?

she looks at you, curious. elbows on the counter, chin in her hand. she doesn’t look bored.

— always.

— i’m… losing my mind a little over this girl.

the words tumble out before you can pull them back.

— she… she did these things. and they’re not even big stuff. just… things that made me feel seen. and then she disappeared. not like, forever. for like a day or two. just enough to make me feel crazy. and then she’s back like nothing happened. it’s hot and then cold, you know?

you exhale. glance down. your fingers tap against the wood of the counter.

— and i believe i’ll keep letting her do it. because when she’s here, it’s… really good. and i think she’s trying. i want to believe she’s trying. but sometimes it feels like she’s just…

you don’t finish. sophia watches you for a second, then gently replies.

— you think she’s afraid?

you nod. a little too fast.

— yeah. i think she’s afraid of being loved.

— and you’re not?

— maybe. — you pause. — i think i’m more afraid of not trying.

she starts the espresso machine. the hiss and churn of it fills the silence between you.

— you know… — she says eventually. — when i was sixteen, i fell in love with someone who only called me when it rained.

you glance at her. — what?

— seriously. it would pour, and they’d text. every time. for almost a year. — she smiles, but there’s something sad behind it.

— i used to think it meant something. like maybe i reminded them of safety. or lightning. or the sound of thunder in someone else’s bed. — she shrugs. — turns out, they just didn’t like being alone when it stormed.

you don’t know what to say. so you say nothing. she hands you the drink. your name’s not on it; instead, she’s drawn a small sun and the words “this is a hug in a cup. :)”

— look, i don’t think your girl’s trying to hurt you. — she smiles at you sympathetically. — but sometimes people like that… they don’t know they’re pulling you under until you’ve already drowned.

your throat feels tight.

— yeah… i’m just terrified, you know?

— i know, truly. — she adds. — fear isn’t a stop sign. it’s just a sign you care.

you swallow hard. grip the cup. feel the warmth press against your palms like a second heartbeat. give her the money and don’t even bother about asking for the change. she definitely deserves it.

— thank you.

she nods, her smile making you believe for a second that she might be right. — i hope she figures it out.

you almost ask her name. then remember you already know it. so you leave the café with a little more silence in your body.

not emptiness, just space.

and of course, megan hasn’t texted back.

but you check anyway.

the studio walls on the velvet room’s backstage are mirror-lined and unforgiving. overhead, the lights buzz faintly, the kind of sound that feels like it’s echoing inside your teeth. the floor is a little sticky from last week’s sweat and glitter. it always is.

megan leans back against the barre, gum in her mouth, legs crossed at the ankle. she’s supposed to be warming up, stretching, something. instead, she watches lara in the mirror; ponytail sharp, eyeliner sharper, heels already on. lara looks like someone who bites when she loves you.

they’re rehearsing a shared number. or at least, they were supposed to be. it’s for friday’s late set: something femme fatale-coded, high energy, choreography that flirts with the edge of violence. lara had chosen the song. megan had said fine. she really didn’t care.

but her head’s not in it. not today.

she’s been messing up small things all afternoon; missing beats, forgetting transitions, zoning out mid-chorus. it’s pissing lara off. megan can feel it in the way she keeps clicking her nails against her thigh, like she’s trying not to scream.

— megan. — the indian scoffed, annoyed. — you’re two beats behind. again.

— i know.

— jesus christ, then fix it.

megan doesn’t move. she just shifts her jaw slightly, biting down harder on her gum, staring at her own reflection like it might offer her a better version of herself. it doesn’t.

lara exhales, sharp, just like her makeup.

— what the hell is going on with you today?

megan shrugs. doesn’t answer.

they’ve danced together a hundred times. shared sets, shared shots, shared nights curled into each other on lara’s couch when the world got too loud. this shouldn’t feel like a battle, but it does. today it does.

lara crosses the floor, heels clicking.

— i’m not going to babysit you through this, meg. if you can’t do the number-

— i can. — megan says it too fast. defensive. like she’s been caught bleeding.

— then act like it, god damn it. — lara counters.

— you’re off, you’re distracted, you’re… — she continues, then trails off, dragging her hands down her face. — is this about them?

silence. megan looks away. fixes her gaze on the smudge on the mirror near her hip. says nothing. lara sighs.

— okay, yeah. that’s what i thought.

megan still doesn’t speak. her throat is tight in a way she doesn’t like. lara softens, just slightly.

— you’ve been weird all week.

— no, i haven’t.

— megan.

that tone again; not angry, not pitying. worse. the one lara uses when she’s worried. and god knows how megan hates it.

she shrugs again. sits down on the floor, stretching her legs out, arms behind her for balance. her body feels too heavy. her chest even more so.

— i don’t know what i’m fucking doing. — she says, eventually.

— with them?

— with anything.

lara doesn’t laugh. doesn’t scoff. just sits next to her, their shoulders not quite touching.

— then do what you know.

megan chews her gum slower. the peppermint tastes like regret.

— it’s not that simple.

— yeah, it is.

they sit there in the silence for a beat. outside the studio, someone’s blasting music from the dressing rooms. something with too much bass, too much bravado. probably other girls who were rehearsing too. and the world keeps spinning. megan picks at her fishnets, nails chipping.

— it was supposed to be a hookup. — she says quietly. — that’s what i wanted. easy. clean. fun.

— and? — megan doesn’t answer. lara studies her, then sighs again. louder this time. more tired than angry. — ok, fine. do you wanna know what scares me?

— isn’t it, like, everything?

— cute. — lara smiled sarcastically. — but no. what scares me is watching you do what i did.

megan blinks, looking up. lara rarely goes here. not out loud. so, she paid attention.

— i felt something too, after that night with manon. — lara reluctantly said, almost swallowing her own words. — just for a second. one fucking second. like maybe i wasn’t alone in the world; maybe someone actually wanted me, not the performance. not dallas. then i ran. because that was easier. safer. and now? i keep thinking about the way she fucking caressed my hair when she thought i was asleep.

that’s the most she’s said about it since that night.

— you… really liked her? — megan stares.

— that’s not the point.

— it feels like the point.

— shut the fuck up, my point is… — she raised her voice for a second, then lowered it back again. — don’t do what i did. don’t pretend you don’t care just because you’re afraid they’ll stop.

— but what if they do?

— then at least you were honest. and you’ll survive it. like we always do.

— yeah, but that’s the point, lara. i don’t wanna survive it. — megan sighed. — i don’t know how to do it right. okay? i don’t know what they want from me. i don’t know if i can give it. i’m trying and i still fuck it up. i say something nice and then i hate myself for saying it. i feel soft and then i feel stupid. and they keep being… them. they’re so fucking kind it hurts. i hate it.

she buries her face in her hands.

— i fucking hate it.

lara watches her. eyes narrowed. something like protectiveness crests beneath her ribs, sharp and sudden.

