#there’s a lot more that he’s done but I don’t want to talk about it

[thedensworld]

My Baby, My Sugar | J. Ww

Genre: fluff, billionaire au!, smut (18+ only)

Summary: His love for you is unconditional. He gives you everything, he takes you everywhere, and he'll do anything for you.

Wonwoo noticed something was different about you tonight, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was. From the moment he picked you up to the quiet drive to the upscale restaurant his secretary had booked, you had been unusually silent. He knew you weren’t one to talk endlessly, but tonight, the silence felt heavier—weighted with something unspoken.

"Hey, are you alright, love?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern.

You turned your head to him, your gaze flickering down to where his hand rested on your lap, fingers laced with yours. His grip tightened slightly when you didn’t answer immediately, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, silently urging you to speak. You let out a soft sigh.

"I'm fine… Just a bit more tired than usual," you finally said, offering him a small, weary smile.

Wonwoo didn’t look convinced, but he smiled anyway, a quiet reassurance in his expression. "We’ll be there soon," he said softly, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Tonight, you looked absolutely breathtaking. The black dress he had bought you last week hugged your figure elegantly, its half-long sleeves giving you an air of effortless sophistication. The delicate jewelry adorning your neck and wrists—pieces he had insisted on getting you last month as a reward for finishing your semester as a teacher—only enhanced your beauty. You always looked stunning to him, but tonight, something about you felt untouchable, distant, like a painting behind glass.

Once seated across from you at the candlelit table, Wonwoo barely touched his food. Instead, he watched you. Observed the way you pushed the vegetables around your plate, the way your fingers toyed with the stem of your wine glass, how you sighed so softly you probably didn’t even realize it.

"You don’t like the food?" Wonwoo asked, his voice warm but firm.

You blinked at him, then hastily picked up your fork, shaking your head. "No, I love it."

"Then why haven’t you touched it, love?" His eyes softened as he leaned in slightly, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.

He was done waiting. Whatever was troubling you tonight, he wanted to know.

"Talk to me. What’s wrong?"

The way he looked at you—with so much patience, so much affection—made it impossible to keep up the facade any longer. You sighed, setting your fork down before finally voicing the thought that had been weighing on you all evening.

"You donated a lot of money to the school…" Your voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the comfortable ambiance of the restaurant.

Wonwoo raised his brows, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected topic. He nodded, confirming your statement.

"The headmaster was ecstatic," you continued, but there was something about the way you said it that made his stomach twist. It wasn’t excitement or gratitude he heard—it was something else.

"Why?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you closely. "You don’t like it?"

You shook your head, your fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "It’s not that. I appreciate it, really. But… you should’ve discussed something like this with me first."

Wonwoo’s lips parted slightly as he took in your words. He bit his lower lip, exhaling through his nose. You were right. He had promised—promised that anything involving you, anything that mattered to you, would be something you both discussed together. He hadn’t intended to overstep, but he understood now where your disappointment was coming from.

His hand reached across the table, fingers wrapping around yours with a gentle squeeze. "You’re right," he admitted, his voice softer now. "I should’ve talked to you about it first. I’m sorry, love."

You glanced at him, your features softening slightly at his sincerity.

"How about we talk about this properly after dinner? At your place," Wonwoo suggested, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.

You hesitated before mumbling, "My place is messy…" a small pout formed on your lips.

Wonwoo let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head fondly. "Alright, then let’s talk at my place, okay?"

This time, when he looked at you, the weight in your eyes seemed a little lighter. And though you didn’t say it, the way your fingers curled slightly tighter around his hand told him that you appreciated him listening.

Wonwoo met you through a friend. He had been desperate, though he’d never admit it out loud, to find a woman who could steal his heart effortlessly. Someone who could make him fall so hard that he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at the thought of simping for her. Because Wonwoo had always believed he was a lover at heart. When he loved, he loved deeply—down bad, hopelessly devoted.

