#she’s faced enough of it in her life anyway

[lizard-ratt]

NOTE: this is all steam of consciousness, minimal editing and proof reading, not to be taken seriously. Cool, thanks, enjoy.

WC: 2,288

Steve, in all honesty, should have seen this coming. Really, it was staring him right in the face, if he was just brave enough or smart enough to figure it out.

Eddie Munson was his soulmate.

Since he was young, his parents held a particular distaste for his soulmates. Soulmates, plural. Having read every last word scrawled across his skin, they decided the two people he was bound to for eternity were everything they stood against.

For years, they told him that he was to avoid his soulmates at all costs. “They’re just not right for you,” they said. “We’re just looking out for you.” Then they had nothing to say about them at all, too busy with their business trips to France, Germany, Costa Rica, and wherever else they went to.

Steve decided everything they taught him was bullshit anyway.

He met his first soulmate on accident. Robin Buckley. Assigned to a group project with her in Mrs. Click’s class, he couldn’t get a single word out before she just started to talk. He recognized the words immediately. Could’ve recited them in his sleep.

He glanced down at his watch and waited.

Eventually she petered out and the finished the essay tattooed across his chest. He glanced down at his watch again, ran the numbers and spoke.

“Three minutes and forty-two seconds. Impressive.”

Robin’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “No. No way.”

“I’m sorry, do you need more proof. Perhaps the three page thesis you tattooed across my chest?” Snark came naturally. Probably for the best that he wasn’t on his best behavior. Cause then he’d be lying to his soulmate. Robin needed to know her soulmate was a bitch. Cause he was a bitch.

Robin snorted, but it came out a bit forced. “Thesis, big word for you.”

“You’re avoiding the point,” he prodded.

“I need to process.” Steve could understand that. He accepted it with grace and they moved on to their assignment.

Robin, as Steve found out quickly, was fun. Bitchy in the way Steve was bitchy. They traded barbs and poked and prodded at each other like they’d been doing it their whole lives. Neither of them mentioned the whole soulmate thing.

By Robin’s request, they kept their friendship quiet, for the most part. He was well known and brought a lot of attention wherever he went, and Carol and Tommy probably wouldn’t take too kindly to Steve hanging out with a Band Nerd. That was fine with him. In his opinion, they weren’t good enough for Robin anyway.

One month into their friendship, Robin told Steve that she wasn’t ever going to be interested in him romantically. Told him about Tammy Thompson.

It didn’t shock him as much as it probably should have. It wasn’t like he knew, but it just felt right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Robin wasn’t meant to be his romantic with him. Platonic Soulmates.

“Tammy Thompson’s great and all but she’s a total dud,” he told her.

“She is not!”

“She is! She wants to be a singer. She wants to move to Nashville and shit.”

“She has dreams!”

“She can’t even hold a tune!”

The relief is pouring off of Robin in waves, thick in the air, practically a physical sensation. Robin had looked so scared, like Steve could ever not want Robin in his life.

Later, after they sang Total Eclipse of the Heart together, Robin told him about her other soulmate. Said that she had another one. A simple two words scrawled on her wrist. Robin, right?

“I’ll show you my other soul mark later,” he promised her, in response. “I don’t really feel like taking off my shirt right now.”

About two months into their friendship, Steve showed Robin his other soumark. Lounging in his backyard, he took of his shirt and showed her. First, the giant block of text across his front, her words etched permanently on his skin. Then, he turned around and showed her his back, the other three page thesis tattooed to his body permanently.

“…. Oh. Oh no.”

Steve appreciated the real effort she put into not laughing. It lasted a whole ten seconds before the dam burst and she was in tears.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up.”

“You are so unlucky!” She got in between wheezes of laughter. “You don’t have any torso left!”

“You think I don’t know this?”

She quieted down, before the laughter started up again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just imagined little baby Steve covered front to back with his soulmates’ first words to him.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a picture of myself somewhere…” he trailed off, forcing his grin off his face.

She zeroed in on Steve, like a shark smelling blood in the water. “I have to see it.”

“What’ll you give me for it?” He asked.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” she offered.

“You’re terrible at baking. Try again.”

“I’ll get my mom to make you a cake.” He considered it. Her mother was a fantastic baker.

“Better, but still no.”

“I’ll get Mom to bake you her secret brownies.” That one almost broke him. Those brownies had to have cocaine in them or something, because they were the best thing he’d ever placed on his tongue, but he knew he could still get something better from her.

“Better….”

“I’ll give you my family’s brownie recipe.”

“Sold!” He put on his best impression of an Auctioneer. “You bring me your mother’s Brownie recipe and I will hand over not one but two photos of me as a baby with my Soul Tattoos on display.”

They sealed it with a handshake.

For a few years after that, he didn’t think about soulmates.

He started to date Nancy Wheeler, despite not being each others’ soulmates. They worked, in Steve’s opinion. Then Barb vanished from his house, and he found out that Jonathan Byers took photos not only if the party but of Nancy getting undressed.

He probably should’ve felt guiltier about breaking his camera, but he just didn’t. He told Robin about it, though. She agreed with him that it was creepy, so it eased some of his concern.

Then later, he found Nancy and Jonathan in her bedroom and felt his heart plummet. He ran to Robin as quickly as possible and spent a little bit too long eating ice cream and listening to sad music while crying about how unfair life was, content to break up with Nancy and move on.

Tommy and Carol saw that as the coward’s way out and took it upon themselves to publicly shame Nancy Wheeler.

He ended up in a fist fight with Tommy (got his ass beat) and spent about thirty minutes cleaning off the spray paint from the Movie theater’s Marquee with Robin shouting encouragement.

They later went to apologize for Tommy and Carol’s behavior and all Hell broke loose. He and Robin, he decided, made a pretty good monster hunting team

Things kinda sped up after that.

He and Robin got all their information from Nancy and Jonathan who were, surprise, surprise, soulmates! (They swore up and down the wall that they didn’t do anything and planned to tell Steve, which he believed). They explained the alternate dimension and the monsters inside. A little girl with superpowers who sacrificed herself to kill the Demogorgon.

Steve and Robin went back to his house, laid down, and stayed there for a long time.

For a year, it was just those four. Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan. He didn’t talk to Tommy and Carol, and let his social standing slip away from him. The four of them fit together. They were jumpy and anxious and any flicker of the lights made them all stiffen, waiting for something Other to crawl from the walls.

It never did.

A year passed in a blur of anxiety and paranoia. He and Robin spent most of their time in each other’s back pockets, never too far from each other. Too worried that it wasn’t as over as everyone claimed.

Then, Jonathan and Nancy vanished with no warning. They had been shifty for a little bit prior to their sudden departure. Going quiet when certain topics came up, giving each other meaningful looks.

He and Robin went to the Wheeler house already positive they weren’t there.

They ran into Dustin Henderson instead.

If asked, later, what happened, exactly, he wouldn’t be able to tell you any specific details. Robin would be his go to whenever he had questions about everything, as she seemed to remember everything in high definition. What he did know is that he threw himself in front of a whole bunch of middle schoolers (and Robin) not once, not twice, but three times. In the process he got himself concussed and nearly mauled by a bunch of Demodogs, while wrapping himself around little Dustin Henderson.

After that, Dustin attached himself to Steve’s side like a barnacle and brought his friends (Lucas, Will, Mike, Max, and El) with him. Steve was okay with that.

He helped Dustin with his hair and gave him a ride to the Snow Ball. He gave the kids rides everywhere and hosted sleepovers and filled the silence with their noise. It settled something that Steve wasn’t even aware needed settling.

He graduated and when his parents didn’t show up, everyone else did. Nancy and Jonathan and the Party, and Mrs. Byers and Hopper. And Robin, playing with the band.

He didn’t make it into college, not that he tried all that hard. Officially, he got cut off, not that it mattered to him all that much. He saved up, stowing away cash whenever he could. Saving the Hush money, and allowance money, and lifeguard money. He was, for a while at least, fine. He still got a job, and Robin was right there with him, applying to Scoops Ahoy.

Dustin left before he could see their uniforms, and he expressed great disappointment in this. Steve promised him free ice cream for when he got back.

The Uniform was… ridiculous. They looked stupid and felt it, too. It got them money and kept them busy, and it was all fine. Even as he got covered in melted ice cream, and cleaned up kids vomit and got yelled at by kids parents, it was all fine because he had Robin.

The Party visited often, taking full advantage of his employee discount and the hall behind scoops that led direct to the theater. At least one of them thanked him each time (Will. Will never forgot his manners).

Then Dustin came home and shit hit the fan again.

Russian Code, hidden Bunker, child endangerment, and more!

More that he didn’t want to talk about let alone think about. More, like the questions, demanding he tell them what they wanted to hear. More, like the fists, like the broken bones and blood and pain. More, like the pleading, begging for mercy. Screaming. Crying. More, like everything that came after.

If Robin and him were inseparable before, they were practically conjoined twins after. After the mall blew sky high and Hopper died, and half of their group left to move to California. They had each other, and that would have to be enough.

Dustin Henderson first mentioned Eddie Munson about two days after his first day of Senior Year and already, Steve was regretting the fact that he still had most of his hearing on his right side. He was able to make his first joke about it, a few hours later. ("Do you think if I ask the Russian's nicely, they'll take away the rest of my hearing so I don't have to listen to Dustin's hero worship of Eddie Munson?") The look Robin gave him was a mixture of so many emotions, he nearly apologized before she burst out into hysterical laughter.

It didn't stop there. It only got louder and louder, the more Dustin got to know the guy.

From all the stories, it should have clicked in his mind, then, that the words tattooed across his back could come from none other than the 'Best Dungeon Master in Indiana'.

He first spoke to Eddie on a random Hellfire night, when he was picking up Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. In a near perfect repeat of the first words he traded with Robin, Eddie spoke before Steve could.

"If it isn't King Steve," he began. Steve stole a quick glance at his watch and he waited for the theatrical monologue to play out before him. Some things of note in the monologue included: scathing critiques of capitalism, scathing critiques of putting people into boxes, comments about the 'Little Sheep' that Eddie had taken under his wing and their supposed hero worship of Steve.

It was strange, listening to him talk. Like puzzle pieces falling into place. One of the first mysteries of Steve's life, and it was all coming together before him. Context finally provided for some, frankly, insane sentences.

Finally, Eddie wore himself out and stared at Steve expectantly. Steve stole a glance at his watch, did the metal calculations, and announced loudly, "You spoke at me for four minutes and two seconds. That is impressive."

Eddie's eyes bugged out of his skull, as did the other members of Hellfire that Steve could never remember the names of.

"There is no way..." one of them muttered. The one with the halo of curly hair in the flannel.

Steve turned and lifted his shirt to show the veritable wall of text tattooed to his back. Shoulder to shoulder, neck to hip, he was covered. He heard a sharp inhale of breath, before he dropped the shirt and turned back.

"Surprise?"

Steddie soulmate first words are fun and all but Eddie Munson will forever be a dramatic motherfucker, Steve has a full 3 page essay scrawled over his back about the dangers of capitalism and his dad hates it, you think Eddie would get the chance to speak to the Steve Harrington and wouldn't milk it for the most Shakespeare worthy performance you've ever seen in your goddamn life

Bonus points, Robin is his platonic soulmate and she'll ramble till the sun goes down so steve just has no space left on his body by the time those two are finished

[skrunklydoo]

historywitch. i love you historywitch

like. misako wants a book about a certain topic’s history? her super cool ancient sorceress girlfriend has a book containing every single piece of information imaginable about that topic in her storage

[00valentina-writes00]

Heyyy I guess this is angsty but maybe sevika x reader where sevika wakes up from a nightmare and maybe she was sleep talking before and reader is there to comfort her and sevika ends up confiding in reader a bit and has conflicting feelings about it because of previous issues with trust in her life? Yk how it be for our girl 😔😔 anyways i love your writing sm!

✞⛧ What nightmares leave behind✞⛧

Warnings: Mild angst, nightmares, comfort

The first thing that wakes you is the sound.

Low, rough, almost guttural—a strained breath through clenched teeth. Your brain is sluggish with sleep, but something about it sets off alarm bells. You stir, blinking against the darkness, and then you hear it again.

A choked-off sound. Sevika’s voice, barely more than a whisper.

Your heart stutters. You shift, reaching blindly through the sheets, fingers searching. When you find her, she’s rigid beneath your touch, the muscles in her arm coiled tight.

“No…” The word is barely there, rasped like it’s being forced through a throat too dry, too raw.

Your stomach twists.

She’s dreaming.

You sit up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light that filters through the curtains. Sevika’s face is twisted, brows drawn tight, jaw clenched so hard you think it might crack. Her breathing is ragged, uneven, her fingers twitching where they grip the sheets.

You don’t know what she’s seeing behind closed eyes, but it isn’t anything good.

“Sevika,” you whisper, brushing your fingers against her arm.

She flinches.

The reaction is so sharp, so visceral, that it almost makes you pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you let your hand settle against her bare shoulder, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“Baby, wake up.”

Her body jerks, her breath catching on something painful. You keep your touch steady, your voice soft. “You’re dreaming, Sev. Wake up.”

It takes a few more moments, a few more murmured reassurances, but then—her body tenses, her breathing halts, and her eyes snap open.

She moves fast.

Too fast.

Before you can react, her metal arm grips your wrist, her flesh hand curling into the sheets like she’s expecting something to strike. Her chest heaves, her eyes wild, unfocused, caught somewhere between the dream and reality.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, not pulling away, just letting her feel you there. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, her breath still coming too fast. You can see it—the moment her brain catches up, the way the tension in her shoulders shifts from survival to something more like shame.

She lets go of your wrist like she’s been burned.

You don’t say anything about it. You just stay close, watching her carefully.

The room is quiet except for the sound of her breathing. Slow, measured, like she’s forcing herself back into her own skin. The sweat on her brow catches the faint moonlight, and you can see the way her jaw clenches, how her throat bobs when she swallows.

“…It was just a dream,” you murmur, because you know she needs to hear it.

Sevika exhales through her nose, running a hand down her face. “Yeah,” she mutters, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

You hesitate, watching the way her shoulders curl inward. It’s not often that you see her like this—exposed, unsettled. Sevika is a wall. She always has been. A fortress built out of grit and steel, hardened by too many years of betrayal and loss.

But now, in the dim light of your shared bedroom, she looks tired. Not just physically, but in the way that sinks deep into the bones.

“You were talking in your sleep,” you say gently, testing the waters.

She stiffens.

Her reaction tells you enough.

You reach for her again, trailing your fingers over her forearm. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean into it either.

After a long moment, her head tilts back against the pillow, eyes staring at the ceiling. “What did I say?”

You hesitate. “I couldn’t really make it out,” you admit. “But it… it sounded bad.”

She exhales slowly, fingers flexing against the sheets. “Yeah. It was.”

You wait.

Sevika isn’t the type to spill her guts. She’s spent too long keeping things locked up, keeping people out. You’ve learned not to push. If she wants to talk, she will. If she doesn’t, you’ll still be here.

After a moment, she shifts, resting her forearm over her eyes like she can hide from the world if she just presses hard enough. “…It was about my old crew.”

Your heart clenches.

She doesn’t talk about them often. The people she used to run with before Silco, before you. The people she trusted, fought for, bled for—until they turned on her.

Until they left her with nothing but scars.

You don’t say anything, just slide closer, resting your palm over her stomach. She exhales sharply but doesn’t move away.

“…It was always the same,” she murmurs, voice quieter now. “Every time I got comfortable, every time I thought I had something real, something solid… it got ripped away.”

You feel the tension beneath your fingertips, the way her muscles coil like she’s bracing for something even now.

“I should be used to it,” she mutters, but there’s something bitter underneath, something raw. “I should’ve learned my lesson a long time ago.”

Your chest aches.

You lift yourself onto one elbow, looking down at her. “Sevika…”

She finally turns her head toward you, eyes dark and unreadable. “I trust you.”

Your breath catches.

The words are quiet, but they land heavy between you.

“But sometimes,” she continues, jaw clenching, “that scares me more than anything.”

You reach out, brushing your fingers against her cheek. She leans into it just barely, like she isn’t sure if she should.

“I get it,” you say, because you do. Sevika has never had the luxury of easy trust. She’s been burned too many times, left too many pieces of herself in the hands of people who didn’t deserve them.

But she gave you something anyway.

And you’ll never take that for granted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur.

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t promise that.”

You frown, but she continues before you can argue.

“Life doesn’t work that way,” she mutters, voice tight. “People leave. People die. No matter how much you want them to stay.”

Your chest twists.

You know she isn’t just talking about her crew anymore.

You brush a thumb over her cheekbone, soft, steady. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She just watches you, something heavy and unreadable in her gaze. Then, finally, she sighs, closing her eyes.

“…You’re too stubborn for your own good,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

You smirk, letting your hand trail down to rest over her chest, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath your palm. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

Sevika huffs a quiet breath, and maybe—just maybe—her fingers tighten slightly over yours.

[blubunz]

JUST TONIGHT

— bodyguard! leon s. kennedy x f! model! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: porn with plot, maybe slowburn? slight slowburn, pet names, fingering, masturbation.

A/N: a real sucker for this AU i just want myself a man like this tbh. anyways I write this when I can't sleep even though I clearly have to wake up early tomorrow. (Okay it's afternoon now um WHY IS THIS SO LONG😭 I DID NOT EXPECT IT TO BE LONG)

Throughout your career, you weren't in need for a strong, brooding figure to protect yourself, you weren't fond of having anyone watching over you — it made you feel like you're just a weak girl, a damsel in distress who always needs a knight by her side.

And you are, you need someone to be by your side and protecting you from harm. Sometimes you do reckless things, and not to mention those times where you made stupid decisions that almost cost you your life if not for Lady Luck. But Lady Luck can't stay with you forever, and you don't want to be living on edge so constantly. It makes you look like a madman and, most of all, losing sleep, bad schedule and then it escalated to affecting your career and hard work.

And that's why he's here.

You've heard of him before, not on the news, but through whispers and rumors. Of all the things you've heard from them, you're surprised how Leon isn't on the news as much, maybe he's laying low, or maybe he's working for the government, all private and redacted matters.

So then, how exactly did you manage to hire him?

For one, you're curious enough to search him up. His name isn't hard to find, and you admit he looks good, perfect for modeling. The problem is that he hardly uses social media. If he does, then maybe he goes by some other names, or he doesn't post a lot. You found out about Claire Redfield though, at first, she doesn't leave much impression to you, but the pictures she posted have that same familiar face, albeit Leon is looking like a grumpy uncle who would give bad advice to his nieces in each photo.

Once you've decided that it was enough to go stalking people's profiles, you go and make a call using your fame and broad connections in and out of your industry. You got his number in your contact within two days, and your hands are shaking as you try to call him.

It's not that you're scared of socializing, it's just that you're hesitant of making this decision, of finally have someone to protect your life, of admitting that you seek help and reassurance.

But, the possibilities of death and dark thoughts fill your mind quickly enough, and you convince yourself you need this, for your own sake.

“Hello?”

“Is this... Leon Kennedy?”

It's been a month since Leon's been here. Truth be told, he doesn't care much about how people are falling in love with you, mainly just your looks and charisma. He's heard of you many times, so many times, you keep appearing on magazines, billboards, the news, advertisements and more. God, there was this one prime time of your life where your face was practically everywhere! Not that you're no longer famous, but that was the time where your life was endangered the most by how crazy your fans were — another reason why Leon is here.

Upon interacting with you during your own time, Leon found out you're not like how the media portrays you to be. He isn't a stranger to it, seeing famous people and important figures always having to smile and maintain a certain persona for the sake of the community. Sure, you have that bit of yourself in it, but when he escorts you hone, it's when he sees your fatigue.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, putting your bag on the coffee table as the TV is playing some shows for white noise, you're scared of the quietness — having thoughts that might hurt yourself. Leon closes the door and locks it safely, carrying your bag up to your room.

He doesn't need to do that, Leon's aware his job is to protect your life, not servicing you like a maid ir servant, but he keeps doing so, helping you with the small things like carrying your belonging, to making meals for you.

“You can't sleep now.” Leon sighs, seeing you lying on the couch, eyes closing. He doesn't want to startle you, so he picks you up and carries you into your bedroom, seating you by the make up table.

This is a change of pace for Leon, everything he does has to be careful for you. No longer picking up guns to shoot bio organism weapons or anything of the sort, instead he's now attending to a young model. Two different lives, and Leon finds himself hard to adjust, remembering the times you joke about him acting awkward sometimes when you tried to talk to him normally.

Your name comes out of his lips, sounding sweet and calm. And your eyes open, lazily rubbing off your make up while Leon prepares the bath for you.

“You don't have to do that.” You say once he steps out again, smelling a bit of the bath bomb he put in.

“I know. But, protecting your life is my job, and caring for your bare minimum needs is included.” He explains, and you just nod, not quite sure if they're connected in your mind.

Still, you let him undress you. Your cheeks flush at the way his fingers hook under your top to remove it, oh the slight contact when his hand brushes over your tits or ass. And sometimes you find it crazy how it's you that's the one being attracted to someone, and not Leon, who never advances himself on you, he doesn't even react when seeing your body, you find it weird, but intriguing too when your looks being the most important aspect of your industry, you've gotten used to the attention and the reactions.

In reality, Leon is still human, he admits your body is attractive, he wishes to lay his hands on your body with a more intimate intent, with more sensuality rather than just helping you with undressing or carrying you, his eyes linger on your skin, seeing that your body isn't that perfect as they claim to be, and he imagines himself kissing your flaws, to be the only one seeing your most intimate areas. But he's worked long enough not to let his feelings get involved, he can't bare it not after—

“You can... let me go.” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and Leon lets you go, he didn't even notice he was holding you still, zoning out and staring at the back of your neck.

“Right, sorry.” He clears his voice a little, sitting by your bed to wait for you to finish shower. He brushes a hand through his hair, finding himself longing for some alcohol to drown out this feeling. And that's also a problem. You've said you don't like the smell that lingers when he drinks, making excuses on how it affects your own scent, and people won't find you as attractive. He just stops drinking when he knows he'd have to see you later, not quitting for good, just pausing to prioritize his job — and in within case, his job means you.

Stepping in the shower, you can't help but fantasize about Leon, you can't believe that you fell for him first, and now you're imagining his hand cupping your mound, squeezing you and rubbing your clit. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed with clear displeasure on your face — your fingers aren't enough, you need a hand big like Leon's, to feel those rough pads of skin trailing down your body.

Grumbling in frustration, you go ahead and finish showering.

Leon finishes checking over the securities and ensuring that no one was lurking near your home, he get back to the living room only to see you in your robe, making some tea for yourself.

“Tea?” You ask, passing him the cup before he could say anything.