— you don’t hate it. — she says.

megan doesn’t look up.

— you hate that it makes you want to be good.

megan scoffs. — fuck you.

— yeah, yeah.

they sit in it for a moment. the ruin of what megan isn’t saying. lara reaches into her bag, pulls out her phone.

— i’m putting something on. you’re going to breathe for five seconds and stop being a nightmare.

megan groans into her hands.

— don’t send me another thirst trap compilation.

— shut up, you love those.

— i don’t.

lara scrolls through her feed, thumb flicking fast. trying to find something dumb and distracting: a dog in pajamas, a couple falling off a paddleboard, something with sparkles. something easy.

but instead; there she is.

manon. on her screen. lips glossy, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head; the lighting is shit. but her voice is bright. and her smile’s too real. “thrift haul! let’s see how many gay crimes i can commit in one outfit!”

the screen shakes slightly as she flips the camera around. mirror shot. oversized leather trench coat. chain belt. cropped tee with a vintage graphic of the moon.

lara’s breath catches in her throat.

it’s stupid. it’s not even a hot video. she’s not dancing. not even trying.

but she looks so damn good. effortless. sharp and funny and alive. the way she talks to the camera like it’s an old friend. then lara’s hand freezes on the screen, her eyes trying their best not to roll.

— fuck.

megan glances over.

— what?

lara doesn’t answer. the video keeps playing. manon holds up a faux-fur coat with rhinestones on the collar and says “this is either a blessing or a curse and honestly i’m fine with both.”

megan snorts softly.

— you’re watching her tiktoks now?

lara swipes out of the app. shoves her phone face-down.

— it came up.

— sure.

— whatever.

megan leans back, grin small but alive now.

— do you miss her?

lara’s jaw flexes. — i miss not thinking about her.

— same.

a beat.

— so when you’re gonna tell her you left your favorite earring there?

— jesus christ, i don’t know.

— just saying. — megan shrugs, looking at the indian girl. — you’ve been debating this for three days.

— shut up. — megan just raises her brows. — i can’t just show up. it’ll look like i care.

— you do care.

— i don’t want to.

— doesn’t make it less true.

lara picks at her nail polish. chips it off in angry flakes.

— what would you do then, smart-ass?

— me?

— yeah. if it were you. if you left something in (y/n)’s bed and didn’t know how to go back for it without handing them your heart on a plate.

megan thinks for a moment. then shrugs.

— i’d probably pretend i came for the earring, then make some excuse about how i didn’t even like it that much. but really i’d just want to see them again.

lara goes still.

— well, that’s fucking stupid.

— it is.

— but also maybe i’ll do it. not like you, though. that shit’s way too emotional for me.

megan leans back on her palms. the sweat cooling on her collarbones.

— tomorrow?

— yeah. maybe.

— want me to come?

— no. — then, quieter. — i think i have to do it alone.

— well… — megan stands. brushes dust off her thighs. — you’ll be fine.

— you say that like you believe it.

— i don’t. but i say it anyway.

lara watches her stretch, watches the way her muscles flex and settle. she wonders if (y/n) notices that too. she bets they do.

this room doesn’t look like much from the outside, just a cracked glass door above a laundromat. the buzzer always broken, the hallway always smelling faintly of bleach and cheap incense. the kind of place you’d walk past unless you knew what it was.

but to megan, it’s one of the only places in the city that doesn’t ask her to be anything.

the studio is warm when she steps in. humid from bodies, from movement, from the echo of whatever song was just playing. the floor is a little warped near the mirrors. the ceiling fan clicks. someone’s sweatshirt is slung over the barre like it lives there.

there are ten, maybe twelve students tonight. all kinds: a bartender with a buzzcut, two nursing students who come on their off weeks, someone who teaches yoga and always wears too many bracelets. none of them look like the girls at the velvet room. no glitter. no lashes. no faking.

here, sweat is just sweat. not spectacle.

the instructor plays a low-tempo r&b track and starts calling out warmups, but it’s loose. no one’s here to impress anyone. just to move. to let their bodies be something besides currency.

megan sheds her hoodie and finds a spot near the corner. she ties her hair up in a quick knot and lets her shoulders roll back, the ache of the day bleeding slowly down her spine. there’s no choreography yet, just a long stretch of breath and flow. hips shifting, ankles loosening, torsos bending with the music. she lets herself get lost in it. or she tries to.

but her head’s still full of you.

still looping back to the texts, the silences between them. still thinking about the way you looked that first night in your apartment; nervous, knees bouncing, wearing that one jacket and trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding. the way you listened. the way you didn’t run.

she hates that she keeps thinking about you like this. like she’s seventeen again and still thinks crushes are a kind of religion.

but she does. and it’s starting to show.

— hey, stranger. you’re late.

sophia’s voice breaks the loop. megan turns, and there she is: perched near the windows, stretching her legs in her usual half-graceful way, hair braided tight down her back, tank top tucked into carefully chosen leggings. she always looks like she walked out of a painting and into a dance class. megan hates how comforting that is.

— wouldn’t be me if i wasn’t.

— fair enough.

they fall into their usual rhythm, stretching near each other, no real pressure to talk, just syncing up. sophia’s already glancing at her in that quiet, knowing way, like she’s waiting for the admission she knows is coming.

megan stalls for a while. bends. breathes. watches her reflection in the mirror and tries not to think about whether you’d still look at her the same if you saw her here.

the instructor cues up a guided improv drill. everyone’s scattered around the room now, moving to the rhythm without mirrors, facing inward. it’s not about precision. it’s about emotion. presence. release.

megan dances like she’s trying to remember what her body is for. not performance. not seduction. not survival.

just hers.

soft shoulders. open arms. eyes half-closed. but she still feels off, even after her conversation with lara. like something’s humming wrong in her ribcage.

when the exercise ends, everyone collapses to the floor or leans on the barre. the lights are dimmed now. the window’s cracked, letting in the smell of street food and summer sweat.

she and sophia drift to the corner together. they sit, legs sprawled, water bottles pressed to their necks. and after a long pause, megan decided to, for once, take the first step.

— i met someone.

sophia doesn’t flinch. just raises a brow. megan fidgets with the label on her bottle, eyes on her fingers.

— i didn’t mean to. it was supposed to be… nothing. or fun. or whatever. but they’re… — she shakes her head. — they’re soft. and sharp. like, smart but quiet about it. and they made me feel like i mattered. not just… existed.

sophia watches her. not judging, never. just absorbing.

— well, that sounds terrifying. — she says, soft smile tugging at her lips.

— it is.

— and?

— and i don’t know what to do with it.

megan leans back on her elbows, the floor still warm beneath her. the ceiling above her spins gently. her voice drops.