But every date his mother arranged had been a disappointment. They were all perfectly respectable women, but none of them had that spark, that something that could make his heart race. Frustrated, he turned to Mingyu—the one person he knew who seemed to have connections with almost everyone in the world.

"I think I know someone," Mingyu had said one day, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he reached out to his sister, asking her to introduce Wonwoo to her best friend—you.

"I hear about her all the time," Mingyu continued, scrolling through his phone. "She’s nice, kind, smart—which is totally your type. I think she’s cool."

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at him, skeptical. "Why don’t you date her, then?"

Mingyu barely looked up as he chuckled, tilting his phone toward Wonwoo. "Oh… she doesn’t like me."

That caught Wonwoo’s attention. He raised a brow, leaning in slightly. "She doesn’t like you?" he repeated, intrigued.

A girl who wasn’t charmed by Mingyu?

Now that was interesting.

However, when he finally met you for the first time, picking you up from school, his heart raced in a way he hadn't expected. You walked through the gates dressed in a modest, simple outfit, yet there was something about the way you smiled and waved at him that sent a jolt of nervous excitement through him. Even now, after all this time, you still managed to make him nervous sometimes.

From the very start, you led conversations with confidence, your eyes brimming with passion whenever you spoke about something you loved. It was effortless—how time slipped away when he was with you. And it wasn’t just him who enjoyed it; he could tell you did too.

One date turned into two, then three, and by the fourth, he knew he didn’t want to waste any more time. He asked you to be his girlfriend on a Saturday night, aboard his family’s yacht, the city lights flickering in the distance as the ocean breeze carried his words to you.

Since then, he had been completely, hopelessly, utterly whipped for you.

Every day after school, he was there to pick you up. And on the rare occasions when work held him back, he made sure his secretary, Chan, took care of it, ensuring you got home safely.

He learned to cook—not because he had to, but because you once mentioned that fine dining all the time made you a little uncomfortable. So, he tried. He practiced. He wanted to make dinner dates at his place special for you, even if it meant burning a few attempts along the way.

One time, when you had a week-long workshop in Jeju, he booked a last-minute flight just because he hadn’t seen you in days and couldn’t stand another minute apart.

Expensive gifts? Of course. If you so much as mentioned something in passing, he would have it ready for you in no time. But it wasn’t about the price—it was about the way your eyes lit up, the way you smiled, the way you kissed him and whispered thank you like he had just given you the world.

Because to him, you were his world.

He loved you unconditionally, without hesitation, without limits.

And he would do anything for you.

*

You sat curled up on Wonwoo’s couch, completely absorbed in a book from your favorite author—one that he had been collecting ever since you started dating a year ago. It was a quiet, cozy night, just the way you liked it. You had already changed into a pair of pajama pants that Wonwoo had bought for you a while ago, paired with one of his old, oversized T-shirts—the one he could never bring himself to throw away because you loved it too much.

The sound of water running in the bathroom had stopped, but you were too engrossed in your book to notice. Your fingers flipped through the pages eagerly, your heart racing as the tension in the story built.

And then—

A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind.

You gasped, nearly dropping the book as you jumped in surprise. "You scared me!" You turned your head to glare at him, breathless. "I was literally at the most intense part!"

Wonwoo chuckled, his deep voice rumbling against your ear. "Sorry, love. You just looked too cute sitting there, all focused." He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, his damp hair tickling your skin.

You sighed dramatically, putting the book down on the coffee table before turning fully toward him. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him close as you rested your head against his chest. His skin was warm from the shower, smelling faintly of his fresh, clean scent—the one that always made you feel at home.

His arms tightened around you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "Better?" he murmured.

You hummed in contentment, closing your eyes.

"Why did you donate so much money to our school?" you mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear. You felt embarrassed bringing up the topic again, but it had been weighing on your mind too much to ignore.

Wonwoo turned to look at you, his gaze gentle but questioning. "Before I answer that�� may I know what’s wrong?"