“Thanks.” He swallows, eyes flickering to your form hidden under the thin silk robe painted by your favorite color, somehow seeing your body like this is much more arousing than when you strip down naked, it teases his desire, and it leaves him chasing that tantalizing image. You catch his lingering gaze, and your eyes twinkle with a hopeful glea. Maybe he likes you too? Even if he's attracted to your looks, you can work your way with making him love you fully. After all, he's the only one who sees you in your most vulnerable moments. He's special, and you let him know of that privilege.

You head off to your room, with him following behind. Leon helps you with closing the curtains and removing your robe, palms firmly rubbing your shoulders. You shiver, letting the garment pool at your feet before seating on your bed in just your lingerie.

Leon tucks you in, and every time he does things like this, he gives you that flutter in your stomach, god, it's always the little things that get to you.

“Goodnight—”

“Leon, wait.” You reach up, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, and he looks at you with an unchanged expression.

“Yes?”

“Um...” You hesitate, will Leon find this weird? No, no, maybe you can make an excuse, saying that you're too paranoid. “Can you... stay in my room? Just tonight?”

Leon nods without hesitation or any questions. He sits by the chair near your makeup table and plans to just read something to pass the time.

“No, not there.” You say, your voice sounding abrupt as you try your best not to appear so needy. But you can't. You're just naturally so. “In my bed, please?”

Leon bites the inside of his cheeks to hold back his smile, you sound so cute with the little "please" as a cherry on top. He complies, sitting at the edge of your bed, a hand on your ankle.

“Is this good enough for you, princess?” He smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Or do you want me to hold you close, hm? Protect you from the monsters, yeah?”

“That... That wouldn't be a bother.” You murmur, and Leon takes it to heart, taking off his jacket and crawling up to your side. Leon gets you on his lap, pushing your head against his shoulder.

“Better?” He asks, voice muffled from his lips pressed against your hair, smelling your shampoo.

You nod, hiding your flustered face in Leon's shoulder, that elicits a laugh from him and he brushes your hair. He rubs your back soothingly, feeling your body relaxes under his grip.

Leon traces his hand down to your lower back, kneeding your soft buttocks. You take a sharp inhale, subtly pushing up against his palm.

His eyebrow raises, smirking against your hair before rubbing your thighs, and you spread your legs open for him. Leon doesn't say anything and just watches your reaction. He can feel you breathing down his neck. Your heart picks up its pace in excitement.

“Do you like this?” He keeps the pace slow, rubbing up to the waistband of your panties.

“Mhm...” You nod.

“Want more?”

“Mhm.” You nod again.

He hooks his finger under the band, and pulls the garment down, enough to let his hand slide in, brushing just over the top near your aching clit.

The moment his middle finger presses against your bud, you moan, hips twitching against his palm.

“Have you been dreaming about this?” Leon asks, and you only whimper in response. His finger moves down, collecting your juices and pulling out, tasting your essence on his finger.

“Me too.” Leon admits, and he shoves his hand back to your cunt, pushing a finger through your entrance.

“I've been wanting this too. Even more, wanna feel this tight cunt around my dick instead.” He groans, the way your walls tighten around his finger is enough to make his cock leaking pre-cum. “Fuck— you're so tight already, hm? I bet you cum with just my fingers.”

You mewl, hips rutting against his palm, and Leon pushes another finger in, spreading your pussy open so that you can fit his cock.

“Oh, god, Leonnnnn!” Your eyes roll up as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices drooling down his hand. “Mngh, f-fuck—”

“Good girl.” Leon whispers, kissing down your neck whilst your body trembles, shaking high in pleasure. “That's it.”

His thumb rubbing harshly against your clit, making your whines higher and higher, you sound so needy and desperate, an side of you that you don't want anyone to see — anyone but Leon.

Leon grunts, feeling your juices dampening his pants, right against his bulge. His cock throbbing in his pants, just aching to pound that tight pussy of yours. But he puts you first, making you cum and high in ecstasy.

“Mm, gonna cum, baby?” He coos, feeling your cunt clamping down his fingers. “Cum, baby, be a good girl and cum f' me.” He increases the pace and intensity of his thrusts, dreaming of them being his cock instead.

You moan loudly as you squirt against his palm, and your knees buckle, legs shaking and body trembling as you collapse on his body.

“Gooood girl.” Leon kisses your forehead, rubbing your back with a free hand while he sucks off your juices from his fingers. “Now, ready for the main event?”

You feel his cock twitches under you, and you can feel yourself heating up again. You gulp, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his bulge.

“Yeah.”

[archangeldyke-all]

hii idk if you’re still writing the cowboy sevika fics but i’m actually obsessed with them you have no idea!! anyway i was thinking a fluffy little fic about sevika being depressed after shimmers death and reader, vi, and jinx do their best to cheer her up/support her!! do whatever you want i’ll literally take anything i just love your characters so much🙏🙏

YEEHAWWWW i miss cowboy sevika

men and minors dni

it's been a month since you and your girls buried shimmer by your garden. not a night has passed where sevika hasn't cried herself to sleep in your arms. it's breaking your heart.

watching shimmer die was hard enough. you were never much of a horse person before meeting sevika's trusty mare, but shimmer converted you. before sevika settled down with you; one of your greatest comforts when she was out wandering the desert was that she had shimmer there with her. the horse was so in tune with sevika, and they'd been riding together for so long, that they practically moved as one. you worried less about sevika losing her mind when she had shimmer to listen to her rambling. you worried less about her losing her life when she had shimmer to run her back home to you if she ever got too beat up.

and as sweet as sevika is when she claims you're her best friend-- you know that title really belongs to shimmer.

"we should do somethin' for sev." vi mumbles one night. jinx is fast asleep between the pair of you, after insisting she wasn't tired for an hour straight.

"like what?" you ask.

vi shrugs. "cait and her dad go hunting sometimes."

you giggle. "you're crazy if you think we're giving jinx a gun."

vi laughs. "no, no, we wouldn't hunt. we could just, y'know, go camping or something. there are some cold springs thirty miles west of here."

"and how would we get there without a horse?"

"we could borrow one of grayson's." vi suggests.

you smile and turn to face her. "you've been planning this?" you ask. she smiles guiltily.

"sevika's just been so sad. i wanna cheer her up."

your heart bursts with love and you dart forward, squeezing jinx between your body and vi's as you attempt to hug her. vi giggles. jinx wakes up with an annoyed groan.

so, a week later, you, your wife, and your girls set out with a horse drawn wagon and one of grayson's newest additions: a young colt named 'teddy.' grayson was happy to lend you the horse, muttering something about him being a pain in the ass to train. "if there's anyone i know who can get through to a stubborn horse like teddy, it's sevika." she sighed.

the ride out to the springs is rocky and bumpy, sevika getting used to riding a horse that isn't shimmer-- teddy being an ass just for the hell of it. at least the girls find it fun. their giggles and squeals are the soundtrack for your entire ride to the springs. even with all the curses she's spewing at teddy, sevika looks more relaxed than she has in weeks back on top of a horse.

"what're we even gonna do once we get there?" jinx asks. you snort and ruffle her bangs.

"well, i'm going swimming. you losers can do whatever you want." you say. the girls giggle.

"do you think there are cliffs we can jump off of?" vi asks. you shrug.

"i'm sure we can find some. we've got a whole river to explore."

"none of you are doing any exploring until we set up camp and get a fire going." sevika huffs from on top of teddy's back.

"boo! boring." jinx whines.

'setting up camp' ends up being sevika building the tent and jinx feeding teddy while you and vi attempt to make a fire the old fashioned way.

"how did the cavemen ever do this?" vi huffs as she rubs two sticks together. you snort.

"i'm sure they had tools. blubber to make it catch better, or something."

vi rolls her eyes. "i don't understand why she won't just give us her lighter."

you laugh and look up at sevika as she wipes her sweaty brow. "she doesn't trust us not to burn down the whole riverbed."

"or she's just bossy." vi mutters. you cackle.

"i think you're right, kid."

you don't make it into the river on your first night, but you don't mind much. when the sun sets, the heat of summer fades and the cool dark forces you all to squish together on a log in front of the fire while sevika cooks up beans and weenies on the fire.

"is that a planet or a star?" vi asks. jinx looks up and hums.

"i think it's venus."

"yeah?"

"i think so. sev?" jinx asks.

sevika glances up at the sky, smiling proudly and ruffling jinx's bangs. "you nailed it, kiddo."

"what constellations are out tonight, sev?" jinx asks, tucking herself under your wife's arm. sevika hums, leaning back to study the sky.

you don't bother to look at the sky. pretty as the stars are, they're nothing compared to the sight of your three girls, cuddled together and illuminated in the firelight.

"follow my finger. you see those three stars close together?" sevika whispers, her voice melding with the crackle of the fire and the roar of the river.

"yeah." vi whispers. jinx nods against sevika's shoulder.

sevika drags her finger across the sky. "see how they lead into a cross? there?"

"is that the northern cross?" jinx asks. sevika nods, her smile growing.

"you know it. anyways, the cross is in the center of cygnus the swan. backbone of the milky way." sevika's eyes flick down and catch yours, and she smiles shyly. you grin. there are more stars in her eyes than in the whole night sky.

you spend the next day in the river with the girls, laughing and splashing and squealing when fish nibble your ankles. vi and sevika ride upriver to try to find cliffs to jump off of, and you teach jinx how to doggy paddle. when the girls return, they're soaking wet and cackling.

that evening, with the girls fast asleep in the tent, you and sevika smoke a joint and go skinny dipping.

"did you have fun with vi?" you ask, your arms and legs wrapped around your wife. sevika giggles against you.

"i shouldn't tell you." she says. you giggle.

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"means she almost jumped onto some rocks several fucking times. gave me a heart attack."

you groan, shaking your head. "no, you shouldn't've told me." you agree. sevika giggles.

"but, we both lived, didn't we?" she asks. you laugh.

"y'know we're gonna have to adopt teddy from grayson?" you ask. sevika snorts.

"what makes you say that?"

"jinx is obsessed with him. braided and un-braided his mane like six times today. calls him 'teddy bear.' plus..." you trail off.

sevika darts forward to kiss you. you hum against her lips. "plus?" she asks, her lips brushing yours.

"plus, you need a new horse. you look good in the saddle."

sevika hums and kisses you again. "you take such good care of me. how am i supposed to keep up my bandit appearance when i got a wife that talks me into adoptin' horses and takes me out on vacation?"

you laugh. "you haven't been a bandit in half a decade. and the vacation was violet's idea. she was worried about you."

sevika sighs and leans forward to rest her forehead against your shoulder. "you still take good care of me." she says. you kiss her scalp.

"well... y'know. you're my dingus the duck."

"your what?!" sevika asks with a cackle. you groan and shrug.

"i dunno, those stars you were talking about last night!" you whine.

"cygnus the swan!?" she asks. you nod.

"that's the one."

"what the fuck are you talking about?" she asks though her laughs. you snort.

"y'know. you're the backbone of my galaxy, or whatever."

sevika's teasing expression melts, stars sparkling in her eyes. "that's awfully corny, darling." she whispers, her voice shaky with emotion. you smile.

"what the-- what are you two doing?!" vi squawks from the riverbank. you and sevika giggle guiltily, caught by your kids canoodling in the cold springs.

"go back to the tent!" you shout.

"awe, gross, are you guys naked!?" jinx whines.

sevika snorts. "we all bathed together three hours ago!"

"yeah, but you guys weren't all up on each other-- vi, let's go before we overhear something nasty." jinx groans, tugging on her sister's arm.

violet laughs and stumbles behind jinx. "don't drown!" she calls.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3

[todosdream]

stress relief | ony

15k wrds. strangers to friends? to lovers. slow burn. plot with smut. fem black oc. see the moodboard.

warnings: MNDI! lots of profanity, usage of n word, pet names, mentions of weed; smut: unprotected sex (PLS BE SAFE), edging, a spank or two, naaasty talk, degradation? more like brat-taming, dacryphilia for two seconds, ony rightfully has a bbc, begging, ony’s a talker (duh), choking? really just a hand necklace, pussydrunk ony, lowkey d/s but not explicitly mentioned

additional #: oc needs to get laid fr. kt needs her headphones. becca needs a new job. author doesn’t box. shout out mrs. etta. ony is chalanting with a girl for the first time. (and he’s vibing with it.) oc really needs to get laid. oc is a bit bratty… sorry. ony needs to get off his ass. oc is actually very bratty, damn. oh hell, oc gets laid!

“girl, I’ma be real with you… you need some dick,” crystal’s best friend tells her through her screen. kt’s giving a look, an interesting mix of pity and annoyance. her knotless braids are framing her face, mocha skin radiant as always but lashes looking quite barren. “yeah, and you need a lash refill, ho,” crystal snorts. since she’s bringing up needs and shit. it’s unfortunately been a while since they’ve hung out, kt now visiting family in colorado for about a week.

being the type of friends they are, the both of them have no issue communicating through tiktoks and sending pictures of silly things. just yesterday kt sent a picture of herself holding up a peace sign with a joint between her lips. she stood next to a 'no smoking' sign, the ‘no’ smudged. she thought she was just so clever. crys in return sent a saved picture of an unimpressed squidward, a typical exchange between the two goofballs.

“yeah, okay, ho. I’m just saying. maybe you’d be a little nicer to me if you got some,” she rolls her eyes, giving yzma. her rescheduled lash appointment can’t come quick enough. “says the girl getting some every day and still being mean to me,” crys scoffs.

kt’s living with her boyfriend, expecting his title to change to fiance after feeling a certain anticipatory energy from the man. her time consists of working and chatting with friends, and being with and posting videos with her partner. crys, however, explores her free time in many ways. picking up hobbies that have about a 50% chance of sticking, trying different restaurants, teaching her dog funny tricks, and the occasional friend hangout. it’s friday night and she’s doing her own nails just for the hell of it. although the uninhibited girl’s words trigger an automatic negative response, crys knows why she’s speaking them. when the phone call ends, kt will turn over and cuddle up to her man, maybe ‘get her shit rocked’ as she likes to so delicately put it. crys, however, will be left with her dog, her empty home and bed, and whichever toy she vibes with for the night.

she likes being alone, it’s an accomplishment for her to feel confident and comfortable being single after wasting her time with people that don’t care, men that don’t even actually like her. but when it’s all said and done, people are meant for connection. of course platonic, family, community… but that pull? that yearning? it can’t be replicated, no matter how many times she rewatches bridgerton or insecure.

it’s been a while since she just let go with anyone other than those already close to her. the last time she let someone new in, he showed her exactly why ‘niggas ain’t shit’ is such a popular phrase. it was a situation that didn’t make any sense, and in retrospect, she cringes. the embarrassment, the useless attempts at communication, the settling… never again. however, that’s a part of her life that’s being fully neglected. no dates, no late night rendezvous, no flirting, no sex.

one word: cobwebs.

“why are you more worried about my coochie than I am, anyway?” crys jokes as she fixes her gel polish, deflecting the conversation. it’s not something she wants to discuss or harp on. that’s just life for her right now. she’s tired of people wasting her time, so she became unavailable. simple. plus, she knows kt’s nosy ass man is lying next to her and listening because that girl never wears her damn airpods. “you think that’s an insult? girl. that only makes you look bad, not me,” she sasses. crys hears a soft snicker in the background. “oh, fuck you,” the girl mumbles in response. “and will you please put headphones on the next time you decide to go talkin’ bout my coochie? cause I’ll happily tell all those stories about yours, pimp.”

“stories?” crys hears in the background of the call. “ain’t no way she just called you that. what the hell that mean, crystal?” the bestie purses her lips and squints at crys. she watches as the brown skinned girl tilts her head, making her curls flop to the side with a ‘gotcha’ look. “I know where you live, you know that, fo’head? have a good night with your vibrator, ho,” she speaks lowly. shuffles are heard as she drops the phone onto the duvet next to her. “she don’t mean that, pookie, she’s just all pent up.” kt’s middle finger is all that’s visible on the screen before the phone echos a tone a few times, indicating the end of the call. crys snorts in response and sits her phone to the side. she sighs, looking over her nails for any imperfections as her mind echoes her words.

she wouldn’t be opposed to a night in the sheets. it’d be nice to dust off the cobwebs. get some head, maybe get her shit rocked like she hasn’t had in a while. part of her wants the slow and sensual, romantic sex with someone special. the kind of sex that touches her soul, that you can feel on every level. the other part… well. that part stays right in the cage where it belongs. that part likes to drown in frisky pleasure even if the one giving it is a life source draining leech.

it’s normal to want pleasure, it’s human. but the thought of all the bullshit that comes with dealing with another human, let alone a man in this day and age is enough to make her reconsider taking that step. so like usual, she brushes the words off and refocuses on her spa day so that she can be at her best for the work week.

ᥫ᭡

despite her best efforts, the next week is particularly irritating. mercury must be doing her shit, maybe all the damn planets, because so many people have had wack ass attitudes and it’s rubbed crys wrong. terrible interactions with customers, coworkers called out and left her in a busy store with little help, and she broke a nail doing something very much so not in her job description. on top of that, the amount of random things outside of her control that have gone haywire is deeply irritating. her tv crapped out and decided to just stop working out of nowhere, her wifi is out for local renovations, and her trash can is missing.

again.

it’s a wonder she hasn’t either had some type of crash out or just cashed in her pto for a fucking break. instead, she decides to get dressed for the gym and puts on a purple workout set. if she wants to be cute and sweaty she damn well will be. she grabs her favorite gym shoes and her essentials. she leaves her curls alone for now, but takes a scrunchie to put it up later. when she gets to the gym at a completely different time than she’s used to, it’s practically empty, save for a young and obviously bored receptionist that’s glued to her phone and a middle aged woman power walking into her destiny.

seriously, crys will have some of what she’s having. the woman is on fire.

sighing to herself, the frazzled girl goes to scan her member qr code, only for the damn scanner to decide to stop working. the blonde receptionist behind the desk sighs as if doing her job is the last thing she wants to do. crys usually wouldn’t blame her for that, but the way she’s popping her gum has the curly headed girl imagining a modern re-enactment of that one scene from that madea movie. the receptionist seems to be in absolutely no rush to fix the scanner, completely oblivious to the metaphorical cloud over crys’ head that’s growing by the minute. she fights the urge to furrow her brows and take a week’s worth of irritation out on the worker, deciding to take a deep breath instead.

the brief look up that the girl gives in response has her immediately regretting her decision.

before she can even think of something to say, the door opens behind her. she’s in no mood to look at the person, figuring they’ll both be waiting in line. she doesn’t want to seem open to small talk because she’s just not. however, the receptionist— becca, her nametag reads— looks up like the sun just graced the sky for the first time in centuries. she stands up straighter, obviously trying to make herself look like she’s doing the job that she’s been failing at, and calls over crys’ shoulder. “hey, ony, technical difficulties. you’re free to go ahead you don’t have to wait, I can check you in once this is fixed,” she smiles. that lucky bastard. it’s the first smile on her face in the entire time the bristling girl has been there. crys swears if this was a cartoon scene, the blonde girl would be fluttering her lashes with hearts in her eyes.

there’s a deep chuckle from behind. “thanks, becca. they should give you a raise,” a low, raspy voice responds. crys’ eye twitches. the hell they should, she thinks. hand me the damn performance review form cause I got shit to say. becca, now looking as if she’s on cloud nine, waves him off dismissively. “just doing my job. leg day?” she questions, trying to sound as casual as possible and not like her drool is threatening to ruin the damn scanner beyond repair. “mhm,” the stranger hums. “nice kicks,” he mumbles.

crys is too busy zoning out and imagining herself tap dancing on the broken pieces of the scanner to realize that he’s talking to her. the way becca’s eyes shift gets her attention. “oh. uh, thanks,” she murmurs, looking up. all she sees is a muscular back walking towards the men’s locker room. she doesn’t have time to look him over because ms. becca decides she actually can do her job and calls out to her that the scanner is fixed.

it just needed to be plugged up again.

ain’t no fuckin’ way.

becca doesn’t even seem embarrassed. she’s holding the scanner lazily and looking around, probably for that ony guy. the blonde doesn’t realize that crys is holding her phone out, and she’s still popping that damn gum. instead of saying something to the girl like she really wants to, she grabs the scanner from the “worker” to check her damn self in and quickly heads to the locker room. the girl doesn’t deserve her week’s worth of anger.

after some time, she’s finally out on the floor to stretch out. soon after the warm up, she’s at the punching bag. it’s not her usual choice of workout, but she took classes when she was younger and knows it’s a great way to release all that irritation from the week in a more physical outlet.

crys quickly wraps her hands and soon she’s throwing punches and listening to rico nasty, an artist who has several tracks on her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist. she gets into her groove, trying to remember the important tips from the classes she attended years ago. it’s hard to recall all the basics, but she gives it her best shot. not too long after, she notices a shadow of someone’s frame behind her. it must be that lucky asshole from earlier, probably here to be a bother. or maybe becca decided to do her job and came to tell her to move her bag off the floor. she sighs, taking out her headphones and turning to look. it’s the stranger. the man’s arms are crossed as he watches, showing his sleeves of tattoos.

crys wishes she could say he was ugly, but he’s definitely not. he’s fine as fuck, actually. his skin is dark and healthy, making him look like he actually has a skincare routine and not just 100-in-one soap. he has an athletic build visible even through his clothes that makes her want to drool like dear old becca. he’s tall, maybe 6’4 or 6’5, so she has to look up at him, even being on the taller side herself. his black durag matches his all black workout fit and she wonders what exactly lies underneath considering the size of his arms.

his demeanor is calm and steady, confident in a way that’s quiet, as opposed to many other gym bros™. his face is calm and there’s barely any tension in his body. crys thinks she’d like to make him bothered, just to get a rise. see if he’ll hold ip or bite back. but no, that’s rude, and she doesn’t know this man at all. his eyes are looking at her intently, and she despises how beautiful they are. why do men get to have natural lashes that look like that? it’s not fair she has to get extensions when his are so long with an almost perfect curl. and the color of his eyes make it worse, the light brown contrasting his dark skin so prettily. and his lips? full, perfect for kissing, among other things.

lucky bastard.

“you gone bite my head off if I suggest how to fix your form?” he asks with a simple raise of his brow.