— they’re a college student, sophia. good kid, the kind of person who plays those weird medieval games with dices on their mom’s basement. and i’m… me. a girl who strips three nights a week because her life didn’t turned out the way she planned.

megan stopped for a second; sophia just listened.

— and i keep thinking they’re gonna wake up and realize what this is. what i am. and they’ll go tell their friends “oh yeah, remember when i hooked up with that stripper?” — she scoffed. — like i’m gonna be their edgy college rebellion they survived.

after a couple of seconds, sophia said softly, the only way she knew how.

— you know, i met someone at work today. — she says, voice warm, then megan looks over.

— just a customer. we barely talked. i made them some chai, poor thing looked like they were carrying the weight of the world in a canvas tote bag. didn’t even realize how much they were spilling until they were halfway through their order. said something about someone being distant, magnetic and scary in a beautiful way.

megan goes still. then sophia smiles, small.

— i gave them this exact advice. so i’m giving it to you too. — sophia held megan’s hand and squeezed it slightly. — fear isn’t a stop sign. it’s just a sign you care. and if they care, they’ll stay. not because you made it easy. but because you were real.

megan exhales through her nose. the kind of breath that’s half-sob, half-surrender. — but what if i ruin it?

— then you learn. and try again. and live. — sophia said, as if the solution to this problem was simple and easy. — but maybe; just maybe, you don’t ruin it. maybe you get it right this time around.

megan doesn’t answer. she picks at her knee. there’s a scar there from rollerblading in sixth grade. her skin’s always trying to remind her of who she was. sophia speaks again, quieter now.

— i know you think being seen is dangerous. but maybe this time it’s just being loved.

megan feels something lodge in her throat. her heart hiccups. she bites the inside of her cheek.

— i keep waiting for them to change their mind.

— have they given you any reason to think they will?

— no.

— then stop making yourself suffer in advance. go a little easier on yourself, huh?

megan’s quiet for a long time. just the sound of music switching again in the background, bodies stretching, someone cracking their back.

— should i text them?

sophia gives her a look.

— you already know the answer, honey.

megan pulls out her phone. the screen glows too bright. your last text is still there, soft and patient.

(y/n): i didn’t sleep either

she stares at it like it might respond if she waits long enough.

— i want to see them. — she says, mostly to herself. sophia smiles, almost proudly.

— so ask them out.

megan types. deletes. types again. tries a hundred different combinations of words.

megan: wanna get food tomorrow?

megan: not a date. don’t be weird about it.

she shows sophia.

— pathetic?

— very. — sophia grins. — they’re gonna love it.

megan stares a moment longer. then hits send.

the message floats away like a dare.

she locks her phone. presses it to her chest. breathes deep.

— fuck, i’m gonna hate myself if this goes bad.

— no, you won’t.

— why?

— because this time you’re not disappearing first.

megan doesn’t answer. just stares at the ceiling, where the fan keeps spinning, and lets the soft ache of hope settle into her sternum like something earned.

#under your spell.#katseye #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye megan #megan x reader #megan skiendiel #manon bannerman x lara raj #katseye lara #katseye manon #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #manon bannerman #lara raj #katseye x masc reader #katseye x you #katseye x y/n

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pastel-peach-writes · 2 days ago

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Best Friend!Zoey Headcanons | KPDH

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of having Zoey as a best friend!

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Not Proofread, No Use of Y/n

A/N: okay... i caved. kpop demon hunters is good as hell and zoey is my bias 😔 i need her as a best friend so enjoy some headcanons while i try to get my muse back. (also i only watched the movie once so please bear w me).

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

– If you didn't have a sister before, you do now! being Zoey's best friend is like having an energetic, foodie, too sweet for her own good sister who slays both on stage and off(demon hunting duhhh).

– No matter your age, Zoey will always baby you and treat you like her kin.

– She'll make sure you're properly fed, will send you care packages if you're sick while she's on tour (otherwise shes visiting you with a care package herself), will ALWAYS take you out if you been in the house for too long or deems she needs some outdoor time with her best friend.

– Being Zoey's best friend sometimes means random texts at three am about nothing, everything, and a whole lot of typos all at the same time.

– Exhibit A: "OMIGOSH DID YOU SEE THAT NEW VIDEO ABOUT THE PUPPIES BEING BEST FRIENDS WITH THAT PENGUIN?!?/9@ HOW CUTEEE" "i am so tired. did you knows thaght 10pm in this country is the buttcracjm of dawn in Korea? yeah... I DIDN'T." "HELPMEMIRAANDRUMIARETRYINGTOKEEPMEAWAKESOWECANFINISHSHOOTINGBUTALLIWANNADOISRESTTTTT SAVE MEEE"

– Oh yeah, Mira and Rumi know about you too.

– How couldn't they? Zoey never shuts up about you.

– "Oh, yeah! Me and my best friend tried this shop once. The drinks are sooo good but we got kicked out one time for laughing so hard that my coffee shot out my nose."

– Mira and Rumi aren't jealous of your relationship because tbh, why would they be? Yeah, they're bandmates and yeah, they're close enough to consider each other best friends too, but what you have with Zoey is special. Sometimes... maybe a little too special.

– When they first heard about you, the girls were convinced Zoey was dating someone because she only mentioned your name and not your relationship status when she was going out. It was always, "Bye! Gonna hang out with ___!" "Gonna get drinks with ___!" "Gonna go shopping with ___!"

– One time, they even sat Zoey down to talk about your relationship. Not because they're concerned... no. but because they're nosey and if there's an opportunity to tease their maknae, they're going to take up that chance.

– Zoey clears up your relationship ASAP. Stating you're only friends and have been for a while. You're more like siblings or cousins if anything.

– They still have some suspicious eyes(Mira) but they let her off the hook nonetheless

– Being Zoey's best friend obviously means you get backstage passes when you want to support her concerts.

– You're always in the wings, dancing alongside her group with Bobby, and taking backstage content if she isn't already for her group's Youtube channel.

– If you're okay with being posted on socials, and not minding having a few fans of your own, Huntr/x fans eat your interactions with Zoey UP.

– Anytime you're in her vlogs or seen in the background, they scream about ___ and Zoey crumbs in the comments or how they're being fed with this content or how they adore your friendship.

– They even follow your socials to support you. You have your own fanbase and it's cute since they keep it respectful and don't ask where Zoey is all the time when you post without her.

– If you don't want to be shown on social media, your face is blurred out in videos if you're in the background, only your hand or arm is shown in photos with Zoey, or you blatantly have an emoji on your face in photos.

– Some fans speculate who you are, friend or family to Zoey, or maybe even more.

– Just like how fans of the Saja Boys eat up the literal mystery behind Mystery, they eat yours up too. You're the "Mystery" of Huntr/x if you will.

– Zoey finds that thought a little disturbing since she's had a crush on Mystery and not you and oh, because he's a literal DEMON she had to slay but, y'know kpop stans and their theories.