You sighed, your thoughts swirling with everything the teachers had been saying. It wasn’t exactly a secret anymore—there were already rumors going around the school about you having a crazy rich boyfriend. The moment people started seeing Wonwoo pick you up in his sleek car, the whispers began. And while you had never directly addressed it, the weight of it all had started to burden you.

The worst part? Some of the teachers had been unprofessional enough to bring it up in front of the students, which only made things worse. Now, even your students had started asking questions—questions you weren’t sure how to answer.

You licked your lips, hesitating before finally admitting, "I’ve kind of become a hot topic among the teachers and students."

Wonwoo’s brows furrowed instantly. "Are they saying something bad?"

You shook your head, trying to be honest. "Not entirely bad… but it’s just burdensome. They talk about you, about how I must’ve done something to get you—like I had to scheme my way into this relationship or something." You exhaled sharply, waving your hand as if that could brush off the weight of their words. "It’s not exactly important, but it’s tiring to hear."

Wonwoo didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel the shift in his energy. His sharp mind was already putting pieces together, and before you could stop him, he asked, "Has this been going on for a while?"

You hesitated, then finally gave in to the truth, nodding slowly.

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

"I’m starting to dislike everyone in that school. Can’t you just quit, love?" Wonwoo suggested, his voice firm as he met your gaze. His hands, warm and steady, tightened ever so slightly around your waist.

You sighed, shaking your head. "No, I still have a contract until next semester. I can’t just leave."

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing. He remembered the things you had told him about your workplace—particularly about the headmaster. From the way you had described the man, Wonwoo already knew he was the type of person he couldn’t stand.

One moment stood out in his mind. You had mentioned how the headmaster once made an inappropriate comment about a photo you had posted on social media—a picture of you wearing a stunning red dress that he had bought for you. It had been slightly revealing, but when you had asked for his opinion before posting it, Wonwoo hadn’t minded at all. If anything, he had thought you looked breathtaking.

But then you told him what the headmaster had said.

"You should dress like that more often, Ms. Ji. Your work outfits are a little boring."

Wonwoo felt his grip on you tighten instinctively as the memory resurfaced. Just thinking about it again made his blood boil.

He let out a slow breath, grounding himself before speaking. "I donated to show him power," he admitted, his voice quieter this time. "I wanted everyone to respect you. Especially the headmaster." He paused, his fingers gently rubbing circles on your back. "But I was wrong."

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips—a silent apology, full of warmth and sincerity.

"I’m sorry, love," he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

Wonwoo pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs tracing soft circles along your cheeks. His voice was quiet, steady, but filled with something deeper—something only you could decipher.

"Love," he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away just enough to speak again. "Have I been a burden to you?"

Your breath hitched slightly at the question, surprised by his directness. His eyes, dark and full of concern, searched yours for the truth.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he continued, his voice softer now. "If being with me has made things harder for you… I want to know."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of your thoughts pressing against your chest. You hadn’t wanted to make him feel guilty, hadn’t wanted to let the whispers and judgments of others taint the love you shared. But this was Wonwoo—he had always been patient with you, always listened without judgment. And now, he was asking for honesty.

You sighed, leaning into his touch, closing your eyes as he pressed another kiss to your forehead. "It’s not you that’s the burden," you admitted. "It’s… everything that comes with being with you."

His grip on you didn’t falter, if anything, it tightened as if grounding you. "Tell me," he urged, lips ghosting over yours before stealing another slow, tender kiss, coaxing the truth out of you with every touch.

You exhaled shakily. "It’s the way people talk. The way they look at me like I don’t deserve you. Like I had to do something manipulative just to be with you." Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as you continued. "It’s the pressure of being seen as your girlfriend before anything else. People assume things about me because of who you are, and sometimes… it’s exhausting."

Wonwoo let out a quiet hum, his lips pressing against yours again, deeper this time, as if trying to soothe the frustration and exhaustion you carried. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in the warmth of his presence.

Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze unwavering. His fingers traced slow, reassuring patterns on your waist, urging you to continue.