ᥫ᭡

ony’s a hardworking man. he likes to handle business but have some fun on the side too. he’s chill. everyone would describe him as that. he’s the levelheaded friend, usually the calm in a storm, and not one to be all over the place physically, mentally, or emotionally. he’s a steady beat and he likes it that way. life is peaceful and secure, challenging in certain ways, but calm in others. he has a good paying job as a personal trainer, proper work life balance, and a good head on his shoulders. he doesn’t do too much, honestly, but that doesn’t mean that his life doesn’t have some interesting twists and turns. his boys always seem to need rescuing in some form, sisters all a whirlwind of their own. his mom is always a source of entertainment, although his dad is much like himself. he likes his life, simple as that.

but things have been becoming monotonous lately. his clients aren’t having any interesting developments and his social life is steady but uninteresting overall. his family group chat is going through a quiet spell and his boys are actually not up to anything stupid like they somehow always are. he’s been particularly unfulfilled by the game and there’s no sport he wants to keep up with as of late. it’s all kind of… blah. he’s grateful that nothing’s going wrong. he could be having a bad week as opposed to a boring one, but he aches for a spark, something different to bring a bit more color to his life. maybe he should get a pet? maybe some little fish couldn’t hurt. he thinks over the new idea while he follows his usual routine to pack up and leave for the gym.

and then he sees crys.

he notices her form as she stands at the check in desk, interest piqued. he’s never seen her before, and he comes to this gym at least five nights a week. he knows names and faces, especially since there’s usually no more than five people when he comes. her figure catches and keeps his eye, his gaze taking in the woman’s long legs, thick thighs, and plump ass, seeing how her afro falls around her shoulders. his excuse for where his gaze is centered is that it’s all he can see from where he’s standing, but it’s not much of an excuse. she’s just fine as hell. her workout fit is cute and colorful, contrasting his dark and bland one. her hand is in on her hip that’s popped out, accentuating her form.

his interest is definitely piqued.

he gets to see more of her when he comes around to speak to becca. pretty almond eyes, soft looking lips, the bottom currently being chewed with vigor. she’s beautiful… but one look at her profile and the flames in her eyes tell him all he needs to know: look the other way. ony grew up surrounded by strong black women in his life, his mom, sisters, aunts, cousins… learning to read body language and— well, the room, was something he learned quickly and he’s applied that lesson everywhere in life. everything about her body language and that cute, barely contained frown screams bad day. so he greets becca— who’s really a sweet girl, just unbothered— compliments her shoes, and moves on about his routine.

it’s like clockwork. he puts his stuff away, makes sure his chain is safe and secure, fills his water bottle, waves at mrs. etta on the treadmill, stretches, locks in, and gets the workout started.

he’s getting into his mode and enveloping himself in the feel of the workout, but he can’t help the way his eyes are pulled back to crys. the way she stretches, the way she adorably bobs her head to the seemingly… aggressive? music. she’s gorgeous and new, which has him feeling like every routine move he makes is just a little different. her and her angry pout and her curves and her curls…

she approachs a punching bag, which ony can admit he didn’t expect. the outfit convinced him she’d be power walking with mrs. etta, or doing pilates in the corner. his mom always told him what assuming does to someone, though. he looks away as he tries to focus on anything other than her. he counts his reps like usual, trying to submerge himself in his music. it doesn’t work. as soon as she takes her first swing, his eyes are back on her, taking notice of how she punches.

hm.

he can see she knows a bit more than someone just randomly choosing to throw a few hits, but he isn’t fond of some of the habits she has that could actually hurt in the long run. he debates approaching, but he’s always been one to help others in the gym. attitude be damned, he’s a personal trainer. he knows the importance of doing things correctly. after watching for a while, he decides to walk over. he knows that if she doesn’t fix her punch, she’ll be angry all over again tomorrow because of sore wrists. she turns, obviously annoyed, but he’s not scared. she looks him up and down, her facial expression barely shifting. he wonders what she’s thinking, wants to hear her voice. when she finally looks up at him with those eyes, he almost tilts his head.

how can someone be so fuckin’ pretty?

she’s a vision with her bare face. eyes he could get lost in, features he wants to admire for moments on end. he would actually guess that she’s quite sweet behind the haze of her frustration. obviously a multifaceted person, and he’s interested in the idea of learning all those facets. who she is, maybe what she likes, what she doesn’t like. maybe even what makes her happy, what would put a smile on the adorably scrunched up face. for some reason, he wants to see that happy expression. actually, as a matter of fact, he wants to see all her expressions. smiling, confused, relaxed, aroused. she’s caught him with a simple gaze and he’s confused about it.

“you actually know what you’re doing?” she asks. it’s not meant to be a jab, truthfully. she’s been hit on by guys that try to “help” just to flirt, but ultimately make a fool of themselves— and her for giving them the opportunity. she doesn’t have the patience for it today, it in fact might be the straw that breaks her back. she can see amusement tickle at his expression, but no signs of him being offended.

because he’s not. he can tell she isn’t asking in a facetious way, she just seems… tired. like she doesn’t want her time wasted. he can respect that. “I promise you, I do,” he says with a slight smile. just a little one, unable to contain his utter enjoyment in her sass, and still having that almost sickening feeling of attraction.

crys hums, her gaze sweeping over him again briefly, taking in his calm but confident demeanor. the little smile on his face is lowkey pissing her off, but she has enough sense to know it’s because she has a lot of stress to work out. he’s fine as hell and now’s really not the time for all that. even still, he’s bold to come over with the metaphorical storm still rolling above her head. bold… or stupid. who walks towards a burning house? but she knows if he could tell her form was off from so far, she could really be messing herself up with how she’s going at the punching bag. she wants to just kick and punch it randomly, similar to what her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist suggests, but she knows that’s no good. and again, he’s fine as hell.

all the same, she’s still irritated and frustration-filled. “sure, yeah,” she mumbles as she turns back to the bag.

ony’s quite intrigued, interestingly enough. he knows a person close to the brink when he sees one. he can see the irritation in her eyes and in the way her shoulders are set. her movements are stiff and her brows are still pinched, gorgeous even with the possibly dangerous amount of upset toiling in her. despite her tense demeanor, he can tell she’s still at least trying to be respectful. and he appreciates it.

“what’s your name?” he asks, shifting to stand next to her. she’s staring at the bag, itching to just punch. “crys,” she answers, sparing him a glance as she fixes the wrapping on her hands. she’s pulling it tight, her movements swift. she can feel him watching her intently and she doesn’t know how she feels about it.

he nods. “ony. I’m no expert but I can share a few tips to keep you from gettin’ hurt. mind if I touch you?” he asks, the question second nature from dealing with his clients. he knows better than to start without given permission, and he definitely knows he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of her irritation. “s’fine,” she answers, ignoring the very inappropriate response that her brain comes up with. not now, brain. nasty ass. she really just wants him to hurry up so she can go back to punching, but she supposes she can hold back for a few more minutes if it’s him that’s going to touch her. plus it’s important to do it right, and even through her upset she knows that and is grateful for his help. if he could just be a little faster, though, that’d be wonderful.

he approaches, gently taking her hand in his as he unwraps her binding. “it’s a good wrap, but they shouldn’t be too tight. you gone hurt yourself that way,” he mumbles. his hands move slowly, demonstrating to her as he explains. it’s not in the show off-y way she expected, but direct and intentional instead. she’s glad he’s helping but a part of her is focused a bit too much on how his hands feel, how calming his voice is. “you should be able to spread your fingers. this’ll save your wrists and then some, yeah?” he murmurs, gently tapping her hand. still upset, she hates how soothing the contact is. she doesn’t need soothing, she needs violence.

that… might be dramatic. she knows it. but the week’s frustrations have all built to this moment and she plans to take full advantage of the punching bag in front of her. if he doesn’t pick up the pace, he might just take its place, handsome or not. “gotcha,” she mutters. “can I hit the bag now?” ony chuckles, and she’s mad that she really likes the sound. “sure. do a couple jabs.”

she takes a deep breath, her focus zoning on the bag. his presence fades slightly as she begins going at it, a bit overzealous. he lets her take a few punches, seeing how she obviously needs it. his gaze sweeps her form, watching her hips swivel slightly as she swings. her hits start with a decently healthy form, but the more she gets into it, ony can tell her focus is slipping. “okay, hold,” he murmurs. she doesn’t hear him and continues punching. her breathing is picking up and the cute scrunch between her brows is deepening. “hold,” he says louder, getting her attention. she huffs and raises out of her stance, blowing a stray out of her face. she steps forward and holds the bag to stop its movements, looking over at him.

ony could almost laugh at the way the curl flops right back into place. swears he could almost see her eyebrow twitch. damn, who pissed her off? “you got some good habits and some bad habits,” he mumbles, standing parallel to her now. “need to swing your hips more, not push through your arm. pop the bag, don’t push your punch.” he moves slowly as he speaks, demonstrating his words with his movements. it’s easy to follow, but his muscles are stealing the show, to crys’ dismay. “I was doing that,” she mumbles in response because she indeed was. “mhm, at the beginning. the more you put in, the less you focus on your form,” he says as he returns to his earlier position, arms crossed. “go again,” he nods. “bossy,” she mumbles. she likes it. he’s giving proper tips and doesn’t really care about her attitude, seeming unaffected.

ony chuckles, seemingly knowing there’s no actual anger in her tone, at least not completely directed at him. crys supposes he’s right. when she gets in the flow, her mind focuses less on her form and more on the happenings of the week. she definitely could’ve weakened her stance, and his words bring memories of her previous instructor. he might not be an expert, but he knows what he’s saying for sure. she gets back into her stance and takes a few more hits, more focused on her form this time around. she can’t quite lose herself to the exercise with the newfound focus, and she doesn’t like it. “better,” ony calls out. “keep goin’.” so she does. she follows his instructions to a t, feeling a bit more comfortable with the continued form as she practices.

“nice, real nice,” he murmurs, shifting to hold the bag from behind. he notices the hesitation in her movements as she focuses on her form. “come on,” his deep voice encourages. “where that fire go, huh? tellin’ me you can’t fight and focus?” crys, probably feeling goaded, looks up to him for a moment. ony could laugh again at the look in her eyes, but he doesn’t. “don’t look at me, look at the bag. you mad, I know it. let it out,” he nods his head to the bag in his hands. he doesn’t have to tell her twice. she starts to hit with more vigor, putting more into her punches. “mhm, yeah. control that shit, stay tight. swivel your— there you go, exactly,” he encourages. she’s picking it up, movements smoother and becoming more confident by the minute.

shit’s sexy as fuck.

crys is actually starting to fuck with him more, feeling herself in the workout. the way he’s talking is having an affect on her, and she knows she’ll be thinking back on this very moment tonight. his voice is deep, and slightly raspy as she keeps at it, and the encouraging makes her wonder if he’s like that in… different circumstances. she can feel her breath picking up for several reasons. “had you mad as fuck, huh? had you fucked up?” ony questions, pushing her a bit more. “let that shit out, ma. ain’t doin’ you no good to hold it in.” they both know that he’s telling the truth. she was just about bursting at the seams and his encouragement is helping her tap back into that. she punches harder, small grunts falling from her lips. the week’s frustrations are pouring out of her now and she’s pushing herself so that she can get him out of her head.

the way he’s talking to her in her amped up state just shouldn’t be legal. she’s pretty sure he’s the type to talk his girl through it, probably tease and taunt to get a reaction. damn, she needs to get laid. “form,” he reminds as her focus slips. she gives a quick nod, readjusting herself quickly before taking another shot. ony likes how quickly she responds to his guidance. “hell yeah, you got that shit. keep goin’, mama. ain’t nobody fuckin’ with you, that’s for damn sure.”

damn his fine ass with his deep voice and his face and his pet name.

she keeps going until every ounce of upset is drained, listening to his encouragement and occasional shit talking at a particularly weak punch or slip of focus. she’ll be honest, she feels good. great, actually. she feels as if she actually knows what she’s doing, confident in her moves. the upset has trickled away, but its absence is leaving too much space to think about the man in front of her. his fine ass is pushing her in the way she likes and needs, encouraging but taunting just the way she likes it.

after several more minutes, she steps back, panting. “killed that shit,’ ony mumbles, double tapping the bag. she really did, the difference between her earlier attempts and now is stark. and all because of just a few pointers. he watches as she catches her breath and unwraps her hands. “you done?” he questions. he wasn’t expecting her to finish so soon, she was just getting in her groove. he was honestly expecting a few more rounds.

“yeah,” crys answers as she nods. “thanks for your help, really. just needed to blow off some steam.” feeling better now, she decides that she should finish out with her regular workout. the less angry she is, the more she focuses on that damn smirk on his face, the way his muscles move with each shift of his body, the birthmark she’s spotted on his jaw. she’s trying hard to resist the pull she feels as she catches her breath. she gets another chuckle from ony. “could tell. I almost didn’t even come over. bad day?”

crys gives a sheepish smile, sliding her wrap in her bag. ony likes the smile a lot, but he wants more. “my bad. bad week, actually,” the woman responds. ony shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. “no harm, I get it,” he responds. and he really does, most of the time people’s attitudes really have nothing to do with you. “you should keep at it though, you got good form. at least when you’re focused. with some more practice, you could easily make it muscle memory.” and I’d like to see you more, he thinks. crys smiles and nods. “think I will. thanks again for your help, woulda been pissed if I hurt myself.”

ony’s eyes trail over her features. with the metaphorical cloud gone, she’s shining brighter. her smile is gorgeous, revealing a small gap in her teeth and a crinkle by her eyes. yeah. fuckin’ beautiful. “course. can’t have you gettin’ mad again, yeah?” he laughs, the sound deep as it rumbles from his chest. crys playfully rolls her eyes. “whatever, ony. actin’ like I’m godzilla or something. you can gone back to your workout.”

the two separate, continuing their sessions. but their eyes continuously meet as they sneak glances at each other and they exchange flirty quips. crys questions the amount of weight ony chooses for his sets, teasing that she’d thought he’d lift more. ony calls her out for a weak rep, telling her she should start over for half-assing. they just can’t seem to get enough of each other, teasing and poking at one another like crushing kids in school.

crys is definitely eating their interactions up. he’s fun in a way that isn’t childish, regardless of how he makes her almost giddy like a teenage girl. he’s not afraid to go along with a joke, but it’s obvious he’s not one to be messed with. no matter how many shots she takes, no matter how much she teases, he never breaks a sweat. it’s almost as if he’s welcoming the challenge and crys is more than willing to indulge.

ony likes her fire. it’s invigorating and it keeps him on his toes. he’s used to women being like becca— fawning, overly sweet, and obviously interested. the push and tug he gets from crys is different, and he’s enjoying every interaction, every tease, every glance at that ass. she just draws him in and he can’t get enough. where the hell has she been and why are they just now meeting? he could’ve shown her a lot more than boxing tips by now.

for her cool down, crys decides that since the gym is pretty much empty, she can take some extra time to do some yoga and meditation. she zones in and takes a plethora of deep breaths, regulating her nervous system and releasing tension. grounding herself in the present moment and releasing stress, anxiety, and frustration. it definitely helps as a follow up to the punching bag. she’s always appreciated how centered she feels after even just a few minutes of reconnecting with herself, tending to her mind, heart, and soul and not just her body. she should definitely do yoga often to stay balanced, but shoulda woulda coulda.

the second she starts to stretch, ony’s eyes are stuck on her like glue. she stretches for a long time, he notices. it seems like some type of meditation, the way she holds her hands together and closes her eyes, highly focused as she takes deep breaths almost audible where he stands. it’s interesting how he can notice the shift she makes from her earlier demeanor. she’s much calmer, locked in in a way unexpected to him. of course he knows how to calm himself, how to regulate. but those stretches… not only is he sure he could never replicate them due to lack of flexibility, but he can see the intention in each move, seemingly in each muscle and breath.

it’s weird to him how pulled he feels in her direction. he just wants to know her and is curious if she’d give him the chance. and of course he wants to know her body too… he could definitely help her relieve a lot of that stress. over and over again. probably until she couldn’t take anymore. something about her just keeps pulling him back in. maybe he’s just interested in her newness with his life currently feeling a bit more dull, but he knows he’d be just as interested if it wasn’t. she has spice, a good sense of humor, sweetness, she’s undoubtedly beautiful with all her little quirks, and that ass is the kind that a man would go to war for.

seriously.

especially with the way she’s sitting and stretching with her legs wide, chest flush against the floor. it’s making ony have thoughts, and a lot of them. after a while of being unable to stop looking, he decides to walk over. he stands above her with his arms crossed, head tilting as he looks down at her. “how the hell you even doin’ allat?” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. and what else can she do? he wonders.

crys laughs in response, still enjoying the feel of the stretch. “I do it often. years of youtube videos, I guess,” she responds. she raises, intentionally moving slow for the practice. it’s just a bonus that she can feel his eyes on her ass. “sit down,” she grins, looking up at him with mischief in her eyes. he had his turn helping her, and now she’s going to do the same. whether he likes it or not. plus, it’d be real nice to spend some more time with him. she likes his presence and his laugh and his little jokes. his looks, his demeanor, the way he’s not scared when she nips at him instead either remains unaffected or nips right back… kind of everything about him, so far at least. “huh?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “nigga, if you can ‘huh’ you can hear. sit down and stretch with me,” she laughs.

ony likes the sound. a lot, he realizes. and her sass really tickles him. so why not? he shrugs, plopping down on the floor next to her.

“yoga’s more than stretchin’,” she begins. “yeah, it feels good for the body, but it’s good for the mind too. it’s a lot deeper than I can explain. it’s one of those things that’s been taken from another culture and kinda wiped of its authenticity.” he watches her as she talks with her hands, her caring a lot more about it than he expected. but he’s interested and following along with her words. “I try to respect it, y’know? it has a lot of benefits. can I touch?” she asks with a tilt of her head. he appreciates how her curls bounce with the movement and gives a simple nod of his head. “sit up straight,” she adjusts his back. “and keep your focus on your breath, keeping an awareness of your body as well. stay mindful of the present moment.”

the moment her hand touches him, he sits up. not because of her words but because of the feel of her hands on him. she’s gentle with her guidance, her touch almost hesitant and her voice has softened in a way that sends a slight chill down his spine. “sorry, are my hands cold?” she asks apologetically. “as fuck,” he answers with a laugh. “keep goin’ though.” crys laughs and pinches him softly. “aht, aht, I’m the teacher now, I give the directions. straighten out your legs.” ony rolls his eyes in response but follows her instruction. he mumbles a soft “yeah, aight.”

she gently bumps her shoulder against his at his sass. “lean forward and reach for your feet, curving your back. take a moment to center yourself, focusing on your breath and how your body feels. don’t think about anything, not even me,” she teases slightly. ony can’t help but smile at that. “you make it difficult, sweetheart,” he mumbles. her stomach flutters in response. he takes a deep breath before closing his eyes, reaching for his feet. “don’t forget to breath, nice and deep. relax your mind and let your thoughts fade away,” she mutters softly. “relax. really feel the peace and the stretch.”

oh, ony feels something, alright. but he focuses his mind on the way his muscles feel. he’s used to stretching, but the mental part has never been the most important aspect. he likes how quiet his mind is, how the peace envelopes him like a warm hug.

she guides him through several more positions, helping him to stay centered mentally. her voice is so soothing, her touch as she adjusts him doing things to him. he feels good. really good. the combination of the practice with her presence is something he intends to make sure he gets more of. she’s so cute with her little chides. a “stretch deeper, ony” here, a “you’re not even trying” there. and her obvious favorite, “you know you can do better than that”. actually, no, her favorite thing to say in reprimand is his name. it’s a pleasant hint of flirting and teasing mixed with gentle guidance and words of calm.

by the end of the night, ony’s hooked. before she can walk to the locker room, he gently grabs her wrist to get her attention. “hey, wait, ma,” he murmurs softly. she looks up at him with those eyes again and he’s suddenly parched. “can I get your number? you know, I can send you some boxing tips.” crys tries to fight a smile but fails. “oh, really? boxing tips? sure, long as I can send some yoga tips.” he laughs a bit, smiling at her tone. “yeah, send ‘em. gotta be on my namaste more, shit was nice.” crys tilts her head back slightly as she laughs. “boy, whatever. here.”

ᥫ᭡

crys is folding. real bad.

at first, she thought she’d just do some light flirting, maybe just tease and taunt and go on about her merry way. she didn’t have any intentions on really following through with the man because he just seems like a threat to her safe, protected little bubble of diy nails and chilling alone at home. but as time goes on, she realizes that she’s in a quicksand situation. swapped informational videos of boxing and yoga are just the beginning. soon, they’re texting back and forth. funny videos sent at way too late at night, a range of questions exchanged as they get to know each other, random voice messages that make her stomach tingle… she looks forward to speaking with him, even changes his text tone so she knows when it’s him.

he’s just so funny in such a simple, straightforward way. sometimes she bites at him and he doesn’t budge a bit, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction. sometimes they go back and forth like a tennis match. he’s not afraid of her sass and she loves when he actually bites back. he’s just… attractive. in a lot of ways, on so many different levels. she ends up going to the gym late more often because he’ll be there, spotting her while she lifts and helping her with her boxing. ms. becca at the front desk seems to really not like it, but her non-working ass can move on somewhere. crys and ony start a routine that whenever she comes to work out with him, they grab food and sit in one of their cars to goof around. they even decide to power walk with mrs. etta every now and then.

it’s insanity to kt, though. she doesn’t understand why they haven’t ‘fucked each other like bunnies’ already and she reminds crys every time they talk. they’d scrolled his instagram together several times and he’s a popular topic between the two of them, three including kt’s boyfriend. he, of course, has a front row seat to these conversations since ms. kt never wants to use her damn headphones.

one particular night, crys is just really not feeling the workout. she’s more tired than usual and ony can tell. she’s not her usual, witty self. not a single jab has any bite to it, and it’s the same with her words. he doesn’t like it. she’s not supposed to be quiet or sad. he doesn’t like the distant look in her eyes and how she gives a weak smile at his teasing. “hey,” he murmurs. “go get changed and get your stuff.” he watches as she looks up at him with a furrowed brow. “you’re obviously not feelin’ up to it. we’ve done enough, let’s grab sum to eat.”

crys was going to push through, get her workout regardless. “nah, I’m good,” she shrugs him off. “no, you ain’t. quit playin’, it’s not a suggestion,” he grumbles back. that surprises her, but she guesses it shouldn’t really. one thing that she’s noticed is how good he is at reading people, and he’s really good at reading her now. he knows when to push, and has learned how to in several different circumstances. she guesses this is one of them. his tone is different than usual though. it’s set, no room for negotiations, no joking around. his eyes are focused and sharp in a way that almost even she doesn’t want to argue with. “…right. yeah, okay. I can go by myself though, you can finish your workout,” she mutters softly.

“what I say?”

crys didn’t need to be told again. his whole demeanor is looking more immovable than ever, eyes and tone telling her to get her ass to the locker room, basically. if it were anyone else, she would’ve fired back and asked who the hell he thought he was. but at this point, she’s too tired and she really doesn’t want to poke the bear. so she sighs and nods, grabbing her bag as she shuffles back to the locker room to get her stuff. she’s grateful, honestly, because as soon as she sits in the passenger seat of his car, she feels like she’s been hit by a bus but it’s really just a wave of exhaustion.

“you pushin’ too hard, ma,” he murmurs, his eyes on the road as he drives. he’s seen her energy decreasing over time, the spark in her eyes dimming. he’d slide a comment in or two about taking a break only for her to brush it off like it was no problem. she’s stubborn and he knows that, but fully capable of taking care of herself, which is why he wasn’t expecting it to get this far. she’s drained and he’ll be damned if he just stands by and watches her continue down this path. especially with the way her head is leaning against his window. usually he’d say something about her hair products getting on it, but he couldn’t give a damn about that.