– Also, if you thought you could be Zoey's best friend and avoid having a sleepover with her, you are sadly mistaken my guy.

– Zoey thrives off sleepovers. In fact, if she didn't have the spiritual ability to see demons and protect her country from them, she would say her superpower is having and hosting sleepovers because she's never had a bad one and they "fuel her energy".

– Whether the sleepover be at your place or hers, she always has the best snacks. Even if you're a foodie yourself, she always outdoes you with creative snacks and ideas.

– She once made chewy caramel and chocolate-covered mini pretzels with roasted marshmallows for a sleepover. Just to have "something to chew on" while you watched movies. Like popcorn isn't widely available for purchase.

– You guys talk about everything under the Honmoon when you have sleepovers. From work, to changes in your day-to-day life, to your past memories together, and even to romance if you're into stuff like that.

– If you have a crush, personal or celebrity, Zoey is always down to wingwoman you or to tease you about how much you "light up" when you talk about them. All so you can shove her and tell her to shut up because Zoey is Number One Ragebaiter™.

– When Zoey has a crush, either one on Mystery or some random person(or even Rumi or Mira or BOTH(yes im a ploytrix fan. im gay, what do you expect from me?)), you're ragebaiting her right back.

– You'll tease her worse than she's teased you. Making kissy faces, telling her "oh, totally don't think about them holding you all night long and kissing your cheek then" just to see her face grow ten shades of pink, and if it's the girls she has a crush on, you'll make googly eyes at her when they're around only for her to tackle you and playfully wrestle you until you apologize for messing with her.

– You never do. Even when the girls are looking weird in your direction and wondering why the heck Zoey just tackled you to the ground in the kitchen, you never back down.

– Okay, that's all I have for now! Let me know in the comments if you guys want more or want to see more headcanons with Zoey or the girls!

WC: 1,037

#pastel-peach-writes #pastel peach writes #gender-neutral terms #gender neutral terms #zoey kpdh #zoey kpop demon hunters #kdh zoey #kpop demon hunters #huntrix #huntr/x #zoey x reader #zoey kdh #zoey kdh x reader #bestfriend!zoey x reader #kdh x reader #kdh x you

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glubglubgurgle · 3 hours ago

Text

stuck bunnies

xaviermc where your vibrating egg gets stuck and only your helpful neighbor xavier could save you

pairings: xavier/unnamed afab [mc/you]

tags: smut, shameless smut, neighbors, stuck vibrators, he helps you hehe, DRY HUMPING, fingering, p and v sex, kissing, praising, jealous xavier, charlie mentioned, sex confessions, drunk in luv hehe

word count: 7k

a/n: first part to stuck vibrator series !!!!! YIPPEEEEE !! i hope u guys enjoy, no beta but i worked hard to pump this out before i leave for my tip, thanks for the excitement shown for this series! im excited to write more eheh

pings!: @rurushow @straykidslvr @mcdepressed290 @otomegamesforlife @liz9898 @cherriesinoctober @dummiebunny @cecxliia @rikissaurus @ophelia-ophelian @youkoden @zaynetism @auroranavi [IT WOULDNT LET ME TAG SOME OF U TT IDK HOW TUMBLR WORKS TT]

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

“You need to get laid, girl…” Tara said to you before taking another sip of her martini. She scanned the bar, surely looking for a proper suitor for you.

You sighed, following her gaze. “I do…but I don’t know about a one-night-stand. I want to at least know them or something.” You looked back at her and she already had her tarot cards in hand, shuffling them. “No way your tiny purse fits that…where the hell did you pull those cards out from?” You gaped at her.

“Hush. You’re looking for love, and I’m trying to help you.” Tara continued to shuffle the cards more before fully facing you. She pulled the card from the top and placed it on the bar, hovering it face down for a moment before flipping it over. She gasped.

“What? What does it say?” You panicked, looking at the random card with a large goblet being held that seemed to have water flowing out of it. Despite having had your cards read at random, multiple times, the meanings have never stuck with you.

“You like Xavier.” Tara smirked at you.

Your ears felt hot and you scowled. “What? N-no! What are you talking about?” You push her shoulder playfully. “The card does not say that.” You huffed.

“Nooo, but your face says it all whenever he talks to another girl at the academy!” She giggled, glancing back at your card. “Hm…but judging from this, I think you’ll have some good luck in the future with your silly crush…hm, it might be a little bit of a bumpy road buuut, it seems kind of positive!” She shuffled the deck again.

“You think he knows?” You asked her, chewing on your lip. It was very much true that you were into your work partner. Not only was he your partner and friend, he was even your upstairs neighbor. Xavier was everywhere, but he still wasn’t close enough for you. Although at times you thought there was the start of something, he would disappear at times and it would feel like you were back at square one. Even if you two were partners at work, he had higher strength levels and clearance than you, which meant he would be put on a lot of solo missions.

Tara snickered, pulling another card and placing it face up besides the other one. “You’re so obvious…but who knows? I have a hard time reading that guy, sometimes. He has been to more employee dinners after you got home wasted that one time…So at least we know he cares about you!” She looked at the card and then slyly smirked at you. “I think you’ll be getting luckyyy soon.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You looked at the card, a queen-like woman sitting on a throne. You cocked your head up at her as she ordered two tequila shots.

“One more shot!” She screamed.

One became two. And then another. And then you were stumbling on your way home. You put Tara on a taxi to her place and texted her roommate that she was on her way. Since you ate a lot while drinking, and since you were a pretty good drinker, you weren’t as drunk. It was still hard to walk a straight line but it was manageable. You stopped by a convenience store on the way for a sports drink and then sat outside in the cool night air to sober up even more. Your body felt warm from the alcohol, despite your dress revealing a lot of skin.

A hand reached out to the bottle you were struggling to open. “What are you doing out here?” You hear a familiar voice ask.

You looked up after flinching at the sudden interaction. Xavier. He was wearing a gray hoodie and matching sweatpants. His fluffy hair had tufts sticking out as if he had just rolled out of bed. He easily opened the bottle before handing it back to you.

As you grabbed the drink from him with a nod of appreciation, you took a sip before answering. “I was just coming back from the bar with Tara.” You took another sip, looking away from him. Your cheeks burned as he stared down at you. The alcohol felt like it was giving you another round of being drunk, your head was spinning and your heart was racing.

He put his hand on the top of your head, turning you back to face him before letting go. Xavier looked like he was studying you. You saw his eyes roam at your outfit and you swore the tips of his ears turned pink, but you quickly brushed it off as the cold air’s doing. “You were walking home alone?” He crossed his arms, as if to judge you, and then pointed his chin upwards while looking down at you with a slight tilt.