"Tell me more," he said softly, his voice gentle yet firm. "What else has been weighing on you, love?"

You hesitated, biting your lip. The words were right there, but voicing them felt daunting. You didn’t want to come across as ungrateful or make him feel misunderstood. But the way he looked at you—with so much patience and love—made it easier to open up. "It’s… the way you spoil me," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling as it escaped.

Wonwoo furrowed his brows, leaning in slightly as if trying to read your emotions. "What do you mean?"

You let out a soft breath, trying to find the right way to explain. "I don’t want our relationship to feel like some kind of… transaction," you continued, your words quieter now. You looked down briefly, collecting your thoughts before meeting his eyes again. "The expensive gifts, the luxury things… I know you do it out of love, but sometimes, it feels like you’re paying me to be with you."

Your voice wavered slightly, but you pressed on, knowing this was something you had to say. "And that—it hurts my ego, Wonwoo."

His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, but his expression softened as he processed your words. He didn’t say anything immediately, just let you continue.

"I love that you care for me, and I know you don’t see it that way," you quickly added, almost as if you were trying to reassure him. "But every time you buy me something extravagant, it feels like I’m being… taken care of in a way that makes me feel small. Like I can’t stand beside you as an equal. And I hate that feeling." You bit your lip, trying to steady your nerves. It felt like your pride was slowly unraveling, but you needed him to understand.

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh, his hands moving to cradle your face, his touch tender yet firm. "Love," he whispered, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his voice full of sincerity. "I don’t spoil you because I think you need taking care of. I do it because I want to. Because I love you. You deserve everything, Y/n."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Your eyes flickered between his, the vulnerability in your chest raw and exposed. "I know. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful," you said, your voice cracking a little. "But sometimes, I feel like… I can’t give you the same in return. Like I’ll never be able to match what you do for me."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and a quiet tension settled between you, the vulnerability and honesty of the moment tangible.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened as he gently tilted your chin upward, guiding your face closer to his. "You don’t have to match me, love," he whispered, his voice firm but soothing. "This isn’t about keeping score. I’m not trying to buy your love. I’m giving you what I can, because I want you to have everything you deserve. But you don’t owe me anything. Not a thing. Just… be with me. That’s all I need."

You didn’t realize it at first, but as the conversation continued, the weight of everything you'd been holding in began to pour out. The tears fell quietly, tracing down your cheeks as your emotions finally found an outlet. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the vulnerability had cracked something open inside you, something that needed release.

Wonwoo immediately noticed, his expression shifting from concern to tenderness as he gently cupped your face in his hands. "Hey, love," he whispered, his voice low and soothing, "don’t cry, please."

His thumb brushed over your cheeks, wiping away the tears before they could fall, but they kept coming. You could feel the tightness in your throat as you tried to hold it together, but it was impossible. You didn’t know why this moment, this conversation, was making you so emotional, but it felt like everything had finally come to the surface.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered between soft sobs, your voice shaky. "I didn’t mean to fall apart like this."

Wonwoo’s heart ached as he watched you struggle, and without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tender embrace. He didn’t say anything right away—just held you, letting you cry into his chest as he stroked your back in gentle, rhythmic motions. His scent, his warmth, enveloped you, calming the storm inside you little by little.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes filled with nothing but care and understanding. He gently kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, his lips soft against your skin. "You don’t have to apologize, Y/n," he murmured. "I’m here. I’ll always be here for you."

His words were like a balm to your aching heart, and you leaned into him again, feeling his chest rise and fall with each steady breath he took. He was your anchor, always there to help you calm the chaos within yourself.

His words settled in your chest like a warm, comforting weight, and for the first time in a while, the heaviness in your heart began to lift. Wonwoo's steady presence was all you needed in that moment. He had a way of making everything feel manageable, even when it seemed like the world was too much to bear.