“you been slackin’ and you know it. wassup?” he questions as he spares her a glance. she sighs, her eyes closing as he makes the familiar trip to their usual spot. “stress. I’ve just been stressed,” she answers. that much he could tell. it’s not really the information he’s looking for though. “mhm. why?” he presses. his voice is a mix of tenderness and concern but also firmness. he’s not going to let her brush this under the rug. “just a lot of shit goin’ on, ony. work’s a mess, they can barely do anything without me there they’re always arguing and never getting anything done. I’ve been looking for another job for months with no luck and it’s really starting to become a problem because I want to leave soon. and I don’t know, I just want to be in a different situation than I am right now.”

ony hums, rolling her words over in his head. he knows she’s been trying to leave her job, even sent her resume out to a few people he knows just to help out. he can understand her frustration, he was in a similar boat before he started his own thing and became a personal trainer. he gets it, the stress from working in a place that drains you and how so many job rejections can affect a person. “it’s alright, ma. I know that don’t mean much to you right now, but it’s gone work out, aight? I’ll put some pressure on my folks, help see what’s out there. you still got some pto right?” he asks. she sighs, rubbing her forehead. “yeah, but I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.” he could almost chuckle.

“it don’t seem like it’s rainin’ to you?” he pushes slightly. “take some time off. rest and relax so you can come back better. do yo yoga and shit, smoke some, whatever. you need a break, babygirl. no positive change is gonna come from you stressin’ and burnin’ out. it’s a three day weekend coming up, take the couple days before that off too.” she looks out the window as they pull into the drive thru. he’s right and she knows it. it’s just so easy for her to get swept up into the stress and lose herself a little bit more and more until she realizes just how close she is to burning out. she can feel tears gathering in her eyes from the stress.

“oh, pretty girl,” he mumbles, seeing the emotion in her eyes. he pulls off to the side and parks in the back of the lot instead of getting in line. “c’mere, crystal,” he croons, reaching an arm around her to pull her close. she sniffles and her shoulders shake as she cries into his shoulder, letting out what she’s let build up for so long. “s’okay, ma. you really doin’ good shit, providin’ for yourself and workin’ hard. it’s gonna work out, you gotta believe that,” he presses, squeezing her tighter. “but you can’t do this, okay? you can’t wither away like this. your health is important and if you neglect it, it’ll affect everything. I don’t like seein’ you upset and tired and drained. wanna see that pretty smile, get a taste of that sass that irks me so much.” she laughs slightly in his arms, her own wrapping around him as he gives her the most comforting hug she’s had in a while. “you’re right or whatever. big headed ass,” she mumbles.

“there she is.”

ᥫ᭡

after that night, she did exactly what he suggested. she took those extra days off and just recovered. smoked, slept a whole bunch, had a self-care day, and even booked a massage just for an extra treat. of course she talked ony’s ear off, and texted him and her best friend a bunch too, but it was necessary in her eyes. she knows they love her presence, even if they call her annoying. by her last day off, she feels rejuvenated.

she feels less stressed. she has a revamped resume, a mini twist out that’s cute and lets her leave her hair alone, new nails, and a new attitude. but… crys is running out of excuses to give as far as her and ony. his support that night meant more to her than he probably even knew. the way he held her, calmed her down, and comforted her… it’s something that’s been plaguing dancing in her mind. he’s shown that he can handle her full range of emotions no problem and can support her regardless of how strongly she feels. at this point, even she’s started to wonder why they haven’t done anything. she hasn’t made a move, no, but neither has he. he seems perfectly content with the way things are and is starting to become bothersome.

she can’t get him out of her head. his voice, his laugh, his features. every time he encourages her while she’s going at the punching bag, she wants to push the damn thing out of the way and just tackle him. when she can feel his eyes on her while they stretch, she wants to show him exactly what she can do and how her flexibility can blow his fucking mind. she wants to kiss him, touch him, hear those encouraging words that he gives her in an entirely different setting.

but his lack of action is causing her to overthink. is he not as affected as she is? does his heart not pound in her presence like hers does in his? how the hell is she the only one gnawing her lip at the thought of more? maybe it’s because she hasn’t had sex in so long. maybe that’s it. she’s just like this because of her wack ass sex life.

contrary to crys’ perspective, though, ony is losing his shit.

he definitely would’ve made a move by now if these were usual circumstances. he’s just so thrown off by how much he likes her, how much she makes him feel. she’s so much more than that pretty face and that mouth watering body. she’s funny, witty, and she packs a nasty ass punch both with her words and her hands. he likes the full range of crys. mouthy and annoying, intentionally trying to get a raise out of him. flirty and teasing, sensual in the way she draws him in. sweet and serene, almost like an oasis of calm and tranquility. oh, and he can’t forget how expressive she is with every emotion. her anger when her order’s wrong at the late night burger place they frequent, her excitement and joy when mrs. etta tells her about another good scan at the doctor, her sadness when she sees a sad tiktok during rest periods.

he just doesn’t get it. how can one person be so damn enthralling? how can someone’s quirks and flaws be so beautiful? he’s never felt pulled like this, but you know what? he’s fucking with it. she’s done nothing but add color to his life, a great addition that he felt like he was waiting for without even knowing. he loves her presence. she makes him smile and belly laugh, she pisses him off, she lights him up. he can be goofy with her, serious, sensitive even. he just wants more and more of crys, and even when he thinks maybe there’s nothing left to surprise him about her, she whips something new out of her arsenal. it’s just crazy how she has him by the throat but he’s happy to be along for the ride.

but he’s really wanting that ride to go somewhere. he’s always thought that it was crazy that crys is single, he just doesn’t understand it. in his eyes, she’s everything great in a woman. confident, sensitive, hardworking, sweet… annoying but in the best ways, enthralling, sexy as all hell.

when he’s ranting to eren about her for the nth time, the brunette raises an eyebrow at him and asks what’s taking him so long to ask her out. ony blinks. he thought they were… well, something already. but the sense that’s been chasing him for quite a while now finally catches up to him and hits him like a truck. he has to say something. do something. the unspoken thing doesn’t work for adults, and definitely not if he actually wants to keep her. is he an idiot? he wants to say no to his own question so badly, but he knows he would be delusional if he did.

so he quickly decides to get his shit together. the next time he sees crys, he’s asking her on an actual date, and that’s it. this whole thing could’ve been at a different point if he’d taken his head out of his ass and asked her out that first night he saw her in the gym. but it’s too late to try to change the past, and he can fix his mistakes in the present.

ᥫ᭡

unfortunately for ony, crys has a nasty attitude the next time they meet. her answers are short and snippy, and not in the usual, fun way. they had plans to go shopping together to buy mrs. etta a congratulatory something for completing her treatment, both having become extremely fond of the lady and being supportive of her on her journey. ony picks her up, being the gentleman he is (he hates her driving) and it takes no time at all to notice the bitter air around her. he actually realizes it the second she closes the door to her townhouse too damn hard. she huffs and puffs as she gets settled in the passenger seat.

crys doesn’t really know exactly why she’s so mad. it’s another one of those days where the stress has built up so quickly without her noticing, something that happens when her head isn’t fully in the game. she doesn’t want to take it out on ony, never means to, but something about knowing that he can handle that shit keeps her from being as mindful as she should be. “hey,” he speaks, his eyebrow raising at her lack of greeting. “hey,” she greets blandly. “what’s wrong, ma?” he asks, looking from her to the road as he pulls off. she just shakes her head. “thanks for picking me up,” she murmurs. “of course,” he responds.

he’s eyeing her every once in a while, trying to pick up on whatever he can. she’s fiddling a lot, tapping her fingers as she looks out the window. antsy? irritated? what is it, he wonders. but he’s not super fond of playing the guessing game, by now she should know that she can talk to him about any and everything on her mind and in her heart. he’ll listen, he’ll care, and he’ll support. hasn’t he shown that? “you lyin’ to me, ma. don’t like it,” he mumbles. she doesn’t answer and he really doesn’t like that. “what’s the issue, crys? talk,” he presses, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. this isn’t anything he’s used to from her. mouthy sometimes? sure. that’s nothing he can’t handle. but the silent treatment mixed with the tense attitude is not how he was planning to spend this time with her.

“nothin’, just tired.” she murmurs. his eyebrows furrow. “we can reschedule if you want,” he responds, understanding. “nah,” she says simply. she can’t explain it, she doesn’t really want to act like this. she’s just not exactly happy at the moment and the two seem to have very different vibes. guess that’s the theme, huh? she thinks. “mama, you not bein’ fair. tryna talk to you,” he mumbles. she rolls her eyes, looking out the window. “yeah, talk. your favorite thing to do,” she mumbles.

ony pauses, but only for a moment. “and that’s supposed to mean?” crys sighs, as if she’s really just over him. “nothing, ony, m’sorry. are we goin’ to macy’s or ross first?” she’s trying to deflect, and although ony’s not stupid, he lets her. maybe she just needs time, she can be like that every now and then. carrying around irritation from an earlier incident until it eventually fades and she’s good to go. sometimes she just needs to process her emotions, and ony’s cool with that. he’s cool with anything with her, it seems.

they end up at ross first, mrs. etta’s favorite store that she talks about when they power walk with her. they get her random things, little trinkets that remind them of her, lotions and candles, and a few decorative pieces for her house. they move to macy’s to get her a perfume she likes, and a few other random things that draw their attention. last is dollar.25 tree and a couple other craft stores, the mission being to grab a big basket and additional stuffing to make her a custom gift basket with a congratulatory card from both of them. crys is quieter than usual the entire time, but not necessarily agitated. it seems like shopping for mrs. etta is cheering her up.

seems.

once they get to her house, ony can tell by the way she groans as she flops onto her couch that she’s not a hundred percent. at this point, he’s confused and maybe a bit worried. what is it that has her so upset? he doesn’t like when she’s quiet, much rather her be loud and expressive with whatever emotion she’s feeling. it’s eerie when she’s quiet and ony can’t tell what she’s thinking or feeling. he doesn’t like to be in the dark.

“c’mon, ma, let’s go ahead and get this assembled. we can talk and smoke after,” he mumbles, moving to set the stuff down on her dining room table. he wants to sit and smoke, get her to shake herself out of whatever fucking funk she’s in, but he figures it’s a good idea to finish up mrs. etta’s gift. he really wants it to be perfect. he’s known mrs. etta for a while, she was even one of the people that encouraged him the most when he first started training, and he’s extremely happy that her treatment is done. a bratty sigh is heard from the girl on the couch and ony has to close his eyes to center himself. “we can’t take a break? all that shopping. m’tired.”

ony licks his lips and lets out a breath. “sure, ma, take a break. imma get started on this, I’ll chill after,” he responds. crys doesn’t like the little breath he takes, his tone coming across patronizing to her. “you tired of me? cause I can really do that shit by myself,” she responds lowly. she swears she can see a vein appear on ony’s forehead, but only momentarily. “nah. just want this gift to be good,” he mumbles. crys sits up to look at him. “it’s good already, we put a lot of thought into everything. what, you think I can’t assemble it myself?” her head tilts. because she could make the prettiest damn basket all on her own, really. she’ll prove it if she has to.

ony’s on the brink. he’s been patient all day— he’s always patient with her. it’s usually no issue, but today she’s really pushing it. mrs. etta should be the focus right now. “you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?” she asks, her eyebrows beginning to furrow. “yes, love, I hear you,” he murmurs. “just focused.” he’s really trying to keep it together.

crys scoffs, “yeah, well, you can focus and talk. you wouldn’t have to focus as much if you waited on me.” ony wonders what he did to be in this position. he hasn’t done shit to her, hasn’t said anything disrespectful, and he knows that she isn’t usually one to take her shit out on him, so he’s just thinking. wondering what has her so mad. “there you go again, not fuckin’ responding,” she huffs, standing up and crossing her arms. “you can just get the hell out forreal, I can finish this mysel—“

“sit the fuck down.”

crys blinks. and then blinks again. “excuse me?” she asks. she couldn’t have heard that right. he wouldn’t talk to her like that, he’s not insane. but the look he gives when he turns to her gives her second thoughts on that theory. “you heard me. sit the fuck down. I’m not leavin’ and you’re about to act like you have some fucking respect instead of poppin’ off at the mouth. I’ve dealt with your shit ask damn day, trying to be patient and understanding— like I always am with yo lil ass. I’m not playin’ crys. sit down,” he demands. and he really means that shit too, she can tell.

crys’ jaw is damn near on the floor by the time he finishes talking. “who you talkin’ t—“ she starts, only to be interrupted by a slow approaching ony, having put the materials he was working with down. “crys, I swear, if you don’t get some act right—“ he starts, trying to keep his breath even and his body calm. tired of being interrupted, crys decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. “what? what you gone do? talk my ear off? stand there and look at me with your arms crossed? I ain’t scared of you, ony. you don’t do shit and won’t do shit to me.”

“nah. I’ma fuck you,” he answers as he steps into her personal space. if crys’ jaw was on the floor before, it’s in hell now. there’s no way he just said that. “fuck that nasty ass attitude right outta you. you playin’ in my face, ma. you know I don’t like that shit. I’ve been so fuckin’ understanding with yo ass, somethin’ not every nigga is willin’ to do, by the way. you push and you push and I let yo ass. is that the problem?” he tilts his head, chest almost touching hers as he looks down. his eyes are dark, his jaw tense. the vein she thought she saw earlier is bulging now, almost angrier than ony himself. “is the problem that I let yo lil ass keep pushin’ me? cause I swear it don’t mean that I’ll just let the shit slide. and I’ll prove that shit too.”

ᥫ᭡

“fuck,” crys pants, tugging on the sheets in front of her. “please,” her voice breaks. “just— just lemme come. I’m so close, ony, please!”

she’s been on all fours for a while now, face buried in the bed as ony works her with his tongue and fingers. she’s in a pool of her own arousal, thighs wet and pussy drenched from the several times she’s been close to the edge, only to be disappointed each time as she’s denied her orgasm. her bottom lip is bitten raw, toes almost permanently curled and eyes finding a home in the back of her head as she pushes her hips back again and again to coax ony to at least let her have one. if she knew this was going to be the result of her attitude today, she would’ve just asked him to fuck her before they even left to go shopping. she’s waited enough for this, and even now when she’s so close, she’s getting denied.

there’s a harsh but absolutely welcome smack to her ass and she whines so damn pathetically that ony almost laughs. pulls his full lips from her clit with a pop and massages the cheek. “you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice low and raspy in a way unfamiliar to crys. she quickly shakes her head and grips the sheets tighter. “no, please! keep going, wanna come on your face,” she begs, pushing her hips to meet his lips again. the sound and sight of her is addicting, ony thinks. he likes the way she seems so desperate for his touch and tongue, craving that release that he’s been building up for so long. “you wanna come?” he asks, his fingers sliding back into her soaked pussy. he can feel her clench around him almost instantly. fuck he’s going to enjoy tonight. “yes! yes, wanna come!” she pants, rocking her hips to meet the thrust of his long fingers.

“then shut the fuck up and let me have my fun,” he murmurs, diving his face back in as his tongue meets her clit once again. “ah, shit,” she whimpers, her eyes rolling back again at the pleasure that washes over her. “yes, yes, just like that. fuck, you eatin’ my pussy up,” she moans. she’s never been so mad but so pleased at the same time. he’s torturing her and she doesn’t know how much longer she can last before she releases all over him without his say so. she’s already been through so much, she doesn’t want to find out what else he’ll do , even if it’s his fault. “my fuckin’ pussy,” he pulls back to murmur, flicking his tongue quickly over her pearl as his fingers continue to pump. she’s so wet, his fingers move with ease, and the sound that’s made is delicious. “say that shit.”

“fuck, I’ll say whatever you want,” she whines, back arching and toes throwing up gang signs. “s’your pussy, baby! take it take it take it,” she moans, throwing her ass back over and over. she’s so damn close, so damn close. she can almost taste it. her tummy feels like it’s about to burst and her poor pussy is sobbing. he pulls back once again to her dismay, reading her body like a book. “you betta not fuckin’ come,” he murmurs, fingers moving faster as they stretch her. how the hell is she not supposed to come? is he insane? “you fuckin’ kidding meee?” she whines, her head falling down onto the sheets. ony likes how spent she looks already, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. “you know damn well I ain’t,” he grumbles, smacking her ass again. “arch that shit. it’s gone be a long night if you don’t listen to me, baby.”

in a turn of events, ony’s pussy drunk. he’s enjoying himself way too much, taking in her moans and slurping up what’s now his to pleasure. he’s just drowning in her, hands exploring everywhere he can touch. caressing, appreciating, adoring this beautiful woman falling apart on his tongue. he could do this all day and be grateful every second of it. he’s absolutely aching in his shorts, but something about bringing such a normally mouthy girl to babbles is too hard to turn away from. he didn’t even mean to take it this far, he just doesn’t want to stop. he wants her to keep feeling good, and the way she begs and reaches back for him to bring him closer lets him know that he’s doing his job

“please, I can’t,” she begs, back arching but breath deepening. “ony, I caan’tt, m’gonna come,” she whines. she’s trying, really she promises she is, but it’s just become too hard to hold out. it’s too good, she wants it and needs it. if he doesn’t stop or give her the green light, she’s gonna make a mess of both of them, and she’s not going to regret it. ony groans at her whines, basking in the sound of her begging and pleading. he can feel how she’s clenching, hears the desperation in her voice. she’s gone, melting into a pile of goo at his touch, and he’s never felt more satisfied. not only are they both having the times of their lives, but that attitude is just about gone and she’s actually acting like she has some fucking manners.

he reluctantly pulls back and removes his hand from her, licking at his fingers like a man starved. “flip over,” he huffs, standing and palming his aching dick. she seems to be too out of it, raising her head full of messy curls to look up in his general direction. “w-what?” she questions. ony doesn’t have time for her shit, so he grabs her hips and flips her over his damn self. the way he looks down at her is downright sinful and crys flutters simply at the sight. “fuckin’ bratty ass. you did this to yourself, crys. was gonna take you on a nice ass date, make love with your pretty ass, do shit the right way. but that fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grumbles as he grabs her by her ankles, pulling her to the end of the bed. “is too damn bold with me. gotta fix that, sweetheart. you gone be my good girl after tonight, I can promise you that.”

she whines and grinds against his hand as his thumb traces circles on her puffy clit. looking down at her, he realizes that this is one of his favorite sights now. her eyes are blurry with tears from the constant denial, her face scrunched in a cute and sexy pout of pleasure, her tits shifting with each movement. ony could watch her like this all day, bringing her to the edge over and over just to see those pretty tears fall and hear that voice of hers crack. that’d only be torture for himself as well because he feels like he’s about to burst. “you so damn beautiful. you want this dick, sweetheart? tell me, I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs, licking his lips as he lets his shorts fall. crys whines and nods, unruly curls all over the place. so damn breathtaking.

“gimme it, please. wanna come all over it, baby. paint it for you,” she begs. her arms reach to hook around the back of her knees, pulling her thighs back slightly to open up for him. her words only serve to rile him up more. “you a lil freak, huh? mmm, you can do better than that, baby. stretch them legs like I know yo lil freaky ass can,” he grumbles, pulling his underwear down and off, his cock hanging low between his legs. crys knew it— she just knew it was big, and she was right. it’s long and thick with a minimal curve, and if she wasn’t so deprived she’d get on her knees and pay him back for the teasing. she whimpers and bites her lip, sliding her hands to hook behind her knees instead. she pulls her thighs flush to her chest and keeps going, extending her legs.

“fuck, yeah, baby, show me that pretty pussy. fat pussy all mine,” he grumbles. he lessens their distance, letting himself rest on her as he takes her in. what a fucking vision of a woman. he takes his dick in his hand and lightly taps it against her before her rubs himself all in her wetness. “look at ‘chu, baby. so fuckin’ sloppy. this all for me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks back to her face. she goes to speak, but ony considers her next words unimportant in the grand scheme of things. before she can speak, she feels him start to press into her. she lets out a breathy moan, her grip tightening on her legs. “f-fuck,” she moans at the same time ony lets a groaning “shiiit,” pass his lips.

the two pant, looking each other in the eyes as he continues to press forward. crys is seeing stars, feeling the stretch of him. her face scrunches and her eyes begin to close. “mm-mm, keep them pretty eyes on me,” ony‘s breathing heavy , his hand coming to lightly wrap around her throat. “sexy ass. you bet not deny me that shit.” crys can only lick her lips, forcing her eyes open to meet his, clenching at the way he speaks. his words add to the growing fire within her. “there you go, baby. love that shit,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips against hers in a nasty, sloppy kiss. crys is upset at the fact that this man is really bringing her to her knees. “so damn fine. don’t know why I waited so long to be in yo shit. too fucking good,” he groans, pulling out just slightly before pushing back in. crys gasps, pulling her legs closer just to have something to grab, but it just makes him go deeper.

“feels so good, onyyy,” she moans, keeping the eye contact as much as she can. ony’s hovering over her now, watching her with his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyebrows together in concentration. he’s moving slowly, letting her adjust to him and just taking in the view in front of him. “onyyy,” she moans, clenching around him as her pussy flutters. he’s so damn fine and it’s been so long since she’s been touched. he’s deep in her shit and she’s on cloud nine. she wants more, so much more, and she wants it all from him. she hates it took so long to get to this point and hates that she the fact that she stopped herslef from persuing him. she wants this, needs all of him. “fuck me,” she chokes out. “c’mon, please.”

“relax,” he mutters, his free hand rubbing up her thigh. “just keep that pretty pussy open for me. I’ma always give you what you need, sweetheart. always.” and he means it. he’s never going to play with her, not her heart or her mind. but he’ll play with her pretty pussy until the sun comes up, until the cows come home. he’s never felt anything so good, seen someone so beautiful while they take his dick. she’s everything to him in this moment, her curls sprawled around her like the sun’s halo, face showing all the pleasure she’s feeling. her breathing is deep, her eyes staying on his just like he said.

he’s fucked. shit, he might just be in love.