Another sip of your drink, the cool liquid sending a small shiver up your spine as it contrasted with everything else feeling hot. “It was just me and Tara, she was a lot drunker than me so I put her in a cab…I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly.” You answered sheepishly, a small giggle bubbling out of your throat. “Was I supposed to find a guy at the bar to take me home instead?” You cocked your head at him, taking another sip. You had no idea where the sudden confidence came from, maybe the cards from earlier made you want to test the waters.

His jaw clenched slightly. “Is your phone broken?”

The question threw you off and you looked down at your lap where your phone was, confused. “N-”

“So, why didn’t you just call me?” He sighed, looking away before looking back down at you.

Another shiver, this time from his annoyed demeanor. It should have been a little upsetting, but you were quite honestly turned on. The way his blue eyes darkened when he was upset. It’s a sight you saw often when you came back from a solo-mission bruised and battered. You grasped at every shred of worry he showed, letting it feed into your hopes and delusions. Still, you couldn’t find an excuse.

He sighed again, his arms crossing and his fingers gripped at his sweatshirt, slipping it off. His shirt came up with his sweater for a second, his bare abdomen flashed you and time seemed to slow down. You couldn’t help but stare. Each crease and crevice of his muscles almost made your mouth water, but you could feel the place between your legs get a lot warmer. You quickly looked away, blushing, hoping that he didn’t see you staring since his sweater covered his face. You screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it by your side. Then his sweater was held out in front of your face.

“Wear this. You’re shivering.” He motioned for you to take the sweater.

With a slight hesitation, you reached up to grab it from him. You couldn’t tell him that you were actually feeling really hot because of him. You thanked him before slipping it on. It smelled like it just came out of the wash and it felt really warm. You wanted to keep smelling it, but he was right in front of you. Surely he would think you’re some sort of pervert if you just sat there and sniffed it. The fit was larger than you and since he was so tall, it went past your dress even. Which wasn’t very hard considering your dress was short already. You stood up, a bit too quickly, and stumbled.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders to steady you, “Hey…you’re still drunk.” His mouth was near your ear, his voice deep and you shivered again. You hoped your lacey underwear would be able to hold in how wet you were, because the proximity was getting to you more than usual.

There was something about the Xavier in front of you that was making you more feral and needy. You were already in a drought as is. It’s been hectic at work with long hours, to the point that when you got home, you couldn’t even take care of your needs yourself. The last time you dated someone was back in college, and you were terrible at hooking up with strangers; in the sense that you chickened out before anything went further ever.

You were so extremely sexually frustrated, and you wanted to get home to take care of it before you jumped him right on the street to confess. “Th-thank you.” You said, slightly panting from feeling his breath on your neck. You hoped he passed it off as your reaction to almost falling. You straightened yourself up and he dropped his arms, standing up straighter as well. You grabbed your drink from the bench and shoved your phone into the pocket of his sweater.

The two of you started to walk towards the direction of the apartment building you both resided in.

“What was the occasion?” Xavier asked after a few moments of silence.

Since he was normally the soft-spoken type, you have always been worried about yapping his ear off. You normally waited for him to make the first conversation move, yet besides that, the silence that fell between the two of you was comfortable. You shrugged, shoving your hands into the hoodie pocket. “Nothing really, just needed a drink after those spatial anomalies made it nearly impossible to rest for two weeks.” You let out a sigh while looking up at the night sky. The city was quieter, no random car alarms being triggered, no sudden screams from surprised civilians. “I’m glad I’m not too drunk though. It’s really nice walking with you on a peaceful night like this. You must be tired too, right? I barely saw you even though we're technically partners.” You tilted your head up at him, a small smile on your lips.

He was already looking at you and your eyes met. A small blush formed on your face. The corner of his lip twitched and a chuckle escaped him. “Yeah, it’s been a few days since we last saw each other…are you sad?” A teasing smile was on his lips as he bent over slightly to meet eyes with you, still walking. “Is that why you drank?” The question was a joke, but it was the truth.

You loved being a hunter, it was all you ever dreamt about since you were young. Although there were times where you would get tired, yet whenever he was around, it would feel like you could work for longer. As cheesy as it was, he felt like sunshine. You just let out a laugh and playfully pushed his arm away, “Don’t be silly.” His arm felt firm under your touch. You’ve had to patch him up before so you weren’t too surprised, but it still gave you butterflies. You knew that under his soft fluffy exterior was a very strong figure. The heat felt strong again, on your cheeks and under your clothes.

“Hm, you’re blushing. Are you still drunk?” He asked, stopping the both of you in your tracks. His hand came up to your face, the back of it touching your forehead. “Or…are you getting sick?” His eyebrows knitted together with a concerned look.

Your eyes widened at the sudden touch as you stopped walking. You looked away from his touch and saw that you were already at the front of the apartment. “N-no! But we’re home!” You forced out a laugh, “I’ll take some medicine before I sleep, just in case.” You ducked under his arm and in through the gate of the building, quickly walking to and through the front entrance.

The elevator ride felt quiet, but it also felt way too long. He stood too close to you and you wanted him. All you could smell was him: detergent, spring, citrus…it was driving you insane. You squeezed your thighs together and looked down, letting out a sigh through pursed lips.

“Are you okay?” He put his hand on your lower back, making you jump slightly, but you hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“Yeah,” you forced a laugh. “I think the alcohol is making me really tired or something.” You lied. Then the elevator opened on your floor. Thinking you were going to say goodbye, you finally looked up at him, but he stepped out. “Huh, this isn’t your floor.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours. It’s better if you pass out inside your home than the hallway. You never know if your neighbor is a creep.” He glared at the door closest to yours.

You walked out, still confused. “Hm, I think the only people that live on this floor are that mom and her kid…and the new one! What was his name…?” You racked your brain trying to remember, suddenly dropping the question of Xavier walking you to your door. “Carl?”

“Charlie.” Xavier responded sternly. “And anyways, just because he’s a baker, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. I just would sleep better if I saw you enter your home, especially in this state.”

You hummed an acknowledgment, trying to not look too swayed. He was being so considerate while he was looking so domestic and hot, you wanted to pull him into your apartment and kiss him right there. Instead you managed to open your door and step inside, turning to face him again. “Thank you…for walking me home. I’ll treat you to hot pot next time! Or a drink!” You looked down and saw his sweater still on. You were going to reach under and take it off until he placed his hand atop yours.

“Don’t worry about it, just return it whenever. Sleep well. Goodnight.” He smiled at you warmly, making your heart do jumping jacks. He walked away and then stopped to face you again, “I’ll be expecting that free meal soon, though.” He smirked at you before heading to the stairs.

“Goodnight!” You yelled back, hoping none of your neighbors heard. You shut the door and leaned against it, your heart racing a thousand miles. You made a mental note of not listening to anymore of Tara’s readings, it was making you more delusional and unstable around him. But you also thought that maybe you were just extremely horny, so you took a shower to get ready for bed.

You didn’t plan on sleeping any time soon that night, you wanted to finally take care of yourself. It was your first day off and you needed to cum as soon as possible. After your steaming hot shower, you slipped on a large shirt that you normally slept in and ditched the underwear. And then you saw his sweater on your bed. Since no one was around to judge you, you brought the fabric up your nose.

Xavier.

Images of him in the sweater, removing the sweater, holding you, and saying sweet words flashed through your mind and it was making your heart race and you started feeling your clit pulse as well. You slipped on the sweater again, feeling too warm but you wanted it. You walked over to the balcony doors and opened them to feel the night breeze. You normally touched yourself with the doors open, in hopes that he could hear you. It’s been many times since you’ve done it and since there had been no signs of any knowledge of your nighttime activities, you just do it out of habit and the breeze felt good especially after sweating all night.

You walked towards your dresser drawer and cursed. The vibrator wand you normally used had actually died two weeks prior, and you’ve been meaning to buy another one. It completely slipped your mind once work picked up and now you were left with a dead wand. You groaned, sifting through the drawer until you found a small drawstring bag.

It was the gag gift that your other coworker Simone had given you for secret santa a year before. A small purple vibrating egg. It had a little rubber loop as a handle and a small remote. Despite sitting in your drawer for a few months, you clicked the on-button and the egg came to life. Nearly bouncing from the vibrations in your palm. You never used this type of toy before from fear of losing it inside of you, but you were so desperate to cum that you couldn’t be bothered to worry anymore.

You turned the lights down and got into bed, setting the egg beside you. You dragged your hand in between your legs and put your fingers in your folds. You were already wet, despite just taking a shower, you were warm and pulsing. Your fingers pressed against your clit and a hissed breath left you through gritted teeth. “Fuck…” You grabbed the egg with your free hand while your other fingers rubbed circles on your own clit. You spread your legs further, lifting your hips up a little and planted your feet on the bed. You slowly inserted the egg into your entrance, the stretch wasn’t too much despite being inactive for years, but it was rather small anyways. You tried to push it further in, inserting your fingers with a moan. And then you clenched around it, squeezing it further in you. You tugged at the loop, making sure you can still take it out before grabbing the remote.

You took a deep breath before hitting the on button. A low hum began, which felt more like a massage than anything. You were worried that it was too weak to help with your needs, but then you pressed it again and it slowly got stronger. There were ten lights on the remote, and you knew you needed the strongest mode to cure you. Your hips started twitching as you kept raising the intensity, and once you reached the maximum, your lower body got warmer. You set the remote down and started rubbing your clit in circles. Soft moans were spilling out of you, and your leg even began to shake. You adjusted his sweater on you so the neckline was up to your nose, inhaling his scent. You felt like a pervert, but there was no one to see so you couldn’t care less. The coil in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, your legs started shaking, and your breathing got heavier. To reach your orgasm faster, you thought of Xavier. You wished he was on top of you, his hands replacing yours on your heat, saying your name. “Fuck…ngh…Xavier, please!” You moaned out. It was the first time you actually moaned his name, but you were too busy to worry about him hearing you through the open balcony as you were chasing your high.

Your hips gyrated against your own hand, the vibrations ripping through you and then you finally came. It felt like the egg was going to catapult out of you with the combination of how wet you were and how tight your walls were contracting against it. You looped your thumb against the hoop and tried to yank it out as you continued to orgaasm to relieve the liquids out of you.

And then you felt a snap. You cursed and sat up, your orgasm still making its way through you and your new position made the vibrator move inside. The flimsy rubber hoop snapped off.

You were so sensitive from having just come, and you reached for the remote to turn it off. The lights that were on were suddenly off, and you had a feeling there were even more problems. You pressed the off button and nothing. It was still vibrating inside of you and the panic made it seem like it was going even harder. You laid back down and took your fingers down into your entrance, hoping you could pull it out yourself. “Fuck! Ah!” You cursed as your fingers pressed against the egg, right into your most sensitive spot. The silicone body was slippery with all your juices coated around it, and you were losing hope. Another orgasm hit you like a truck as it was pressed against your g-spot, pushing you into overstimulation mode. You knew you could come ten times in a row in this state, and you were worried that you couldn’t control it. A string of curses lift your lips with moans in between, from pleasure and agony.

Suddenly you heard a slam from upstairs, like a heavy piece of furniture fell on the ground.

You ignored it as you had bigger things to deal with. You ripped your fingers out of yourself and rolled onto your stomach, pushing your ass up into the air as you buried your face into the pillow. Your body was shaking from the multiple orgasms, but the position felt like it was a little bit less pushed against your squishy spot. You wondered if there was anyone you could call that wouldn’t send you into years of embarrassment. You wished you kept the box for the toy to see how long the battery lasted, but you knew it would be at least an hour and you didn’t think you would survive that. Your last hope was Xavier, but…

Then, the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. And then multiple times. It was as if the person at the door was running from something. You pushed yourself up, getting to your feet, worried there was an emergency. Despite your watch not reading any fluctuations, it could have been something else.

You wobbled your way to your front door, doing your best to ignore the egg vibrating inside of you. You pulled the sweater and shirt down to cover your naked bottom fully. Each step made you clench yourself, making it rub up and down your sensitive spot. You gripped at the walls and counters as you finally made it to the door. As you squeezed your thighs together, you fumbled with the locks and then turned the knob.

The slight opening of the door was suddenly pushed further open from the outside.

Xavier.

He breathlessly said your name with concern laced through each letter. He was panting as if he had just run a mile, and his fingers were gripped on the door, looking down at you. His blue orbs were darker than usual as they searched your face for discomfort. Xavier raked his fingers through his hair, his black shirt lifting up as he raised his arm, revealing skin as his pants were low on his waist. You couldn’t help but stare and nearly drool. You felt your core get tight from arousal again, making it harder to ignore the buzzing inside of you. You wondered if he could hear it.

“Did something happen? I heard you..yelp. It sounded like you were in pain.” Xavier’s eyes looked around the living room, as if he was looking for signs of another person.

You looked down, scrunching your face together as you tried to bite back the moans threatening to come out of you. You wanted to curl into a ball and die from the shame of the state he found you in, and the face that he definitely heard you. Even though that was your goal before, the fact that it came true made you burn inside.

Desperation ate at you. “Fuck…” You cursed through gritted teeth. You pulled him in by his shirt and pressed him against the door to close it. You caged him in by planting your hands against the door by each side of his waist and looked at him. Your eyebrows were knitted together and your lower lip trembled. “P-please help me…I- ngh.” You stopped your sentence. The eye contact he held with you and the proximity of his body was enough to push you over the edge. You sank down to the floor by his feet, getting on your knees, as you tried to hold in your reaction as much as possible.