“ooo, fuck, ony,” she keens, her nails slightly digging into the skin of her thigh. “so big. oh my God, baby.” she’s having the time of her life. he’s stretching her so well, and he feels so damn good digging into her like that. ”yeah, yeah. been waiting for thisss,” she pants, unable to keep her mouth shut. it’s just so good and it’s hitting that spot. would could blame her? “give it to me,” she moans. ony groans above her, his hips starting to meet hers sharper and sharper. she’s still so vocal, and he’s eating it the fuck up. “mhm,” he breathes, his hands moving to rest on hers, helping to hold her legs as she falters. “take that dick, babygirl. s’all for you. swear it is,” he groans. she doesn’t know it, but she could ask for just about anything right now and he’d give it to her.

her eyes scan over him, her hand reaching out to lightly scratch down his abdomen. “fuckin’ me so good, ony.”ony groans at the touch of her nails, his gut tightening at the way she’s looking up at him. he pulls out, reaching down to tap himself against her again. she’s too much, her voice, her eyes, her touch… the way she keeps clenching around him. “you fuckin’ dangerous, mama,” he pants. “can I beat this pussy up, baby? lemme take it.” crys bites her lip and nods, looking up at him in a way that makes him grip her thighs a little tighter. fucking minx. he’s beating himself up for not doing this sooner. he adjusts himself on the bed, leaning down to press his lips to hers as he slides back in, the two of them moaning into each other's mouths. he immediately picks up the pace as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling slightly as he presses more of his weight onto her.

crys starts to gasp with each thrust, toes curling and a squeak escaping her when she feels his hands on her clit. “w-wait— fuck, wait, m’gonna come quick,” she moans, fingers gripping ony’s shoulders as he pins one of her thighs to her chest. she wants to come with him, but her earlier pleasure is coming back with a fucking vengeance. ony chuckles— actually chuckles, and rasps down to her, “that’s the point, sweetheart. give it to me.” if she wasn’t on the brink of a mind blowing orgasm, she’d be pissed and annoyed at that fucking smirk. but instead she pants and pants until her breath stops. her orgasm washes over her in delicious waves, and she’s just frozen in pleasure, unable to do anything but come and come, pulsing around ony.

“breathe, mama. come on, breath through that shit,” ony guides, pressing kisses up and down her neck. right, breathing. she forgot about that. crys lets out a long moan, her eyes rolling back as she tastes her sweet release. sweet isn’t even the word, though. the denial and delay just makes things ten times stronger, her orgasm wracking her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. she’s holding onto ony tightly as he talks her through it, breathing heavy as she just takes it. “yeaah, there you go. breathe, baby, I got you. gonna take real good care of you just like I said,” ony grumbles, nipping at her skin here and there and slowing his thrusts and his assault on her clit. he has to pant at the way she’s so tight around him, and he’s just so strained holding back good open release. “you deserve that shit, baby.” more kisses and nips than either of them can count are placed on crys’ neck as crys comes down and tries to calm down as well.

his hand reaches to gently caress her cheek as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the other. “you’re so beautiful, babygirl. you feel okay?” he asks softly. okay? she’s riding down a fucking rainbow of happiness and bliss. okay is an understatement. crys figures that would boost his who a bit too much, so she just tilts her head to rest on the side of his. “mhm,” she hums breathlessly. “so good,” she murmurs. ony’s glad, pressing more kisses to her sweet face. he’s happy he can make her feel good, especially considering how she was sarlier in the day. “good enough to gimme another one?” he asks. he just can’t get enough, so he has to ask. he wants this night to last as long as it can.

crys lets out a breath, wondering just what the hell is wrong with the man. she’s been through the wringer for a good while now. but it’s felt amazing every step of the way, so the answer is yes. of course it’s yes. she nods. “just one more, sweetheart,” he croons, looking down at her dazed face. he pulls out, turning her over onto her stomach, much gentler this time. he guides her on all fours and reaches to rest his hand on the headboard, his other hand positioning himself once again. once he begins to push inside, his arm wraps around her torso to hold her tight as they both moan. his hips start to move again, this time with a slower pace as he braces himself on the headboard.

ony can’t help but feel the shift on the room. it’s much more intimate than before, crys sensitive from one release already. he wants to be so many things for her. he can be a little aggressive, knowing she likes when he bites back. he can be goofy and unserious. and he can be soft. he can be serious with her and about her. that’s what he wants. “wanted this for so long, baby. wanted you,” he murmurs into her ear. the sound makes her pussy flutter, causing him to chuckle again. “sh-shut up,” she mumbles, her hands slowly tightening around the sheets below them. the combination of his intimate confession and his thrusting into her is a double whammy that she didn’t see coming.

“mmm, I’m serious babygirl. want you, been wantin’ you,” he presses, eyes falling shut as his hips continue to move. she feels so good, it’s ridiculous. he’s going to be in it every day if she lets him. “gotta make you mine, ma. I’m forreal.” and he is, because what kind of idiot would he be to let her slip through his fingers? crys let’s her head fall back in a moan as he starts to gently work her clit. everything about this is just insane. who knew what today was going to bring? “y-you never… ah,” she cuts herself off with a moan as he curves his hips, fucking her in just the right way in such an intimate moment. fuck, what was she saying? “I never said anything, I know. s’my fault, no excuse. I was just too busy enjoyin’ bein’ around you,” he murmurs, moaning as he holds her tighter. his hips are starting to move a bit faster and crys is starting to meet his every thrust.

“but you mine now, right? I’ma do— fuuuck, I’ma do right by you, mama. always,” he groans. he means every word. it’s like she has a spell on him and he doesn’t care. if she wants his heart, she can take it. he leans back from the headboard, sitting up on his knees as he keeps her back against his chest. gosh, crys’ heart just flutters. “yeah,” she moans. “yeah, ony, m’yours. f-finally.” that puts a tired smile on ony’s face, his already racing heart squeezing. with one hand massaging her clit and the other now on her hip, ony begins fucking into her faster. “that’s right, baby. and I’m yours. can’t get rid of me, can’t push me away, sure as fuck not scarin’ me away,” he groans. i’d important to him that she knows that, with her lil stubborn ass.

crys reaches back behind her, grabbing onto him. “yeah, j-just like that, ony. me and youuu,” she moans, feeling that familiar sensation again. her body’s almost tired of it after so much teasing and edging and repeating. “gonna come for you, baby,” she groans. she has no fight left, it’s going to rock her and she knows it. “you gonna come for me?” he asks, his voice coming out breathy as he continues to thrust into her. he doesn’t remember the last time he felt as good as he does in this moment. he doesn’t want it to end, but he can’t hold anymore. she’s tight around him, pulsing as her release approaches once again. “paint my dick, baby, just like you said. then I’ma give you this nut,” he huffs, working his hips more and more. crys is a moaning mess, her head dipping as she feels another strong orgasm approaching. “keep breathin’,” ony croons. “want you to feel all that shit, mama.”

she breathes as even as she can, breaths deepening as she quickly approaches that line. “ohhh, ony!” she cries out, her eyes squeezing shut. ” let it out, baby, give it to me. give me that shit,” he groans to her, working her clout faster and faster as he keeps pumping into her. it’s all too much and it brings her over the edge, her toes almost cramping and hips moving without her knowledge. “there it goes, keep breathing. fuck yeah, mama, take that shit.” it’s an intense feeling and she’s chasing it, breathing like ony directs and it makes the difference. she feels the shit down to her toes. her eyes are crossed and she can’t even fucking speak, just taking whatever comes as her eyes shut tight. “that’s it, baby, feel that shit. know you feel good, I know,�� he pants.

ony’s fucking into her faster, the way she’s clenching around him making his head spin. his grip tightens on her hip as he chases his own high, watching her fucked out face. she looks so good like that, spent and satisfied and his. “fuuuck, you so gorgeous, crystal. gahdamn you feel good as fuck,” he rambles, praising her over and over just because he can and she deserves it. soon, he’s pulling out and pumping himself all over her ass, groaning as his body jerks. “yeah, ony,” crys coos with a raspy voice. she’s giving a tired wiggle of her hips, encouraging him to spill all over her. “fuckin’ perfect.”

the two pant, spent from such a lovely day together. it’s silent as they just back in the afterglow of their impromptu endeavors. eventually, ony starts to press sweet, calming kisses to her shoulder and back. he appreciates the small marks on her skin, random beauty marks and freckles. “perfect, mama. you were perfect,” he rasps. as far as he’s concerned, today couldn’t have been more successful. crys is… well, crys is out of commission at the moment. her mind is fuzzy in her post orgasm bliss, and she’s catching her breath as she basks in his kisses. “fuck…” she mumbles. that was very unexpected but completely welcome. the wait was more than worth it, and now she can have that again and again and again. “yeah,” ony chuckles tiredly. “yeah, that was crazy. damn.”

the two laugh together, gross and sticky, but so happy with the situation. that line was finally crossed, and there’s no going back. not that either of them would want to, anyway. ony glances down at crys as she rests for a moment, eyes closed and lashes tickling her skin. the earlier tensions are gone, nothing but fondness and connection in it’s wake. he reaches to caress her cheekbone, tucking a curl behind her ear and out of her face. “sorry for earlier,” crys mumbles into the quiet. she really is, she doesn’t like when she projects her upset like that. she nevers wants that for anyone she’s connecting with, especially not ony. he’s been understanding with her in a way that she’s learned to deeply appreciate. “but I’m glad we did this.”

ony hums, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. he can deal with a little push from her, especially since he gets to keep her. she’s a sweet girl, and she invigorates him. he appreciates her expressiveness and range of emotions, and understands that sometimes she’s just human. he’s okay with that. but now that they’re together, he has the ability to take a different approach. sometimes she needs him to snap back at her, and that’s what he’ll do with absolutely no hesitation from now on. there’s a mutual respect and understanding, and ony really fucks with that shit. “just needed some attention… and dick,” he murmurs. and he’ll give it to her whenever, wherever.

crys groans and starts to fuss, turning to weakly slap at his chest. “oh, shut up! go get me a damn towel!” here he goes saying some slick shit, right when the moment is good. he’s such an idiot sometimes, but it never fails to put a smile on her face. ony lets out a bellowing laugh, backing off of her and standing on his only slightly wobbling legs. he hopes she didn’t see that, but she’s already talking shit again. “yeah, pussy got you walkin’ crazy,” she sasses as he starts his trek to the bathroom, watching his sweaty but oh so fine figure walk away. ”better act right or you’ll never get it again,” she huffs. ony laughs again, shaking his head. “don’t make me start this shit all over, crystal,” he calls over his shoulder. she rolls her eyes but nuzzles her face into a pillow as she grumbles under her breath. she’s not scared, she’s just still recovering, is all. “yeah, that’s what I thought,” he laughs.

soon, they’re all cleaned up and on fresh sheets, crys refusing to sleep in the crusty bedspread after everything was said and done. they get into a spat about who gets to sleep on which side of the bed, and then over whether they should sleep with some time of light on. ony also demands to cuddle, but crystal fusses that she’ll get too hot and won’t be able to sleep. for that brief period, it’s war.

eventually, though, after bargains and begrudging compromises, crys is on her back on her usual side of the bed and ony is half-sprawled on top of her, head buried in her neck and hand softly rubbing her outer thigh. a random sitcom plays with no sound and the room is a nice, cool temperature with the fan blowing on the both of them. crys caresses ony’s back gently with her nails, eyes closed as she enjoys the weight of him on top of her. the pleasant feeling is like a weighted blanket, lulling her to sleep. ony is holding crys close, enjoying her warmth and presence. he’s taking full advantage of being able to cuddle with her. they fall asleep like this, wrapped up in each other, and wondering what the next day will bring.

hoooooly moooooly. this was not supposed to be this long. was hoping to post this sooner, but the words just kept coming omg. pls excuse any mistakes lmao. hope you like it! feedback welcome and wanted 🫶🏽

[lara4eclipze]

» Gameboy

sypnosis: if crying was fun, ill be having the time of my life — if loving you was a jump, yeah, i probably died a hundred-ten times

warnings: angst, fluff, implied relationship, jelousy, comfort and etc

talks: I'm in an angst mood so.... smut and fluff reqs might take longer

taglist: @ohmyhaely @nyssalvr @vrtualstar @c-yerim @jellaaa @nakylvr @chuugetmesohigh

lara had taken you as her plus one in a hybe artists party — the night was truly a dream, music blasted all throughout the venue as lara was hand in hand with you

yet lara was close to her friends to be specific yunjin — hugging, pet names even small playful jokes, you drowned out your simmering jealousy with a smile and hugs

you thought to yourself that they were just close — maybe you are just less social, perhaps lara was just missing her friend — you are practically arm candy at this point anyways you shouldn't overthink it

yet as you stand at the corner of the venue you could argue is the best spot all you can see is her and lara, her and lara having fun — when you're the one she's supposed to be having fun with, you're the one she should be with

lara barely recognized your presence the rest of the night — she paraded around with yunjin clinging to her arm, laughing about a joke that was too cheesy for you to remember, what you do remember is a feeling that you didn't belong there, you didn't like the place nor the people

music blasted through the speakers, as everyone did cheers to katseye — as you ran up to congratulate your girlfriend, a hand pushed you away a guard to be specific "hybe idols only sorry" the guard stated, "I'm lara's plus one you can..." you looked again at the desi girl — there she was again ms,huh hugging lara and screaming loudly over the music, "nevermind, thank you" you cut off the rest of the sentence walking off

you sat at the table once occupied with the katseye girls now only you and a couple of unfinished plates of food — you didn't care about anything anymore, you wanted to come home — hug lara and ask for reassurance, that you were still who she wanted

of course, you fought yourself to stop overthinking don't mind it, yet the feelings overwhelmed you — you couldn't speak to anyone cause you were practically no one in this room, and you couldn't stand to look at the red-head at all

"hey you alright?" you heard the filipina ask you — snapping you out of your thoughts — you couldn't make out her features well because of the colorful lights blaring all around yet you knew she was worried

"yeah..just drained" you lied, the older girl knew you, you lived for parties like these — that the main reason you met lara, "come with me let's get some drinks" sophia eases and with enough convincing you agreed

you two walk to the bar, sophia orders a mango sunset for both of you — a mocktail cause shockingly the leader didn't like alcohol much

the feeling of loneliness left for a moment — as you and sophia talked, "hey i know lara can be so much sometimes — but she's never been better... you've changed her you know?" sophia says before bidding a short goodbye walking back to the middle of the room to interact with some illit members

you let the words sink in for a bit — has lara changed? has she changed for the better?, sophias words really strung a chord in your heart

until you felt warm tears paint your face — the trickled down like shiny diamonds embezzling your face, you really couldn't handle not being with lara neither

you've changed her the same way she changed you, you wipe away the tears yet they wouldn't stop falling, embarrassingly fast

"my love? where have you-" lara mutters before taking a look at your face "my god are you crying?!, are you alright my love I'm sorry i was just so caught up earlier" lara sputters an apology even though she didn't know what she exactly did to extract such emotions from you

you shush the girl only clinging to her — hiding your face at her neck as you inhale the familiar scent of home — safety and love

"i love you" you both say — lara nuzzles into your hair, smelling that coconut and vanilla shampoo she first offered you

lara would never know what hurts you — cause you didnt even know what did hurt you, its all a part of growing together — improving and nurturing each other even if that meant hurting

[koyagifs]

𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pairing: san x reader au: non idol | exes to friends| genre: angst | fluff word count: 2.8k synopsis: everyone was shocked when they heard you and san broke up. You were the it couple, the one everyone cheered for. warning(s): -

Your hands trembled slightly as you stared at the elegant wedding invitation, the swirling gold letters seeming to mock you. Choi San and Kang Mi Young. You blinked a few times, as if that would somehow make the name disappear, but it stayed firmly etched on the thick, expensive paper.

The room felt a little colder, and the comforting weight of Byeolie's soft paws kneading into your arm was the only thing keeping you grounded. The cat tilted her head, her big, curious eyes gazing up at you as if sensing the sudden shift in your mood.

"Byeolie," you whispered softly, setting the invitation down on the counter. You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling shakily. "Why does life always find a way to throw curveballs like this?"

It had been a while since you and San had parted ways, the relationship fading like a sunset—beautiful in its time but ultimately giving way to darkness. And now, three years later, a new chapter of his life was beginning. With someone else.

The words on the invitation blurred as you blinked back tears. You hadn’t even realized how tight your grip on the edge of the counter had become until Byeolie let out a soft meow, her nose bumping against your hand.

Your voice cracked on the last word, and before you could stop it, a sob clawed its way up your throat. You tried to swallow it down, but it came out anyway—raw and trembling, echoing through the quiet kitchen. Your hands shook as you fumbled for your phone, your vision blurred with tears.

“Where… where is it?” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you swiped at the countertop, pushing aside mail and the wedding invitation you wanted to forget.

Byeolie let out a soft meow, brushing against your leg as if trying to comfort you. Her warmth was a balm against the icy feeling creeping through your chest, but it wasn’t enough. You needed someone—anyone—to steady the storm in your mind.

Finally, your fingers closed around the cool surface of your phone. You unlocked it hastily, scrolling through your contacts with frantic urgency. Who could you call? Who would even understand?

Yunho’s name appeared on the screen, and without thinking, you tapped it.

The phone rang once, twice, and then his familiar, comforting voice answered. “Yn? What’s up?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Another sob escaped instead, and you clamped a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Yunho’s tone shifted instantly, concern lacing his words. “Yn, talk to me. Are you okay?”

“I—I’m not okay,” you managed to choke out, the tears now streaming freely. “Can… can you come over?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just hold on, okay? Don’t move. I’m coming.”

The line went dead, leaving you in the heavy silence of the room. You set the phone down with trembling hands and leaned against the counter, your head hanging low. Byeolie’s soft purring reached your ears as she jumped back onto the counter, her tiny paw nudging your arm.

You wrapped an arm around her, burying your face in her fur as you let the sobs come. For now, you didn’t have to hold it together. Yunho would be here soon, and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t feel so alone in this.

Yunho stared at the wedding invitation in his hand, the swirling gold script catching the dim light of your kitchen. His jaw tensed as his eyes scanned over the names once more. He glanced back up at you, sitting across from him with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you were trying to hold yourself together.

Your leg was bouncing anxiously, a nervous rhythm that filled the silence between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes fixed instead on a faint scuff mark on the floor. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Yunho’s silence wasn’t helping.

“Say something,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. His heart ached as he looked at you, so clearly shattered by this. He hadn’t expected this either, and the invitation in his hand felt heavier with every passing second.

“This is…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a shock. I didn’t even know San was—” He cut himself off, not wanting to make it worse.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Neither did I.”

Yunho hesitated before gently setting the invitation down on the table. His fingers lingered on it for a moment before he slid it aside, out of both your lines of sight. “You don’t have to go, you know,” he said softly, leaning forward. “No one’s forcing you to do this.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely audible. “But it’s not that simple, Yunho. He’s still… he’s still someone I care about, even if we’re not—” You stopped, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill again.

Yunho reached across the table, his large hand covering yours. His warmth was steady and reassuring, grounding you in the whirlwind of emotions. “I get it,” he said quietly. “But, Ynie… you don’t have to face this alone. If you need me, I’ll be right there with you. Whether it’s to talk, to scream, or even to show up to this wedding as your plus one, I’ve got you. Always.”

His words were a small comfort, and for the first time since seeing the invitation, you felt like you could breathe again. You glanced up at him, your watery eyes meeting his earnest ones.

“Thank you, Yunho,” you murmured, your voice still shaky but full of gratitude.

He smiled softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Yunho smiled softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said, his voice warm and steady.

Before you could respond, he stood and gently pulled you into his arms. His embrace was firm but careful, as though he was trying to hold all your broken pieces together. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low hum against your hair. “Let it out, Ynie. I’m here.”

The dam broke, and you clung to him as the tears came in full force, your sobs muffled against his chest. He didn’t say anything else, just held you tightly, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

You cried until your chest ached, until your legs felt weak and the weight of the day began to slip away, carried by Yunho’s unwavering presence. His shirt was damp from your tears, but he didn’t seem to care.

When your sobs eventually quieted to soft sniffles, Yunho pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting gently on your shoulders. His eyes were full of understanding, no judgment, just endless patience and care.

“Feel a little better?” he asked softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You nodded weakly, your voice too hoarse to respond.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Good. Because no matter what happens, you’ve got me. Always.”

For the first time all evening, a tiny, hesitant smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t much, but Yunho saw it and returned it with a brighter one of his own.

“Now,” he said, guiding you to sit down, “how about I make you some tea? And maybe, just maybe, we burn that invitation?”

A laugh bubbled out of you unexpectedly, light and fleeting, but real. “Tea sounds nice,” you said, your voice still shaky but steadier than before.

A couple of days had passed, but the weight of the wedding invitation still lingered in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to push it away. You weren’t expecting any visitors today, so when the doorbell rang, you opened it without much thought—only to freeze in place the moment you saw who was standing on the other side.

San.

He stood there with an awkward smile tugging at his lips, his hands shoved into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. His presence was overwhelming, pulling you back into a tide of emotions you hadn’t fully sorted through yet.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice soft, uncertain.

You stared at him, unable to form a response. Your heart raced, and not in the way it used to when you saw him. Now, it was a messy mix of anger, confusion, and that lingering ache you thought had dulled with time.

“San?” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck—something he always did when he was nervous. “I, uh… I know this is probably the last thing you expected. Or wanted.” He glanced down at the ground, avoiding your eyes. “But I figured… I needed to see you. To talk.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. “Talk?” you repeated, your tone sharper than you intended, the single word laced with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension.

San nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you palpable. Then, slowly, you stepped aside, opening the door wider for him to enter.

Relief flickered across his face, and he offered a small, tentative smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly, stepping past you into the familiar space.

You closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing louder than it should have. The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions neither of you seemed ready to confront. San lingered near the entrance, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned to face him. “Talk.”

San opened his mouth but faltered, his words catching in his throat as he took you in. He wanted to stall, to find an excuse not to dive into the awkward mess of feelings and explanations he’d come here with, but he couldn’t help it—he was mind-blown.

You looked great—amazing, even. Time hadn’t dulled the effortless way you carried yourself, the way you lit up a room just by existing in it. If anything, you seemed even more radiant, more self-assured, and it made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

“San,” you said, your tone sharper now, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and forcing himself to focus. “I just… you look…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a self-deprecating laugh. “Never mind.”

Your brows furrowed, and you tilted your head slightly. “If you’re just here to compliment me, I don’t have time for this.”

“No, no,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “That’s not why I’m here. I just… wow, Ynie. You look incredible, and I—” He stopped himself again, realizing how utterly unprepared he was for this moment.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Get to the point, San.”

“I, uh…” San hesitated, glancing down at his shoes before taking a deep breath. “That wedding invitation,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N, I don’t want it.”

You blinked, your arms dropping slightly as confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean, you don’t want it?”

San shifted nervously, running a hand through his hair, his discomfort evident in the way he avoided your gaze. “The wedding. Y/N, those invitations—I didn’t send them out. My parents did. And her parents.” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Y/N, I’ve never even met the woman until yesterday.”

Your eyes widened, the weight of his words sinking in like a stone. “Wait, what?” you asked, your voice filled with disbelief. “You’re telling me you’re engaged to someone you just met?”

San nodded slowly, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “It’s an arrangement. A business deal, or whatever they want to call it. Her family’s company and mine—it’s all about connections, legacy, and appearances.” He sighed deeply, looking up at you with an almost pleading expression. “I didn’t agree to it, Y/N. They just… decided for me. And now I’m stuck trying to figure out how to fix it.”

Your lips parted to respond, but San’s next words stopped you cold.

“Y/N, I’m still in love with you.” His voice was trembling but resolute, his dark eyes searching yours desperately. “When we broke up, I didn’t want it to happen. We drifted apart because of the company, because of the pressure I was under, and I—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I let it happen,” he admitted, his tone raw and filled with regret. “I let them dictate everything in my life. I told myself I couldn’t have you and keep my family happy at the same time. But I was wrong, Y/N. So wrong.”

Your heart raced, his words slamming into you like a tidal wave. You didn’t know what to say, your emotions twisting painfully in your chest. “San,” you said quietly, your voice wavering, “you can’t just say things like that now. Not when you’re engaged to someone else.”

“I know,” he said quickly, taking a step closer to you, his hands fidgeting as though he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “I know how it sounds. But I swear, this isn’t what I want. None of it is. You… you’re what I want. You’ve always been what I want.”

His words made your knees feel weak, but you forced yourself to stay grounded, to hold on to the anger and hurt that had protected you from the pain he’d caused. “And what am I supposed to do with that, San?” you asked, your voice breaking. “You’re telling me this now, after everything? After you let me go and moved on with your life?”

“I didn’t move on!” he said, his voice rising with desperation. “Don’t you see, Y/N? I’ve been stuck ever since we ended. I’ve been trying to make sense of everything, to figure out a way to make everyone happy, but I can’t. Not without you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you turned away from him, trying to catch your breath. “You don’t get to say this now,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to come here and dump all of this on me like it’s supposed to fix anything.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice heavy with guilt. “I know I’ve messed everything up, Y/N. And maybe it’s too late. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think for one second that I wanted this—any of it.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken plea in his eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not when your heart was caught between wanting to believe him and the painful reality of the situation.

Finally, you took a deep breath and turned back to him, your voice steady despite the tears in your eyes.

"God, you make it hard to hate you..." you mumbled, your voice laced with frustration and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. Without giving yourself another moment to think, you pulled San into a kiss.

It was urgent and messy, your lips finding his as if the words between you both were never enough to say what needed to be said. His hands cupped your face, holding you gently as though afraid to break something delicate, yet the way he kissed you back, with the same intensity, told you everything you needed to know.

For a brief moment, the world outside faded, leaving just the two of you locked in a kiss that was both a question and an answer.

You broke apart first, your breath shaky, as you pulled away just enough to look at him. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“I’m not doing this again, San,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was a plea or a warning.

San opened his eyes slowly, his gaze soft but full of emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you again, Y/N. I swear, I’ll fight for us. But I need you to let me. Please.”

You swallowed, a part of you wanting to believe him, wanting to find a way to fix the broken pieces between you. But there was so much more at stake now, so many things you weren’t sure could be healed.

"I'll always go back to you," San whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with raw emotion. His hands gently cupped your face again, his thumb tracing over your skin like he was trying to memorize every detail, every moment of this.

[k3n-dyll]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; 18+, wlw, fem!reader, infidelity, cowgirl/southern butch!abby, set around 1800's wild west era, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), getting caught

𝐖𝐂 - 1.2k

𝐊𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ☆ I posted this a while ago, hated it, deleted it, kept it, 'fixed it' (?) and now here we are. Still kinda hate it but writer's block is turning me every way but loose.

If you let yourself linger on the thought for a moment—to do a bit of mental gymnastics to subside this nagging feeling of anxiety and shame—this really isn't your fault.

Truly. It isn't. It's theirs.

You weren't the one that wanted to marry, and you sure as hell wouldn't have chosen this suitor of all of them. That was your pious father. Good intentions aside, he was the one that confined you to this life.

And your sorry excuse for a husband, well, he took the other half of the blame. He's never home, and when he is the man always seems to have more important things to do. Not that you want his attention anyway, but still, it'd be nice to at least speak to the person you're forced to live with. Aside from when he wants to be inside of you, of course.

If not for them you wouldn't even be here.

If only your father hadn't mettled with your marital status - let you become a spinster instead. If your scraggly bearded husband had simply kept his shady business dealings in the back of a bar instead of inviting them to his home - her large, calloused hands wouldn't be caught so tightly around your hips. You wouldn't be sitting in the head chair of the office you weren't technically allowed to be in, eyeing the perpetually unfinished paperwork on his desk in a sad attempt to keep yourself grounded.

"You taste so fuckin' good, y'know that?"

Abby's voice and the warm, wet feeling of her tongue dragging along your slit bring you out of your own head, your hips bucking up slightly at the contact you've been all but begging for. Your lidded eyes trail down to the blonde positioned snugly between your legs with a furrowed brow, trying your best to seem disapproving through your moans. 

Who does she think she is? Popping up at your front door in the middle of the day, knowing damn well your husband wasn't home from work. This had only happened a few times before and even so, you knew exactly why she'd come over the moment you saw her and that stupid smug smirk she wears. 

She wanted to take you in his office this time. Defile the sacred workplace of the man she calls a "friend" simply to make you uncomfortable. To remind you that he couldn’t make you feel this good if he tried. 

Her piercing blues gaze right back into your own, half her face hidden by the crinkled up fabric of your skirts as she lets out a muffled laugh, the vibrations of her voice against your core making you shiver.

It's the last you see of her freckled face before your head is tossed back in pleasure, utter filth flooding past your lips as she laps at your cunt. No amount of guilt would ever make you feel low enough to tell her to stop - not when her tongue makes you squirm and twitch in ways your betrothed could only ever dream of doing.

Abby never fails to make herself seem like a woman starved, messily licking and sucking at your pulsing, puffy clit, slurping you up as if you were her first and last ever meal on this Earth.

And she'd be damned if she let you breathe for even a second.

She wants to hear you gasping, gulping for air before she allows herself to pull away and she does more even then. Pushing through a sore jaw and aching fingers without complaint for as long as you could handle it.

"A-Abby... can't take much more" You whine, your thighs squeezing onto either side of her flushed face as you gently palm at the top of her head.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat at the curl of the two thick fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, a low, amused growl coming from Abby at the sound.

"Aw, c'mon baby. Y'got another one in there for me, don't you? You and I both know you won't get to feel this good for a long while once I'm gone" she speaks in that soft, honey-smooth tone that makes you weak in the knees. The gentle southern drawl laced within her every syllable sending jolts of pure ecstasy through your body. Looking down at her is a mistake you never fail to make in this circumstance. She knows what a simple look from her can do to you and she takes advantage of it without remorse, chuckling as she watches you nod eagerly in response.

"Atta girl" She lands a quick smack on your thigh before diving back into you, a concoction of spit and slick spilling down her chin and wetting your inner thighs, the only sound to accompany the smacking and sucking against your pussy being your whorish cries.

Your breathing becomes quicker and more shallow when you're close. Eyes glazing over as your jaw slacks, brows knitted together in desperation for another orgasm. Your tells are so predictable, yet so incredibly delicious to Abby. This is a state only she gets to see you in. Not that you've ever confirmed it aloud for her but regardless, it's clear that the pompous ass you're married to doesn't have the skill to make you cum.

"Say it, darlin'. C'mon, you know what I wanna hear" Abby growls, popping up from underneath your skirt, detaching her lips from around your clit, and replacing them with her thumb just to speak. Just to taunt you. You do know what she wants to hear, and part of you wants to roll your eyes at the thought. Maybe you would have if your brain wasn’t so fogged over - if you weren't so aware that she'd stop pumping her fingers inside of you completely if you didn't give her the satisfaction - maybe you would be so bold as to give her attitude.

"Only you - fuck! Only you can make me feel like this"

Abby chuckles “Yeah? He couldn’t make you feel this good, could he? Need me to take care of you, ain’t that right?”

You can only nod, bottom lip pinched between clenched teeth, the dam of tension resting in your abdomen readying to burst.

"I know, sweet thing. You wanna cum for me? C’mon, one more time.."

Your orgasm is blinding and loud, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead as you convulse under her touch, and your hair that had once been so neatly tied up is now a mess of frizz. You don't even hear the front door open from downstairs. Nor do you hear the footsteps that follow, too occupied with rutting yourself onto her fingers, gushing with each snap of your hips. Abby is just as oblivious, lifting up from her place between your thighs to crash her lips onto yours, too focused on wanting you to taste yourself on her tongue to even notice the jingling office door doorknob.

It's only when you both hear the old door begin slowly creaking open that your attention is snatched from one another, expressions shifting from ones of lust and satisfaction to pure horror as you both make eye contact with the twisted-up, angry face of the man you had just slandered aloud.

Shit.

Donations 4 Palestine - TLOU2 Masterlist

Taglist ; @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery , @tohoko, @rkivedpages,

@misfits-army-van, @vifilmsfilms , @dinakisser, @marsworlddd, @urbayolet

[theclownghoul]

Gratuitous

Opinion piece & analysis

I really hate how Jinx’s suicidality is portrayed in S2, largely in Act lll but we’ll talk about all of it.

In S1 we have about three moments (by my count) that show Jinx harming herself or trying to end her life. Hitting herself in episode 3, being careless with the staples in episode 7 and pulling the pin on the bridge also in episode 7. There is also a line she says to Vi “You’re the reason I’m still alive” in episode 9 which given other things she says in that moment could be interpreted as other ideations.

What makes these moments different from S2 episode 9? Well none of the three main writers were credited to those episodes other than the dialogue in S1 episode 9. Most of them are communicated through animation only. They also just feel different, they’re vulnerable, other things are the focus and her doing these things is just a reaction to those feelings. There was something to get from the scene besides a showcase of her pain.

Episode 9 of S2 is not that. It’s gratuitous, it’s a spectacle, it’s gory and somehow losing all its impact. There’s the music which is not what I’d call tasteful or subtle. It’s making an impression, wants to force a feeling or reaction. Make you sad or horrified and oh, I was horrified but not the way they wanted.

Even the way she digs her nails into her cuticles in S2 episode 8 isn’t really meant to show us anything about her. It’s meant to affect the audience.

In comparison I almost appreciate how people have read her pulling the pin in S1 episode 7 as trying to manipulate or take Ekko out too instead of being a completely clear cut attempt. Because it at least shows that there is enough going on with the character’s mindset that we can speculate on her motivations and how she’s reacting to all the emotions that came from fighting her old friend. If you look at her face it’s sadness and regret (S1 is also better at story through facial expressions since there was forethought). You’re free to have your own reaction, not the one that’s set out for you.

I have mixed feelings about her fight with Vi now and telling Vi that she’s okay to go out by her hand. It feels closer to the moments in S1 than later in episode 9. There’s more going on, we’re meant to consider multiple layers of both her and Vi’s feelings in the moment. It’s a non explicit parallel to the Bridge and does show a pattern of behaviour. It’s also not credited to any of the main writers.

The scene from the opening of episode 9 as a whole, is it romanticization? Heard differing opinions on this and I honestly don’t know where I stand. One one hand it shows how empty she feels and how everything has come crashing down despite trying and it communicates her emotions through the images and music. On the other the scene is meant to be visually appealing while also showing her detonating the bomb very explicitly, like you see her blood. I’m sorry but this is some 13 reasons shit. None of this is helped by the fact that Isha was killed purposely to get her in this state.

I had way more emotions about the actual story in the scene with Ekko in S1 and the scene with Vi in episode 3. Originally I liked this scene but I just can’t really remember why exactly, especially when compared to the earlier ones. The other scenes aren’t lacking in any way when it comes to showing her despair so I’m lead to believe it’s a stylistic choice in line with S2’s music video focus.

Then there’s Ekko… what did he do to deserve this? I’ve said before that if he had to he would save her but the reason he had to was because this scene sounded like a good idea. Saw someone say why is it his responsibility to save her and yeah why? He’s her romantic interest? Not from her perspective at this point and that’s a terrible reason anyway. Not only are we shown her blowing herself up in detail, being inflicted with it but he also has to see that, multiple times. Please don’t make me think too long about it… then we don’t see what actually changes her mind and actually see their bond. That also doesn’t give me a lot of faith is what they think is important to show.

Then she sacrifices herself at the end to “break the cycle” which no one is actually clear on what is meant by that and the same damn song is playing. It’s weird.

I’d like to compare it to the Poison sequence from Hazbin Hotel since that scene faced backlash for romanticizing abuse specifically in that scene. If I can describe what makes Poison not exploitative and what makes Wasteland so then I can safely say they are different and there is something deeply sinister about Jinx’s scene.

Poison benefits internally, inside the context of the story from being visually appealing and pretty. That tells part of the story in and of itself and eventually it cracks, mirroring how Angel feels in the scene and in his situation.

Wasteland benefits externally, it’s done for the audience as I’ve been saying. There is nothing about Jinx’s mindset or actions that we get a better insight into from the stylistic choices. We know “she loves a spectacle” but that’s the only internal explanation that I could make. Even if they wanted the cutting of her hair and the burning on the last drop but the framing could have easily been different.

Think about the staple scene for contrast, it has no interest in being something other than what it is, brutal and disorienting, just as she is feeling in that moment. Jinx would behave that way whether there were “eyes” on her or not. Poison is the same, Angel “performs” to keep his thoughts at bay regardless of an audience. Wasteland only exists in its current form to entertain.

The final “sacrifice” also falls into this, solely focusing on eliciting a reaction from the audience and making a spectacle of sadness. There is no resolution to Jinx’s earlier conversation with Ekko, we don’t see her reflect, we don’t see a change. We have no reason to believe she’s in any way in a better place. Her decision to give her life for Vi’s isn’t particularly fleshed out and this as a conclusion to her arc is bizarre at best and offensive at worst, suggesting she had to remove herself from her loved ones lives, something she simultaneously feared and was tempted by.

I probably shouldn’t feel the need to make such a caveat but I am aware that the could be a matter of preference when it comes to how scenes like this are portrayed but the way this scene was done continues to strike me as odd. I can’t help but think it maybe intentionally or unintentionally is playing into the “sacrifice” message where, it may be a sad thing but Jinx had to die. And that’s a horrible thing to say.

[bestiainfinita]

I had a discussion on Instagram about Eurylochus and wanted to share it here , the post where this conversation happened is irrelevant but it was about Eurylochus and the end of the Thunder Saga, anyways I made a comment and this guy’s responded:

Then I responded with this across some comments (I chose not to use screen caps for most of my things because they are a lot of comments and it might be over the limit of them, and I had the stuff I said saved):

Lol what are you in buddy???

First of all, since the start Eurylochus has had one objective in mind just like Odysseus, Eurylochus wanted to protect the crew and to get them home while Odysseus wanted to go home to be with his son and wife, that’s the main reason the diversion between Eury and Ody happened, because Ody cared more about getting home than about the crew, while Eury cared more about the crew than getting home.

In ‘Full Speed Ahead’ (Song 03) he tells Ody that they are out of food and they need to feed THE CREW so he asks the captain / king what they should do, because that’s is what he’s supposed to do, he proposes attacking and just taking the food because he wants to ensure food for the crew no matter what, this is also proveen in ‘Polyphemus’ (Song 06) when the first thing he says is “There are enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet” he was thinking about the crew again. Then in ‘Remeber Them’ (Song 09) he’s the one who ask “But captain, what do we do with our fallen friends?” because he CARES about the crew.

Also he not only cares about the crew but he cares about Odysseus too (he’s part of the crew but anyways), this is better shown in ‘Luck Runs Out’ (Song 11); “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “I just don’t wanna see another life end” “You are like the brother I could never do without”.

Then in the same song (‘Luck Runs Out’) we understand why he opened the wind bag. He was afraid, he was afraid of the Gods and what they might do to him, Odysseus and the crew; “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “Or piss off this God and infuse us with strife” “Don’t forget how dangerous the gods are”.

Now the Circe thing, y’all have very selective hearing and didn’t understood Eury at all, he is still afraid during this song (‘Puppeteer’ Song 14); he’s afraid of a Goddess, of Circe, he gave those men for dead because they were captured by a literal Goddess, and he is also afraid of what she might to to Odysseus and the rest of the crew if they try to face her; “Think about the men we have left before there’s none, let’s just cut our loses, you and I, and let’s run” “What if she can’t be killed!? — Will you chose to leave?”

By the way, I would like to point out that in this song (‘Puppeteer’) Odysseus says “There’s no length I wouldn’t go, if it was you I’d have to save, I can only hope you’ll do the same…” and Eurylochus responds by literally doing that, by trying to stop Odysseus from going into that suicidal mission, (let me remind y’all that the only reason Odysseus stood his ground against Circe was thanks to Deus Ex Hermes).

And another thing, some of you people like to say Eurylochus wanted Odysseus gone or blasphemy like that, then why didn’t he killed him in ‘Mutiny’ (Song 24), he had Odysseus stabbed and defenseless but he didn’t killed him, he and the crew just restrained him and treated all of his wounds, they didn’t want him dead, they just couldn’t trust him anymore and therefore couldn’t have him as his captain.

Then they said this (ignoring stuff I already talked about):

And finally I finished the conversation and responded with this:

1. I literally addressed the Circe situation in my previous comments, and explained how he gave those men for dead because to save them they would have had to fight a LITERAL GODDESS (remember they just lost 11 ships / more than 500 men to another God), and again, the only reason Ody won / was able to talk it through was thanks to Hermes’s intervention.

2. Again, I believe the treasure was a misdirection, and the real reason was fear, as I have explained before / in my previous comments.

3. If he wanted to forget what he did and act like nothing have happened, he wouldn't even have confessed in the first place, so it's obviously not about that.

4. That part was a metaphor, see how it is similar to 'Luck Runs Out' in the way that one was talking as a friend and the other as his title, in 'Luck Runs Out' Odysseus is the one talking as a friend while in 'Mutiny' Eurylochus is the one talking as a friend (we know because he called him "Ody" instead of "Captain"), so he was talking one on one and Odysseus was responding talking about himself about how HE wanted to go back to HIS kingdom HIS son and HIS wife ignoring what Eurylochus was saying to him as well as his concerns (like he did in ‘Luck Runs Out’), then the crew jumps in showing Odysseus that all of the crew thinks the same, that they are all tired, that they are all hurt, and that they are all hungry, something that Odysseus's own suffering has made him oblivious to, and now he tries to talk to the crew, to calm them and convince them, but he has already shown them that his priority is himself, so they ignore his pleading and try to give themselves comfort in the only way they currently can, try so solve the only problem they as mere men are able to, and so they killed the cattle to eat.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut; “a pocketful of Kons”. Rewrote/added-to/edited the first few paragraphs of this scene, so including the adjusted intro in here too. content warnings: Cassie is a teenage girl with anxiety/self-worth issues who is not old enough to understand why her mom is so concerned about the idea of "Superman" being her soulmate and therefore has some, like, somewhat unhealthy/concerning thought processes about how she should BE Superman's soulmate. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Cassie’s never actually been to the Watchtower before, and it’s maybe a little embarrassing how cool she can’t help thinking it all is. Cas seems to think it’s pretty cool too–which makes sense, since it’s technically his first time here too and on top of that also a pretty important place to Superman–and keeps zipping ahead and around curiously and then back to her again and again. Sometimes he takes Odie with him, but mostly he gets excited and forgets to. 

He'd gotten really excited when Cassie'd changed into her costume before they'd come up here, but she's still kind of flustered about that particular experience so like, she's maybe just . . . not gonna think about it right now. 

He'd been really, really excited, though. She doesn't think anybody's ever been so happy to see her version of Wonder Girl, even people whose lives she was, like, actively saving at the time. 

Diana gives Cas a thoughtful look while he’s following the elevator buttons as they light up from floor to floor, but doesn’t say anything about it. 

“I spoke with Zatanna when I called in earlier,” she says instead as they step out of the elevator, and Cassie feels increasingly embarrassed about . . . literally everything, basically. How many people exactly did Diana tell about Cas? And how many of those people are gonna be here and want to ask her questions about him, possibly at the same time?

She’s not, like–Cas is her Pocket; she’s not ashamed of him. 

She is super, super embarrassed about the idea of Zatanna and Black Canary and Green Arrow and the Flash and every single Green Lantern and probably, like, Batman all asking her why Superman’s her soulmate. Like–definitely that sounds embarrassing. 

Or life-alteringly mortifying, at least. 

“Uh, did she . . . say anything?” Cassie asks awkwardly, not really sure why Diana mentioned that anyway. “Like, um–about . . . Superman, or whatever.” 

“She informed me of the fact that he appears to have returned to Metropolis, of course, but also that he has made no attempt to contact the League,” Diana says. “Nor anyone else he might've been expected to.” 

Cassie . . . blinks. Who else would he even . . . ? 

Well–probably Supergirl, she guesses. She doesn't think Supergirl's in the League or anything. But otherwise, well . . . it's not like there's all that many people running around with the “S” on or anything. Like, it's really just the two of them, right? 

And if his first soulmate isn't dead–like, he'd want to see her, obviously. 

Or maybe Diana means, like–her. 

Superman has to have a Pocket of her too, after all, and if hers showed up in costume like Cas did . . . well, it's not like she'd be that hard to find. Especially not for Superman. With how fast he is, he could've been in Gateway about five seconds after deciding he wanted to be in Gateway. So like, if he had wanted to . . . 

Cassie feels a little–weird about that, for some reason. Like . . . a little freaked-out, maybe. She doesn't know why; he's her soulmate. There's nothing to get freaked-out by. Even if he's probably the greatest hero of the sector after Diana and basically everyone not a supervillain idolizes and adores and trusts him and he’s, like–he's Superman, and she's . . . 

Well. She's definitely not Wonder Woman, if nothing else. Or Troia, either. She's just kind of . . . here, maybe. Like–by comparison and all, she means. 

Cassie thinks about how cold and empty Superman’s face had looked on the feed from Metropolis and feels a little weirder, and still doesn't know why. Which–she needs to, like–stop that, obviously. Needs to step up here. If Superman needs her, she can't be weird around him. Whether his other soulmate's dead or not, whatever's wrong with him is clearly really wrong. 

Just–his face. He’d looked so . . . 

She just needs to not get–weird, or anxious, or whatever about that. She just needs to be, like–just needs to figure out what he needs, and how to be that. That’s all. Like, what if he had come looking for her and she’d gotten freaked-out on him? How would that help him? He literally got beat to death in front of the whole world by a monster nobody else could take out, and his other soulmate might be dead, and his face looked like that, and . . . 

She just needs to figure out how to be what he needs. That’s just, like–that’s obviously what she has to do. She has to figure it out, and then she has to be it. 

She doesn’t understand why her mom’s so upset that someone actually needs her, for once. 

“Uh . . . so do they think that’s, like . . . a bad sign, then?” she asks, a little awkward. She’s heard a few million weird ways that people in the community “died” or un-died, and plenty of them weren’t really, like . . . necessarily benevolent ones, she guesses would be the best way to describe it. “Like do they think he’s got amnesia or something? Or like, did he not even actually die, or did he only just come back, or–I dunno, was he only gone so long because somebody just had his body locked up somewhere or–?” 