“What’s wrong?” Xavier asked, confused. He squatted down to meet you, his hand reaching under your chin to tilt up to look at him. “Use your words so I can help you.” The control he had was in heavy contrast to the control you had completely lost. Your thighs trembled and you felt your juices leak down your thighs. His words and the stern delivery made you bite your lip.

“Vibrator…ngh.” You panted, your hand reaching up to squeeze his arm. It was an attempt to focus on something else. “It’s stuck inside me…please help. I can’t-” You gasped as you clenched again, moving the egg inside of you. “I can’t get it out…” Your face burned with embarrassment.

In no time, he was up on his feet and he scooped you up in his arms. His arm hooked under your knees, and he carried you bridal style over to your bedroom. “Are you okay…with me? I have to reach inside of you.”

You could feel his eyes burning into you and you hid your face in his shoulder, gripping tightly on the fabric of his shirt. The position he carried you in pushed the egg inside of you and you were sure he could feel the vibrations from your legs. “Please…if it’s okay with you?”

“Of course.” He said instantly, placing you on the bed. “Let me wash my hands really quickly.”

You felt him leave and you rolled yourself back onto your belly, assuming that it would be easier if you weren’t facing him. You heard the water run in your bathroom and then stop before the footsteps were close to you again. You lifted your ass into the air again, waiting impatiently for him to get it out of you.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay? I have to move this up so I can see.” He said, playing with the hem of your clothing.

“P-please, just get it out quick.” You begged, slightly muffled by the pillow.

The skin on your bottoms was suddenly kissed by the cool breeze from the balcony again, cooling the liquid gushing in between your legs. You heard his breath hitch and the warmth of his hand near your entrance as the other held onto one of your cheeks. “I’m going in…I need you to relax a little, if you can. Breathe properly.” His voice, which was usually steady, had a slight break to it.

Uncertainty, you thought. Ignoring it, you moved your head to the side so you could take deep breaths, and then his fingers were inside of you. You could feel him push against the egg, and you twitched at his touch. You couldn’t help but moan. His long slender fingers were reaching areas you never could yourself, and two fingers instantly were stretching you even more as he tried to grab on.

“Fuck…you’re really tight.” Xavier said tensely. You could have sworn the grip on your ass got even tighter. “And you’re so wet…I’m having a hard time getting a grip on this thing. Can you take another finger?”

His words felt so dirty and it turned you on even more, you ended up gushing around his fingers, fluttering your walls around the egg and now him. “Ngh..fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m sorry.” Tears pricked your eyes as you came on the spot, in front of him with him inside of you. “Please, do whatever. I can’t do this anymore, Xavi, please.”

A breathy chuckle left him, “You’re driving me crazy, you know?” He said. Another finger inserted you. “Too…tight.” His hand rubbed circles on your lower back. “Relax…breathe.”

As you did your best to follow orders, you could feel him go into you deeper, spreading his fingers wider into your pussy. “Haah…” You sighed, trying to maintain your composure or what little left you had of it.

“Good girl…I almost…” He then seemed to have a good grip of the egg and then slowly pulled it out. “Got it.” His fingers, along with the egg left you with a squelch and you felt liquid drip out of you.

The room was filled with sounds of your heavy breathing and the louder buzz of the egg which was then silenced. You assumed he found the button on it. You fell onto your side, catching your breath. The multiple orgasms were taking a toll on you, and your mind was clearing up. The chain of events were replaying in your head and you started crying from embarrassment. You felt yourself being lifted by your shoulders and your head being placed onto his chest.

“Hey…why are you crying?” Xavier asked, rubbing your arms, wrapping himself around you.

You shoved your face into his chest. “I’m so embarrassed…you were just inside of me because I had that thing inside of me.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad it was me that you asked for help…if it was someone else at the door would you-” He started which you quickly looked up to deny.

You shook your head, meeting his eyes with your own teary ones. “I would rather die. I think I feel safe around you. You always help me when I need it, I knew you could help me. I don’t think I’d want anyone else to see this, either.” You explained, determined to let him know that you weren’t open to just anyone.

Xavier looked at you with wide eyes before his shocked face melted into a warm smile. “So, don’t be embarrassed. I know you were kind of stressed out just now, but I think you look really good. You sounded really good too.” His face lowered down to yours. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night, even before this. Since earlier.” His dry hand came up to your cheek, his thumb pulling your lower lip down softly. “Can I?”

You didn’t answer. Instead you pushed yourself up to meet his lips with a groan. While your lips were attached to his, you changed your position so you were on your knees on the bed, your body fully facing him. The kiss was so soft and warm, it was more than you imagined it would be. You gasped as he nibbled your bottom lip and he took his chance to explore you further. The feeling of his tongue mingling with yours made you light headed. Your hands moved to his thighs and then one roamed up from under his shirt.

He pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him.

“W-wait, I don’t have anything on. I’m going to stain y-” You tried arguing.

“Don’t care.” He stated before kissing you again, his hands held your hips and pushed you to sit on him fully. Your heat crashed into the bulge in his pants that you just noticed, making you moan loud into his mouth. Each of your sounds being swallowed by him and his groans. “Fuck…” He said against your lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Your hands explored underneath his shirt, your hips mindlessly grinding against him despite how sore you felt from the vibrator earlier. Your fingers traced each bump of his muscles and grazed against his nipples. A whimper left his throat, making you buck into him from surprise. “Take it off…” You tugged at his shirt. “W-wanna see you.” You begged as you pulled away.

He smirked at you, his lips looking red. You couldn’t tell if it was leftover lipstick from you or just from the intensity of kissing. Xavier instantly slipped off his shirt.

You were about to take your tops off, but his hands grabbed yours. “I like you in my sweater.”

Xavier kissed your jaw and then your neck. Peppering more kisses until he reached your ear. “Were you thinking about me?” He asked, just above a whisper. “I heard you…” He held your hips and rolled himself up into you, groaning. “...saying my name. It drove me crazy. You never did that before.”

You gasped. “You heard me- mmmph. You heard me before?” You asked, shocked and embarrassed.

“Isn’t that why you opened your doors? Who else did you want to hear you like that?” His grip tightened on you, almost bruising, bringing you down to grind more on his clothed length. “It’s just me, isn’t it? You feel so good, even just like this. You already came, but you’re still soaking me.” He groaned into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and making you moan in return.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your knuckles turning white as you held onto his shoulders for dear life. All his words made you flutter your walls around nothing. You were just begging to be empty earlier and now you couldn’t help but want to be stretched out by him again. His heavy breathing, soft moans, and dirty words were pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm. If he blew air into your ear, you swore you wouldn’t have to keep grinding down on him just to come, he could unravel you without even touching you. “J-just you, Xavi…I like you so much…wanted you to hear me and like me too.” You took a sharp inhale as you felt his clothed tip rub against your clit just right.

“Fuck- ahng. Why didn’t you say so earlier, baby? I could’ve helped you out all those other times.” Xavier then repositioned you to lie on your back before climbing on top of you, reconnecting the two of you at the hip. The weight of his cock felt heavier as he was on top of you. Even through the pants you could tell it was big. The light gray fabric turned dark, the wet spot large as well from you constantly dripping onto him. “What if that- shit…” He cursed as he slowly trailed his clothed tip in between your wet, naked folds. He lifted the sweater you were wearing up, resting it above your belly button so he could admire you more. His eyes looked blown up and glassy from the arousal, you swore his pupils covered every centimeter of blue. “If that baker heard how you sounded….fuck. He doesn't even know that you can’t even remember his name,” he let out a dark, mocking chuckle. His hands roamed along your thighs, up your stomach, and played at the hem of the pushed up sweater. “Doesn’t even know how pretty you look, writhing underneath me, right now. How good you feel…and I’m not even fucking you….”

You arched your back up from the mattress, attempting to have his hand ride up further to touch you more. You shook your head, “W-wanted only you to hear me…please, touch me.” You were gonna babble, you knew it. You grabbed his wrist that was on your stomach and pushed his hand under the sweater, to touch your breasts. Your nipples felt hard and peaked, you needed him to touch them. As if he read your mind, his fingertips grazed them, making you stutter a moan out. Your other hand played with the waistband of his sweatpants. “Can you fuck me? Please, Xavi? I want you inside me. Please?” You begged, your eyes looking up at him, half-lidded and blurry visioned.

“God, you’re driving me crazy.” He groaned, rubbing his cock against your core once more before pulling away slightly, which earned a whine to leave your lips at loss of contact. Xavier panted as he pulled his pants down slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t know if I can hold back…or even last long.” He looked around. “Do you even have a condom?”

You didn’t know whether to shake your head or nod profusely as you had multiple answers. “D-don’t care, birth control. Want you to cum inside.” Your brain was mush, desperate to cum again with him inside. “Been dreaming of this, Xavi. Don’t- ahhh!” He rolled your nipped in between his index and his thumb, interrupting you as you arched your back again, squeezing your eyes shut. “Don’t you dare hold back on me.” You managed to grit out.

“Look at me.” He commanded and your eyes shot open again. He got up from the bed and pulled his pants down before scooting back in between your legs. His cock was an immense size. Large, leaking, thick. You’ve never seen one this big before, and although you wanted to be more nervous, you were too sex fogged to care. He wrapped his hand around his length, pumping himself without much care as he looked at you intently, his jaw tensed and his eyes were full of sex. You never knew what bedroom eyes were until you saw him. His other hand slid up your thigh again, the trail electrifying. He then pushed the sweater up to rest above your tits, tucking it under your chin. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I could cum just looking at you…” Xavier said, lust dripping from his words as he continued to pump himself.

You could watch him jerk off and cum right then and there too. Knowing that you were the reason was enough to make you whine. “Please, Xavi…”

He dragged his now bare tip in between your equally bare folds. You twitched at the touch and lifted your hips to quicken his proximity to your entrance, but his hand held you down. “Ah, ah…be patient for me, my star.” He hissed, yet his words didn’t match his actions as he already lined himself up to your leaking hole. “You’re already so wet, I think I could just slip right in…ahh.” He teased the tip in, pushing it in and out. The stretch was already bigger than you imagined, but you were so turned on, there was no room to be in pain.

You moaned and whined, begging for more. A mantra of pleases and curses left your lips as he finally slid more of himself in with a groan.

“Fuck…” He groaned as he was halfway in, heaving. “You’re still so tight…won’t ever get enough of this.” He slid further in. “This is just for me, right? You’re mine now, aren’t you?” His fingers had a bruising grip on your thighs, keeping your legs on his hips, opening you up to him. “Tell me…” He commanded as he slid further.

“A-all yours. Just for you…take- holy fuck…take all of me. Whenever…whereever…” You babbled, your head dropping back onto the pillow, your gaze moving the ceiling as you felt him even deeper than before. “F-fuck me.”

Xavier leaned over as he bottomed out with a gasp, his hand moved to the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and where the two of you were connected. “Keep looking at me, baby. Need you to see the mess we’re making.” The skin around where the two of you met was glistening. Either with sweat, cum, slick…you couldn’t give a fuck. He was finally inside of you. Even if you wanted to look away, your eyes were glued. Either at his dick or his eyes, it was the only thing you could focus on. And then he started moving. “Shit, you take me so well. I’m the only one who can make you this wet…can’t you hear?” Loud squelching sounds came from him moving in and out of you, you could even see tiny splatters of liquid. “You’re so fucking wet, I think I’m gonna drown, but you’re still so tight…are you nervous? Or are you just a perfect fit for me? Relax a little baby…” He was turning such mundane words into the dirtiest sentences and it was driving you over the edge.

You couldn’t respond, all that was coming out of you when you wanted to was choked moans and whines. And the only word you could force out was his name. “X-Xavi…hngh…Xavie-r.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours and then he leaned down into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and drool spilling at the side of your mouth.

“Keep saying my name, I’m so fucking close.” He said against your lips before moving back again to watch him go in and out of you, you swore he drooled too. Then he licked his thumb and placed it on your clit, rubbing circles in a calculated manner. “Let me feel you cum around my cock like you did my fingers. So fucking pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze around me like that here too.” The pressure building was driving you crazy, nearly having you scream his name. You wondered if the entirety of Linkon could hear you. As if he heard your thoughts again, “Tell the whole city who you belong to, starlight.” He groaned, his thrusts turning sloppier by the second.

“Xavier! G-gonna c-” You couldn’t even finish before you felt yourself spill all over his cock, spasming around him. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t take the multiple sensations and you threw your head back, your hips stuttering as he continued to pound into you. You swore your back could have snapped in half with how far and fast you arched it up as you came.

“Right-fucking-there…holy shit.” He groaned and said in between thrusting into you. “Fucking…take it…” He groaned before spilling into you. It was hard to tell which warmth was his which was yours, but the of him cumming inside of you was enough to bring you to another quick and short second wave. “God…you’re going to drain me…” He panted, falling on top of you, still softly thrusting himself through his orgasm and yours. His lips latched onto your neck, leaving marks in between his breathy whines.

He rolled the two of you over, still connected so you could rest on him instead of the other way around. Your head was on his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat return to a more normal state as each minute passed by. The two of you were still heaving and still sticky. You could feel yourself leak around his softening cock. He finally let you remove his sweater as it was bunched on around your chest awkwardly, so you were fully connected in your purest, rawest form.

You giggled, thinking about the tarot cards Tara pulled.

“What’s so funny, starlight?” He rubbed your back softly, his chin on top of your head as he spoke.

“Just thinking that the stars are forever in our favor…” You mumbled, fully content with the night.

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