Cas makes a weird sound she’s never heard a Pocket make before, and she–blinks, and looks over towards him reflexively. He zips over and hovers over her shoulder, tugging insistently at the long ends of her wig and making the sound again. It’s sort of . . . 

It doesn’t sound like he’s singing, but it’s . . . musical, sort of. 

Diana tilts her head and gives Cas another thoughtful look. 

“Cas?” Cassie asks, frowning at him. “What’s . . . wrong?” 

She’s not actually sure something’s wrong, but the musical sound is–weird, kinda. Like, it’s sort of cute, but also she’s just never heard any Pocket make it before. Like, not even on TV or in a movie or anything. 

Is it a Kryptonian thing, maybe? Or is it because of whatever made Superman’s face look so–empty? 

“Wondy!” Cas protests. “Wondy Wondy!” 

“Um . . .” Cassie trails off, not sure what he’s upset about or if he actually is upset, or is just trying to tell her something. He looks kind of upset, now, but more in a frustrated way than anything else. 

Cas makes an indignant face, his cheeks puffing out in–frustration, maybe? annoyance?–and yanks at her wig again, this time hard enough to tug at the clips in her hair and nearly pull it crooked. Cassie reflexively grabs the other side to tug it back down, and Cas makes the musical sound again, louder. 

It actually doesn’t even really sound like a sound a person would make. More like something, like . . . maybe more like something an instrument would. 

Odie churrs inquisitively, and Cas lets go of her wig, scowls at her, and then zips over to Diana’s shoulder instead and throws himself at Odie, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and lets him burrow in against his side and very obviously sulk there like a grumpy little kid. 

. . . yeah, Cassie has literally zero clue what to take from that behavior.

[grenadehearts]

um um um if ur in an ochako mood 🫣🫣🫣🫣 gym gf ochaaaa 😩😩🩷🩷 im thinking smau but tbh whatever inspires u if you feel it <333

SLIM PICKINS (gym!gf!ochako x f!reader)

authors note: ughh buff ochako i love u shes such a girlkisser idccc m.list + alsooo emergency commissions are open! more info here comms <3

gym!gf!ochako who always drinks a birthday cake protein shake before her vigorous workouts. And despite your immediate reaction of “yuck” every time she tries to get you to take a sip—her round cheeks and plump lips forming into a shit-eating grin—her eyes hold no malice. She just loves teasing you, is all.

gym!gf!ochako who, despite you deeming her protein shakes as disgusting, always makes sure to stop by the local café near the apartment (you both share) to pick up your favorite blueberry matcha (extra cold foam, of course). She jogs into the apartment, a cheeky grin dotting her face as she holds the cold drink in one of her large hands and a chocolate chip muffin in the other (yes, she always picks up a sweet treat for you). She taps her foot obnoxiously, letting out a loud “sighhh” when she grows impatient, and just when she turns to jog out the door for the gym—you're pulling her back in by the strap of her sports bra, planting messy kisses all over her face (because if she gets to tease, then so do you!).

"There, done pouting now?" you grin.

Ochako just huffs, turning her face slightly, pink dusting her cheeks, before you squeeze her face together with one hand, making her resemble a pufferfish.

"Ya big baby."

And just like that, she becomes a stuttering, blushing mess before finally planting a quick kiss on your forehead and dashing out the door.

gym!gf!ochako who drags you to the gym every Saturday. Now, you hate the gym—hate being watched, hate the ogling guys—but the perk of dating a pro hero? You get a secluded gym.

Today is supposed to be your yoga class, the one you had begged Ochako to join. So here you are, trying to meditate, but all you can hear is the fidgeting noises she’s making—shuffling, sighing, adjusting, tapping her fingers on the mat. She’s restless, her body needs to move.

"Babe... Babe... Babeeee."

Her voice is a quiet whine, insistent. She pokes at your arm, then your thigh, then your cheek.

You finally give in—because you're a totally nice girlfriend (totally not because you wanna see her bench press 380 with ease).

And when she does? Yeah. You’re so not regretting giving in.

gym!gf!ochako who’s always supporting you, even when she’s deep in training with Gunhead (when their schedules align, anyway—pro hero life and all). She always makes sure to drag you with her, claiming she needs you there for support. But in reality? You give her something to fight for. You’re her motivation.

Every time she dodges a punch, her head turns just enough to find your eyes—your cheerful smile—and it’s exactly what keeps her going.

And, of course, she loves to cheer you on, too. Whether it’s yoga, pilates, or whatever you do (she gets them confused a lot), she’s always on the sidelines, clapping and grinning like your biggest fan.

gym!gf!ochako who loves to watch your eyes roll, followed by a scoff, whenever she flexes in front of you in the most annoying way possible. Acting like some dudebro, puffing out her chest, waggling her brows—all of it done solely to piss you off.

But what she doesn’t know is how bad it makes you wanna kiss her stupid.

gym!gf!ochako who insists on carrying all your bags. Her quick reflexes mean she’s always the first to scoop them up before you even reach for them. And at even the mention of your feet hurting after an all-day shopping trip? Yeah, you’re in her arms before you can protest.

gym!gf!ochako who you forced to do the Slim Pickins trend with… but the moment she hoists you up with one arm (effortlessly might I add), you both immediately get distracted, giggles spilling between you.

The video plays in the background, but neither of you care.

Because soon enough, she’s coating your face in incessant pecks of kisses, the sound of your laughter mixing with the faint audio—

"A boy, who’s jacked and kind."

And yeah, that's your girl.

p.s sorry if this isn't my best work i'm sorta unsure of how to write gym goers honestly butttt i loved this idea so thank u for requesting <3

[awardenandacrow]

FANFIC SNIPPET 41

[Lucanis and Naimy finally stop missing each other]

CW/TW: SPICE! SMUT! THE MAIN EVENT! THE GIF OF THE OFFICE GUY SAYING OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING! Aka our angsty stressed out heroes were tired of waiting for me to let them have sex.

🫣 I’ve never shared smut before EVER with ANYONE I hope you enjoy.

NOTE: I’ve decided “mi Vida” is a placeholder endearment; it’s come to my attention that this is Spanish not Italian, but also I want Lucanis to call Naimy something along the lines of “light of my life” or something because there’s a theme of Naimy being an eternal ray of sunshine/the paper lantern thing/Lucanis talking about her breaking apart his gloom clouds/etc but I don’t know Italian so I’m still researching that.

Additional note: the last little bit with Spite was inspired/gifted by @arookacrow 🥰

——————————————————————————

“Just… don’t leave,” Naimeryn choked out, her voice almost a sob. Lucanis gazed into her eyes, unwavering, calm, his hands on her thighs grounding her into the room, into the space between them, and shook his head, ever so slightly.

“Never,” he promised. Soft. Solemn. Certain.

His next gentle kiss was burning devotion. He leaned into her, laying her back onto the couch beneath him. Spite’s wings unfurled, wrapping around them protectively.

SAFE, she heard him hiss contendedly.

Lucanis’s hands slowly slid up her sides, his fingers flexing as they did. Naimeryn squeezed her thighs against his hips, drinking in how warm he was, how solid, how *real.* His weight, pressing carefully down on her, assuaged her fears, steadied her heartbeat, and dislodged the lump in her throat. She wrapped her arms under his, around his shoulders, and clung to him.

They were here. They were *alive*. Both of them. She gripped his shoulder blades, reassuring herself. He rewarded her by deepening their kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth slowly, as though there was no rush. As though morning weren’t hurtling towards them. His teeth grazed her lips, and she wrapped hers around his upper one, sucking gently. He groaned into her mouth.

She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her hip, but this did not stir nerves in her stomach as it had before. If he was ready, so was she. She knew this with an absolute certainty stronger than any she’d experienced before this exact moment.

Naimeryn pulled her arms back around to his front, running her fingers through his beard, up into his hair. She could feel Lucanis simultaneously sliding one of the new silver bands from Taash off the end of her braid. His other hand cupped her face as his fingers worked slowly, purposefully, sliding through at each plait from bottom to her scalp, pulling her hair loose. The braid no more, he raked his fingers through once more from the top of her head, down its full length, simultaneously grazing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, down across her breast. A shudder ran down her spine.

As Lucanis switched hands to undo her other braid, Naimeryn slid her hands to his collar, playing with his chain. Not nervously. But… he was taking his time, and his lack of urgency was rubbing off on her. If they were up until morning… would either of them really be able to sleep, anyway? Carefully, she undid the clasp behind the left crow skull, allowing her access to his buttons.

All of her hair free, he fisted his hands in it, tugging gently to tilt her head back. He flicked his tongue against her ear before beginning to kiss down her neck, and she sighed. Warmth and longing. She started unhooking his buttons, her inexperienced fingers feeling clumsy. He sighed against her throat, and the sensation covered her in goose flesh.

“Lucanis,” she murmured.

“Yes, *mi Vida?*”

“I…” she hesitated. Would he stop her again?

He pulled back just enough to let his brown eyes burn into hers. She couldn’t have stopped herself now if the fate of Thedas depended on it. She felt her eyes well with the emotion threatening to rip itself from her chest if she didn’t open her mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered. He smiled.

“I know, Naimy. And I…” as though he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and kissed her so passionately it made her head spin.

“I love you, Naimy,” he professed against her lips. “Mierda, mi vida, I love you.”

Once the words were out, it was as though the dam they’d carefully built over the months simply broke. Hands working in unison, rapid movements, the shedding of clothes which couldn’t seem to happen fast enough. Naimeryn burned, desperate to feel her skin flush with his, relishing in the feel of it beneath her palms as he shrugged out of his shirt. He left a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses down her neck as he undid the clasps at the front of hers, continuing to kiss down her torso as each bit of skin was exposed. His attentions turned Naimeryn into a trembling, moaning puddle beneath him, her heartbeat pounding between her legs.

She sat up towards Lucanis to shimy the garment off, and he gazed at her in awe for a moment before allowing himself to return to her with hands and lips and teeth and tongue. Naimeryn carded her fingers through his hair with a needy mewl as one thumb pressed against a pert nipple and his other hand worked her belt. She was overwhelmed by it all. She wanted him closer. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted… everything, all at once.

But Lucanis slowed his pace again, his fingers curling around the waistband of her pants, but then remaining. She’d been reaching for his belt, but when he hesitated, so did she. He shifted his upper body up, so she straddled his hips but still laid back on the couch, his hands at her hips. She’d felt a tremor of nerves, but the way he was gazing down at her now… his chest heaving, his eyes hooded and dark… his lips smeared with her lipstick. She blushed under the intensity of his gaze, her heart fluttering over the pure *want* written all over his face.

“Is everything all right?” She asked gently, still pausing with her fingertips on his belt buckle.

“Everything is better than all right,” he told her, his fingers flexing in her hips, pulling her waistband down just slightly. Slowly, she began the task of undoing his belt without taking her eyes off of his face. He shook his head slightly, a strange smile curling his lips.

“Everything is perfect,” he said softly. “I only wish to ensure this is what you want.”

“This is what I want,” Naimeryn said immediately, pulling at the fastenings of his trousers, but then sliding her fingertips up along his abs, as far as she could reach without sitting up. “I want *you.* Whatever you’re willing to give me.”

“And if I’m willing to give you everything?” He asked softly, leaning back over her to place a scorching kiss on her lips.

“I want it all,” she sighed into his mouth.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than he’d broken the kiss, her pants sliding down to her knees, then off completely. Gooseflesh covered her as Lucanis tossed them aside, gazing hungrily down at her fully naked form as he slid his down as well.

Naimeryn was unsure if it would be stranger to look as she longed to, or stranger to not. She’d looked away when they’d swam in the canals, and after that he’d always had his pants on. But now…

Now they stared at one another, naked as the days they’d been born. Naimeryn had starved many times in her life, yet somehow she’d never felt a hunger so keen as the one she felt now, with Lucanis’s nude form standing over her, illuminated in the fish tank’s glow. She wanted him back, wanted to touch. Without waiting for him to return to the couch, she crawled to him, popping up on her knees to wrap her hands around his neck. She kissed him gently, softly. They could take their time, she reminded herself.

At the first tentative brush of his fingers against the fork of her legs, those thoughts were banished. She gasped and deepened the kiss, nipping at his lips as he gave a more purposeful stroke against her clit — too hard. She took a seething breath, and his next touch was apologetically soft. She slid one hand down his chest, running her nails along his flesh, and he moaned softly into her mouth. The sound set the throbbing between her legs to a fever pitch. Nervously, she floated her palm against his hip, then along his length. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, desperately trying to remember *anything* she’d read in those books Bellara had leant her.

It was incredibly difficult to formulate a thought when her legs were quaking against the hand buried between her thighs, when her throat kept pushing out sounds she was unsure if she should suppress.

She doubted she could have if she tried.

Lucanis’s fingers slid into her, and she gasped, nearly forgetting to stroke him as well. She winced at the *squelch* of his attentions, embarrassed, but then his other hand squeezed her ass and his lips found her ear and she forgot. Both of them were breathing raggedly, and his deft fingers had already drawn her dangerously close to the edge.

“Please,” she managed to breathe out.

His fingers withdrew, his dry hand guiding her to lay back down on the couch.

“Stop me if anything hurts,” he breathed into her ear, squeezing her hand before guiding himself in.

Whatever Lucanis thought was supposed to hurt, certainly did not. Naimeryn gasped and arched her back off the couch, gripping his shoulders as he rocked his hips into hers. His mouth claimed her throat, one arm wrapped tightly around her, holding her firmly to his chest. His other forearm pressed against the couch, curled around her head protectively. He steadily built momentum, but after their foreplay, Naimeryn tumbled over the edge almost immediately, her eyes fluttering closed as her core tightened, and then released. A crescendo of sensation washed over her, every nerve in her body alight with feeling. His hips stuttered, and he recaptured her mouth with his as he buried himself within her with a final, firm thrust.

“I thought… you’d never done this before,” Naimeryn teased breathlessly, still not opening her eyes. He kissed her softly.

“I’ve been reading romance novels for years,” he told her, his breath also erratic. “I had a strong theoretical foundation.”

Naimeryn laughed at him, finally opening her eyes to gaze up at him, her heart full as she squeezed her thighs experimentally against his sides. “Theoretical foundation my ass.”

He smirked and kissed her again. “You are satisfied, then?”

Naimeryn stroked the side of his face. She nodded, suddenly so overcome by her own emotions she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes stung. Concern flashed across his face, but she shook her head and kissed him quickly. This did not seem to assuage his nerves.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m just… overwhelmed?” Tears slid along her cheeks despite her resolve to hold them in. What was wrong with her? She was happy, happier than she’d ever been. Why did she also feel so… exhausted? Was it just… everything catching up to her? But why did it have to happen *now*?

He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. “Would you like to get up?”

“No, please!” She flexed her fingers against his shoulders. “I don’t want to move just yet.”

“As you wish,” he said gently, stroking her hair. Naimeryn flushed.

“I… really like it when you say that,” she told him sheepishly when he gave her a quizzical look.

“I shall endeavor to say it more often then,” he promised, planting another soft kiss on her lips.

…

YOU GOT HER. *MESSY.* Spite grumbled. FIX HER. HAIR! WRONG.

Naimeryn laughed. “Believe it or not, Spite, braided is NOT it’s natural state.”

I’VE SEEN IT. BEFORE. THIS IS. MESSY!

“Besides,” Lucanis murmured, ignoring Spite and reaching up to swirl a strand around his index finger, “I like when you let it down.”

Spite began grumbling, but seemed to be moving away, aware that whatever he said would likely continue to go unacknowledged.

She carded her fingers through Lucanis’s hair in turn, and his eyelids fluttered contentedly.

“Are you going to sleep?” She whispered, gently rubbing her thumb against his forehead and her fingers across his scalp.

[samuraionyourmom]

Been thinking about my Android Dazai AU lately. I've been asking myself a couple of questions about it since no one else seems to 😒 /lh (if you have any questions, please send them in, I beg. I yearn to yap). I've been mostly asking myself these questions to help me flesh out this AU better, and I thought I'd share my process.

If you haven't heard about it, you can check out my other posts about it here as well as the fic I made for it!

So, anyway, onto my ramblings. Prepare for an info dump and a half.

I'm sticking with the main question I've been asking myself for this post, and that is:

Why did Mori create Dazai? Why not just stick with Elise? What are his motivations?

This has been one of the toughest questions I've been faced with when I imagine this AU. It stumped me for a long while, so I just ignored it for the time being. But after a deep analysis of Mori's character, I've come to a conclusion.

Right off the bat, I'd like to make it clear that Mori has no creepy or pedophilic reasons for creating Dazai in this AU, so throw that thought away. I don't want to hear about it.

For starters, I'd like to lay out who Mori is as a person. Or how I view him, anyway. Deep down, Mori longs to take care of someone. We see this in Beast when he's free from his duties as Boss and is able to open up an orphanage. He states that he wishes he could have saved Dazai instead of manipulating him like he did.

But as it currently stands in the main timeline, Mori is unable to indulge in this desire. He is a slave to the organization, as he puts it, and he has a duty to go with the most logical solution as its leader. Facts over feelings and all that. Whether that means pushing Yosano to her limit despite his own hatred for using fear as a way to control people or sacrificing Oda, someone who he knows is very dear to Dazai, for the sake of obtaining the permit.

All this to say that Mori is very repressed. Personally, I say that these secret desires manifest themselves in Elise. She has some of Yosano and Dazai’s characteristics, both people Mori wish he could've cared for properly, and he spoils her openly, almost as if he's trying to make up for lost time.

Now, back to the AU. Elise's existence allows Mori to indulge in his fantasies, yes, but he wants something tangible. Elise is a manifestation of his own wants, but she's not real. So Mori decides to make an android. Maybe it's in a moment of weakness, so desperate for something, anything, to care for to make up for the pain he's caused.

Why not just adopt a child? Well, as much as he would like to, having a child in the Port Mafia isn't a wise decision, morally or logically. So he settles for an artificial one. It's different enough from Elise because it's something that can just vanish into thin air like she does. Something physical.

He works tirelessly to design, engineer, and produce an android that can give him as close to what he wants as possible. Not a baby, though. He couldn't bear that. He settles on a young teen for the design (again, not for creepy reasons, you weirdos). Something that he could care for, but isn't entirely helpless.

I imagine the first thing Mori did was create the AI for this thing before working on the body, and suddenly, this AI just starts yapping at him from his computer. The android takes on a life of their own. Starts calling themselves "Osamu Dazai." Orginally, Mori was set on creating a feminine-leaning android (his failures with Yosano are still haunting him at this point), but Dazai's like: uh, hell no. I am Osamu Dazai. I am a boy. Fix my body, u stupid doctor. (I love transzai)

Anyway, Dazai helps Mori design the body he wants. It's more androgynous than before, which Dazai enjoys. He's implemented into it shortly after it's finished, and voila, our favorite little bandage boy, is born.

Sure, Dazai isn't exactly what Mori had envisioned when he first started the project. He had imagined something more docile, easier to project his desires onto. But Dazai is what he is, and he won't be changed now. He's here now, and he's here to stay. Very human, despite how he came into this world or how much he denies it.

I may or may not have been influenced by the recent release of the Stormbringer Manga with that last bit. Anyway, Dad Mori is real. He's just not very good at it.

[croxxbow13]

Not Tonight

Summary: Daryl and Rosita were both affected by Denise’s death, whether they want to talk about it or not. So they look for comfort in the bottle of a whiskey bottle.

Word Count: 6k

Notes: takes place immediately following Denise’s death in Season 6 Episode 14: Twice As Far. During the Alexandria era, right before the Savior arc. Rewatched the episode last night and seeing these two together and the opportunity just presented itself. I feel like they deserved it lol

Warnings: 18+ MDNI - language, consensual sex, alcohol consumption, slight angst.

I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother and sometimes you actually make me feel safe.

Daryl’s lungs burned. His arms ached, every muscle pulling tight with each motion as he drove the shovel into the dirt. He felt the beads of sweat as they rolled down his brow and into his eyes. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

And I wanted you here because you're alone. Probably for the first time in your life.

His fingers clenched around the wooden handle, rough and splintered, gripping it tight like it was the only thing holding him together. Carol stood across from him. He could feel her eyes on him, but she didn’t speak. She knew he wouldn’t talk about it even if she asked.

And because you're stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be, too.

Denise’s words played through his mind as he shoveled harder. Faster. As if he could dig the sound of them from his memory.

He gritted his teeth and shoveled another heap into the hole. Then another. The late afternoon sun was hot on his back and he welcomed the feeling of the way it burned through his shirt. The ache in his muscles gave him something to focus on.

Something other than the gnawing weight in his chest.

And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying because you're strong and you're smart and you're both really good people, and if you don't wake up... and face your…

The angry growl that rumbled up from his chest sounded too far away in his own ears as he threw the shovel to the ground, the metal clanging off the dirt and stone. His breath was ragged as he stormed off towards the house. He had to get out of here. Away from… this. The walls that were supposed to be a promise of safety and security felt like a prison cell. One that he had to escape. Now. He didn’t want to stay in this cage.

Not tonight.

The streets of Alexandria were quiet. Too damn quiet. Usually, people were out, talking on their porches, walking around. Now, it was like the whole place was holding its breath.

Daryl barely noticed. His boots hit the pavement hard, his steps quick and focused. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the front door open without bothering to shut it. He wasn’t staying long enough for that to matter anyways.

Inside was just as quiet.

He moved straight to his room, peeling his blood and dirt stained shirt over his head and tossing it into the corner before grabbing a fresh t-shirt from the pile on the chair and pulling it on.

The bottle he had come back for was exactly where he’d left it the night he’d put it there– shoved to the back of the kitchen counter. His fingers tightened around the neck of the glass as he turned for the door.

His crossbow was slung over his shoulder in one fluid motion, a practiced habit. He was already stepping through the doorway, ready to keep moving, when something caught his eye.

Rosita.

She was walking up the steps, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her head tipped slightly downward like she was deep in thought. The way she held herself– like she was looking for something, or maybe running from it– was too familiar.

"Hey," she said quietly, but questioningly. Like she didn’t expect him to be there.

Daryl barely lifted his head. "Hey," he mumbled back, gripping the bottle a little tighter.

She stopped on the step just below him, rocking back slightly on her heel. Her eyes flicked over him, reading him the way she always did—quick, precise, like she could see straight through whatever bullshit he was trying to put up.

"You good?" she asked, tilting her chin up just slightly, like she already knew the answer.

He worked his lip between his teeth for a moment before nodding, his gaze dropping to the porch.

Rosita let out a breath, shifting her weight, and glancing at the bottle in his hand. She made a small, unimpressed noise in the back of her throat, not quite a scoff but close.

"Where you going?"

Daryl shrugged, adjusting his grip on the bottle. “Don’t know.”

She studied him for a second, then tipped her head. “Mind if I come?”

He finally looked at her. She didn’t look away.

He could’ve said no. Could’ve walked past her, left her standing there. But he didn’t.

There was something else in her expression that he didn’t catch before. Something sad… not quite a plea, but something buried deep below the surface.

“Nah” he muttered.

Rosita gave a small nod, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, and then she moved. She didn’t wait for him, didn’t ask again—just stepped off the porch, heading toward the truck like she’d already decided. Like it wasn’t up for debate.

Daryl let out a breath and followed.

Neither of them spoke as they walked out of the gate and climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and just like that, they were gone.

—

The truck sat in a clearing on the edge of the quarry. What was once filled and brimming with walkers now just housed a few dozen stragglers wandering aimlessly around the bottom. Their dirty, dust-covered figures moving in and out of shadows in the quickly fading sun.

Daryl stood by the back of the truck, his arms resting over the side as he swirled the contents in the bottle before turning it up. The whiskey burned its way down, warm and steady, already starting to blur his edges.

He welcomed it.

Rosita sat on the hood, one knee bent, her boot propped against the metal. She didn’t say anything, just watched him as he took another swig before passing the bottle her way. She took it without hesitation, tipping it back, letting the burn settle into her chest before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken, but neither of them moved to fill the silence. The only sounds were the distant rustling of trees and the distant, hollow moans of the walkers below.

Daryl exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. The alcohol was working its way through him, dulling things just enough to take the edge off. He stared out over the quarry, watching the way the last bit of daylight slipped behind the treeline.

He kicked a rock, watching it skitter and disappear over the edge, a small cloud of dust rising up under his boot.

Rosita let out a quiet breath, rolling the bottle between her palms. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke.

“I saw him go into Sasha’s house.”

Her voice was steady, but there was a roughness underneath it, something raw. She took another swig from the bottle.

Daryl didn’t react. Just let the words sit there, pressing down like an extra weight on his shoulders.

Rosita scoffed under her breath, shaking her head slightly. “I guess I already knew.” She said, quieter this time.

She walked over to stand beside him, peering over the edge, her eyes tracking the slow-moving walkers below. Without looking at him, she reached out and handed him the bottle.

Daryl took it carefully and lifted it to his lips. The whiskey burned on the way down, but he welcomed it, letting it settle deep in his chest.

Rosita crossed her arms, shifting her weight onto one leg. “Guess I was just stupid enough to hope I was wrong.”

Daryl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t have anything to say to that. Not anything that’d make a damn bit of difference anyways.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They just stood there and appreciated the rare silence as they passed the bottle back and forth.

The night was creeping in, the last bit of light stretching thin across the trees. The air was cooling, but the whiskey kept the warmth settled in his gut. Daryl blinked slow, his ears buzzing, a steady thrumming setting in behind his temples. Not enough to knock him down, but enough to make his limbs feel heavy, his edges dull.

He let out a quiet breath, then turned back towards the truck, moving to the tailgate. He climbed up, sitting on the edge with his legs hanging off, his fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the glass bottle before taking another drink.

Rosita stayed where she was for a moment, watching him. Then, without a word, she walked over, stopping in front of him. She tilted her head, watching him take another drink. “I was gonna leave,” she admitted. “After everything. Just… go.”

Daryl didn’t look at her, just fidgeted with the bottle in his hands, his thumbnail picking at the edge of the label.

He knew the feeling.

“But I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “And now, I don’t even know why.”

She reached out for the bottle, and as she took it from him, her fingers brushed against his—just for a second, just enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin against his knuckles.

Daryl didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Just watched as she brought the bottle to her lips, tilting her head back for a slow drink. He shifted his weight on the tailgate. “Ain’t always so easy to just walk away.”

Rosita smirked, but it was small and tired. “No. It’s not.” She looked at him for a moment before she asked, “You ever gonna leave?”

Daryl worked his jaw, staring past her toward the treeline. He didn’t answer right away, just let the question settle, rolling it over in his mind.

Rosita didn’t push. Just waited, quiet, studying him like she was trying to read something written beneath his skin. The slight sway in her stance made it obvious that she was feeling the effects of the liquor as much as he was.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and measured. “Don’t recon I got anywhere else to go.” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

Rosita held his gaze for a second longer, then gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Same.”

She took another sip, then handed the bottle back. This time, when their fingers touched, it lingered. Just for a second longer than before.

Daryl felt it. The warmth of her skin against his, the way her fingers curled just slightly before letting go. He swallowed, looking down at the bottle as he took it from her.

Rosita shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest, her boot scuffing against the dirt. “Sometimes I think I should’ve just gone,” she admitted. “Before it got messy. Before it got complicated.”

Daryl huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t never not messy.”

She let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry, almost bitter. “Yeah. No shit.”

They fell silent again, the night stretching out around them. The whiskey was working its way through him, muting things just enough to make the quiet feel comfortable. His ears still hummed, the edges of everything a little softer.

Rosita glanced up at the sky, the stars just starting to burn through the darkness. “Ever think about it?” she asked. “What’s out there? Past all this?”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth, fingers dragging along the stubble on his jaw. “Used to.”

Rosita watched him for a second, like she was waiting for more, but he didn’t offer anything else. Instead, he just took another slow drink, letting the burn settle deep.

She exhaled through pursed lips as she turned and braced her hands on the edge of the tailgate and pulled herself up beside him. The metal groaned as she situated– their shoulders close, but not quite touching. She stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles, her boot knocking lightly against his.

Daryl glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.

Rosita sighed, tipping her head back slightly. “I think about it all the time,” she admitted. “Just getting in a car. Driving ‘til the road runs out.”

Daryl huffed a faint laugh, staring at the bottle in his hands. “What’s stoppin’ ya?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. The corner of her mouth twitched, something almost like a smirk, but there was something else behind it. Something quieter.

Rosita didn’t answer.

Instead, she reached for the bottle again, her fingers grazing his as she took it from him. He watched her as she took another swig, her throat moving with the swallow before she exhaled through her nose. The bottle lowered, resting loosely between her hands, her fingers tapping against the glass in a slow, aimless rhythm.

Daryl rubbed his palms against his jeans, the warmth from the whiskey settling in his gut. She lifted the bottle again, took a drink and then handed it back. This time, when their fingers met, it wasn’t just a brush– it was slower, heavier. A beat too long. Neither one of them moved right away.

Daryl swallowed, his throat suddenly dry for reasons that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

Rosita’s eyes flicked to his– just a glance, quick, unreadable– before she pulled her hand away and settled it back in her lap.

The night stretched around them, quiet except for the rustling trees and the chorus of crickets and cicadas that filled the warm summer air.

Daryl rolled the bottle in his hands, his pulse thudding a little harder against his ribs. “You ever gonna leave?”

Rosita took a second, her lips pressing into a line as she gave him a gentle shrug. “Don’t know,” she admitted. “Sometimes I feel like it would be easier out there.”

Daryl hummed low in his throat, lifting the bottle to his lips. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, the same way he could still feel the ghost of her touch against his skin. It made him restless. Like he needed to move.

He slid forward, his feet thudding the ground, his balance a little uncertain at first. The ground seemed to shift beneath him, so he put a steadying hand on the truck until he was sure his legs wouldn’t betray him. He thought that his small stumble went unnoticed, until she let out a small laugh.

He shot her a look and she smirked, tipping her chin toward him. “You good?” But the way she said it was in that low throaty tone that made it almost sound like a purr falling from her lips.

Daryl grunted a soft laugh, shaking his head lightly, more at himself than her. “M’fine.”

Rosita hummed like she wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the bottle again. This time, she didn’t wait for him to hand it over, just plucked it from his grip, her fingers sliding against his as she did.

That damn touch again. Fleeting, but warm. Enough to make something coil low in his stomach.

She took a drink, long and slow, before lowering the bottle and licking a stray drop from her bottom lip. The movement was unintentional, effortless, but his eyes followed it anyways.

She was leaned to the side, propped back on one hand, the bottle clutched in the other. Perched on the edge of the tailgate, she looked so casual, so at ease. Her dark hair fell lose over her shoulders, contrasting sharply against her white tanktop that had ridden up, showing a small sliver of her stomach just above the waistband of her jeans. Daryl corrected his gaze, realizing that the flush that crept up his neck wasn’t just from the whiskey.

She must’ve noticed something in his expression, because her smirk faded slightly, her dark eyes lingering on his. “What?” she asked, her voice lower than what it had been just a minute ago.

Daryl shook his head, turning his attention back in the direction of the quarry. “It's just funny.”

Rosita arched a brow, shifting on the tailgate, the liquor already lacing her voice with humor. “What’s funny?” she asked as she tilted her head slightly, watching him. Her eyes gleemed brightly in the dim light. And when he turned his gaze back to hers, their eyes met for a moment before he spoke.

“Instead of goin’ somewhere, doin’ sometin’,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “we’re just sittin here on the side of this damn quarry,” he motioned back towards the gaping hole just in front of the truck, “gettin’ drunk in the dark.”

She laughed then, shaking her head. “Yeah, guess neither one of us is as smart as we think we are.”

She let her legs swing lightly beneath her as she watched him, he was working his bottom lip between his teeth again as he stared out into the distance.

She offered the bottle out to him again, and he took a step closer, his hip brushing against her knee as he took it from her. His gaze was still on the horizon.

“I mean,” She said, the humor in her voice slowly fading, “There are worse ways to spend a summer night...” He turned his eyes back to her then, and she watched as his smirk faded into something else. Something softer.

He gave a small grunt in agreement, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He said, though his eyes never left hers.

Silence stretched between them, laced with something thicker than it had before, broken only by the steady song of crickets and the occasional groan of a walker far below.

Daryl passed the bottle back to her, and this time, when their fingers met, neither of them moved right away.

The touch lingered.

Warm.

Deliberate.

He felt the way she let her fingers trail down his before wrapping around the bottle and pulling it away, slow and unhurried.

He felt his pulse thrum in his throat, but he didn’t look away.

Rosita kept her eyes on his as she brought the bottle to her lips again. She took a sip, slow and measured, the whiskey burning down her throat. She didn’t flinch, didn’t break her gaze.

Daryl felt something shift between them, something subtle and unspoken, but undeniable.

He should’ve looked away, should’ve said something to cut through whatever it was that was building between them. But he didn’t.

Rosita lowered the bottle, her fingers curling loosely around the neck of it. Her knee brushed against him again, just barely, but he didn’t move away this time.

The space between them felt smaller now. Closer. Like something had shifted without either of them moving much at all.

Daryl’s fingers flexed at his sides, a slow, restless motion. He could still feel the ghost of her touch against his skin, the weight of her gaze lingering on him like the heat in the air.

Rosita tilted her head slightly, watching him. “What’s on your mind, Daryl?”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

Daryl swallowed, his throat working around the tightness that had settled there. He could’ve shrugged. Could’ve muttered nothin’ and put a safe distance between them.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t look away.

Rosita’s lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something else, but she hesitated. Instead, she set the bottle down beside her, her fingers lingering on the glass before she straightened.

And when she did, she was closer.

Not much. Just enough.

And somehow, her knees were on either side of him now.

Daryl still didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t stop her when her fingers curled just slightly in the front of his shirt.

His pulse thudded harder now, rattling in his chest like something waiting to break loose.

Then she closed the distance.

Her lips met his, slow but sure, tasting of whiskey and heat and something else that had been simmering between them all night.

Daryl sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, startled by the sudden rush of it, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

His hands found her waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt, gripping tight like he needed something to hold onto. Rosita responded immediately, parting her lips against his, her fingers sliding into his hair at the base of his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine, a spark shooting straight through him, unraveling the last bit of restraint he might’ve had left.

The kiss deepened.

Rosita shifted forward on the tailgate, bracketing his thighs, pulling him in closer. Daryl let her. Let her push and pull and drag him down with her, because fuck, he wanted this.

The bottle tipped over somewhere beside them, rolling off into the dirt, forgotten.

His hands slid down, gripping her hips, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise as he pulled her forward. She shifted, legs tightening around him as she kissed him harder, more desperate now. Her hands tugged at his hair, pulling a low noise from deep in his throat.

His skin was burning, his head swimming, the whiskey mixing with something stronger—something that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way she was pulling him under.

Rosita broke the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath, her forehead pressing against his, her own breathing uneven.

“This a bad idea?” she murmured, her lips brushing his as she spoke.

Daryl swallowed, his grip on her tightening. “Prob’ly.”

She smirked, fingers trailing down the front of his shirt before slipping beneath the hem, her touch searing against his stomach.

“Good,” she muttered, then pulled him right back in.

The moment shattered, breaking apart like a dam giving way.

Rosita pulled him in harder, her fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer. Daryl let her, let himself get lost in the heat of it, in the whiskey and the way her body fit against his like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him flush against her. The tailgate groaned beneath their weight, metal creaking as she shifted, pressing into him.

Daryl exhaled hard, his breath sharp against her skin as he broke away for just a second, but Rosita wasn’t having it. She chased his lips, her hands sliding under his shirt, nails scraping along his ribs, dragging another low rumble from within him.

His grip tightened on her hips, fingers pressing into the soft curve of her waist as he pulled her even closer, his mind buzzing from the alcohol, from her, from the way her mouth was working against his—needy and relentless.

She tugged at his shirt, frustration rolling off her in waves when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. Daryl helped, yanking it over his head and tossing it blindly behind him.

Rosita barely gave him time to breathe before her lips were back on his, her hands sliding up his bare chest, nails scratching lightly over his skin. He hissed at the sensation, heat pooling low in his stomach, thick and heavy.

She smirked against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip before licking over it, slow and teasing.

Something in him snapped.

Daryl growled low in his throat and grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly off the tailgate. She gasped as her back hit the side of the truck, but the sound melted into a breathy moan when he pressed against her, pinning her there.

Her hands found his hair, yanking him down as she kissed him harder, her body arching into his. The scent of whiskey and summer air clung to her skin, mixing with something distinctly hers—something warm and intoxicating.

Daryl barely had a second to think, barely cared to. His hands were on her, gripping, feeling, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, pushing it up as his lips trailed down her neck.

Rosita gasped, her head tipping back against the truck, exposing more skin for him to claim. His teeth scraped against her pulse, and she shuddered, fingers twisting into his hair.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to.

Not tonight.

Rosita hooked her legs around him, locking him against her as she ground down, making his breath stutter, making every nerve in his body light up.

“Daryl,” she breathed against his ear, her voice rough and wanting.

That was all it took.

All the control, all the restraint, anything that had been holding them back—gone.

They weren’t thinking anymore.

Not tonight.

Just moving.

Hands desperate, mouths hungry, bodies pressing together like they needed this.

Like they’d fall apart if they stopped.

And neither of them wanted to stop.

Not now.

Not tonight.

Rosita’s breath hitched as Daryl’s hands moved—rough, desperate, fingers sliding beneath her shirt, palms dragging over the bare skin of her waist. She was warm beneath his touch, burning hot, and when she arched into him, he let out a sharp breath against her throat.

Her nails scraped down his back, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. The truck behind them was solid, grounding, but everything else was spiraling—too fast, too much, and still not enough.

“Fuck,” she whispered against his lips, her voice breaking on the word as she tilted her hips, rolling them slow, deliberate.

Daryl gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around her thighs, his breath ragged as he tried to ground himself. But she wasn’t giving him the chance. Wasn’t letting him get a grip before she was kissing him again, rough and hungry, like she wanted to take every last piece of him tonight.

His hand slid higher, under her shirt, fingertips trailing the band of her bra before pushing it up, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his calloused hands. She gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, and he swallowed the sound, pressing her tighter against the truck, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

Rosita reached between them, fumbling with his belt, cursing under her breath when the buckle refused to cooperate.

Daryl smirked against her skin, his lips dragging along her jaw. “Y’rushin’.” His voice was low, rough, a rasp of gravel and heat against her ear.

She exhaled sharply, her fingers yanking at his belt again, stubborn and unrelenting. “Shut up,” she muttered, but there was a smirk in her voice, breathy and reckless.

Daryl chuckled, deep in his throat, but it cut off when she rocked against him again, sending a sharp jolt of heat straight through him.

His patience snapped.

Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head against the truck, his grip firm but careful. Rosita sucked in a breath, her dark eyes flashing with something wild, something daring.

Her lips parted, but before she could say anything, Daryl was on her again—his mouth covering hers, devouring, his free hand slipping down, pressing into the heat between them.

Rosita moaned, her head tipping back, body arching into his touch. “Daryl—”

That was it.

Whatever control he’d been holding onto was gone.

He kissed her hard, swallowing her gasps, letting his hands and his body tell her exactly how much he wanted this, wanted her.

Wanted to lose himself in her completely.

And Rosita let him.

Met him with the same raw intensity, the same fire.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just heat.

Just this.

Just them.

Daryl’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening on Rosita’s wrists as he held them against the truck. His restraint was razor-thin, fraying with every breathless sound she made, every shift of her hips against his.

Rosita smirked up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, her dark eyes flickering with something wild. “You gonna do somethin’ or just stand there?” she taunted, her voice rough, teasing.

Daryl didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t give her the chance to say anything else before he crashed his mouth against hers, rough and unforgiving.

She gasped into him, her fingers flexing where he held them, her body pressing into his as she hooked a leg around his hip, pulling him closer.

His free hand roamed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans, his fingers brushing hot, sensitive skin.

Rosita groaned, her head falling back against the truck, her breath catching in her throat.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her hips jerking against his touch.

Daryl growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through him as his fingers pressed deeper, dragging another sharp moan from her lips.

Rosita tugged at his grip, and this time, he let her go.

Her hands were on him in an instant, shoving his belt out of the way, popping the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a quick, deliberate motion that sent heat pooling low in his stomach.

Daryl sucked in a breath, his forehead pressing to hers as her hand wrapped around him, warm and sure.

His fingers clenched against her hip, his entire body tensing as she moved—slow at first, then firmer, teasing.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice breaking on the word.

Rosita grinned against his jaw, biting lightly before licking over the spot. “Thought I told you to shut up,” she teased.

Daryl let out a rough laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a groan as she squeezed just right. His patience snapped completely.

His hands were on her then, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs as he lifted her.

She let him, wrapping her legs around him, arms locked around his shoulders as he slammed her harder against the truck.

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” she murmured against his lips, her voice breathless, shaky.

Daryl didn’t answer. Just kissed her again, swallowing her words, pressing into her, feeling every inch of heat, of need, of urgency between them.

There was no thinking, no hesitation.

Just heat.

Just hands and mouths and tangled limbs.

Just them, lost in the moment, in the whiskey, in the night.

And neither of them cared about anything else.

Not now.

Not tonight.

Daryl grunted as Rosita tightened her legs around him, the heat of her body pressing against his, sending another sharp pulse of want straight through him. His hands gripped her thighs, rough fingertips digging into smooth skin, holding her steady against the truck.

But it wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulled back just enough to shift his grip, one arm sliding beneath her thighs as he turned, carrying her effortlessly to the cab of the truck. .

Rosita gasped, startled for just a second before she smirked against his lips. “Didn’t take you for the type,” she teased, her breath warm against his mouth.

Daryl huffed a rough laugh, kicking open the truck door, maneuvering them both into the cab with practiced ease. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it, his voice ragged with need.

Rosita didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate.

Daryl barely had the sense to shut the truck door before he was on her again.

She just pulled him down with her as he climbed into the seat, her back hitting the worn leather, her fingers tangling in his hair as she dragged him closer. She kissed him hard, raw, full of something neither of them wanted to name.

She was fire beneath him—burning hot, winding tight, her hands gripping at his bare skin, her legs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, harder.

The whiskey burned in his veins, but it wasn’t the liquor making him feel like this. Wasn’t the heat rolling off them in waves, fogging up the windows.

It was her.

The way she moved beneath him, the way she gasped into his mouth when he rolled his hips just right, the way she dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving faint crescent marks against his skin.

“Fuck, Daryl—”

The way she said his name, breathless and sharp, nearly undid him.

He growled against her throat, biting lightly at her pulse point, dragging his teeth over her skin before soothing it with his tongue. Rosita shuddered beneath him, her back arching, her nails dragging down his spine.

Daryl braced a hand against the door, the other gripping her hip as she shifted beneath him, heat pressing against heat, the friction making his breath hitch.

Clothes were in the way—too much fabric, too much space between them, and Daryl wasn’t having it. His hands were rough, fast, pushing her jeans down over her hips, shoving them past her thighs.

Rosita helped, lifting her hips, kicking them off until they were forgotten somewhere in the cab.

His jeans followed, shoved just low enough, his belt clattering against the seat as Rosita wrapped her legs around him again.

She bit down on his lower lip, pulling a low growl from him, and then he was moving, pressing his forehead against hers as his fingers gripped her thigh, hitching it higher around his waist.

Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath him, but she still managed to smirk, her fingers dragging down his stomach, teasing.

“You sure?” he muttered, voice rough, barely more than a breath.

Rosita huffed, her lips curling up in something like amusement, but her eyes were dark, heavy with want. “Shut up and fuck me, Dixon.”

Daryl didn’t need to be told twice.

He shifted, positioning himself, and then—

Rosita gasped, her nails biting into his skin as he sank into her, slow at first, stretching, fitting, filling every inch of space between them.

Daryl’s breath hitched, his grip on her tightening as he fought to keep himself steady, to keep from losing it right there.

She was hot, tight, perfect around him, her body arching to take him in deeper, her legs locking around him to pull him closer.

Daryl let out a rough breath, his grip tightening before sealing his mouth over hers again, swallowing the sharp gasp she let out as he finally settled in.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her head tipping back against the seat. “Daryl—”

He groaned, low and ragged, as he started to move, slow at first, testing, savoring the way she felt beneath him.

Rosita didn’t want slow.

She met his thrusts, rolling her hips in a way that made his vision blur, made him tighten his grip on her thighs, made him bury his face in her neck to muffle the growl building in his chest.

Rosita arched up to meet him, her nails raking down his back as they moved together, a tangled mess of heat and hunger and urgency.

The truck rocked slightly with their movements, the windows fogging up, the whiskey-fueled haze mixing with the sound of breathless gasps, low curses, the rustle of hands gripping at fabric, pulling, needing.

Daryl’s head dipped, lips dragging along the curve of her throat, tasting salt and warmth, his breath rough against her skin as Rosita’s fingers clenched in his hair.

He wasn’t thinking anymore.

Neither of them were.

Wasn’t worrying.

Wasn’t holding back.

He let go.

Let her take him under.

Let himself drown in her, in this, in the way nothing else mattered in this moment except the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she moved beneath him like she needed this as much as he did.

They lost themselves completely in the moment, in each other, in the way nothing else existed outside the heat of the cab, the way the world could’ve burned around them and neither of them would’ve given a damn.

Not now.

Not tonight.

And when Rosita clenched around him, shuddering, gasping his name, he followed her over the edge, pulling her closer, holding on tight as everything broke apart around them.

They stayed there for a moment, tangled together, breathing hard, the weight of what just happened settling in between them.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Because for once, they weren’t running from anything.

Not tonight.