His hands gently cupped your face again, his thumb softly tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch was tender, but there was an undeniable heat in the way his eyes lingered on yours, the depth of his gaze speaking volumes.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice low and husky now, sending a shiver down your spine. "You have no idea how much I need you."

Your breath caught in your throat at the intensity of his words. It felt like the air between you both had shifted, the space between you now charged with an electric tension that had been building since the moment he walked into your life.

"You’re everything to me," he continued, his voice growing softer, but more sincere. "And I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry any of this on your own. Let me take care of you, let me be the one to ease your burdens."

The way he spoke, with so much raw emotion and sincerity, made your heart race. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming and comforting all at once. You didn’t even realize your body was inching toward his until his lips brushed against yours again, this time with more urgency, more desire.

Wonwoo’s hands gently cupped your face, his touch tender, yet firm as though he wanted to ensure you felt his presence, his affection in every moment. He paused for a brief moment, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, making your heart flutter. He kissed your temple softly, as if you were the most precious thing in his world, and in that moment, you felt it—how real, how deeply he cared.

"Can i, love?" he whispered, his voice low and filled with sincerity, as if asking for your permission, as if giving you the space to decide without any pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting for your response.

You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing against his shirt, pulling him closer once more. “i always trust you,” you whispered back, your voice filled with both certainty and vulnerability.

The moment lingered, soft and intimate, as if time had slowed around you. The way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours—it all felt so right,

As Wonwoo’s hands began to roam, they found the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it, exposing your smooth skin beneath. He trailed kisses from your jawline down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier, and you could feel your pulse quicken in anticipation.

Wonwoo's mouth worked its way lower, pausing just above your lace-clad breast. You let out a soft moan as he teased the material with his teeth, pulling the fabric aside to reveal your nipple. His tongue flicked over it, making you gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further into his touch.

Your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, and when he was bare-chested before you, you reached up to caress his pecs, feeling his muscles tense under your fingers. Desire coursed through both of you, and you could no longer deny the urgency of your passion.

As Wonwoo's passion continued to build, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you towards the bedroom. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him close the door behind you, ensuring that the two of you were alone in this intimate moment.

He carefully placed you on the soft sheets of the bed before kneeling down next to you. With a tender smile, he began to undress you, removing the final barrier between the two of you. He looked at your body, admiring every curve, before following suit and removing his own clothing.

You lay there, both vulnerable and confident, your gaze fixed on each other's bodies. The desire between you both grew, and he leaned in once more to kiss you, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and finally your breasts, which he took into his mouth one by one, sucking and biting gently.

Your hands roamed over his chest, his abs, feeling every hardened muscle before wrapping around his strong back. You could feel his erection against your thigh, pulsating with need, as he moved further down your body.

As Wonwoo's tongue delved deeper, you let out a soft moan, arching your back to offer more access. "Oh, Wonwoo..." you whispered, your breath hitching as pleasure courses through you.

Feeling your arousal building, he withdrawn, leaving you panting and craving more. "Not yet," he murmured against your ear before moving up your body once more. You squirmed beneath him, your body trembling with need.

Positioning himself at your entrance, he gazed into your eyes, his own filled with a burning desire. "I want to feel you," you plead, your voice husky with want.

He slowly entered you, stretching you with his length, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to move, filling you completely. The sensation of being so intimately connected with him was overwhelming. As he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts became more urgent, more powerful, and both of you were swept away by the tide of passion.

"Wonwoo!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as he sets a rhythm. "Don't stop..." you mumbled, lost in the euphoric connection between the two of you.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the two of you locked in this intimate dance. Wonwoo's breath caught, his movements growing more urgent. "I can't... I can't hold back," he grits out.

In the heat of the moment, you thrown your head back, your body tightening. "Me neither... I'm coming!" you gasped, and with that, pleasure overtook you, sending shivers through your entire being. Feeling you clenched around him, Wonwoo followed moments later, his hot release filling you completely.

Collapsing on top of you, he held you close, his heartbeat pounding against your chest. The room was still, the only sound the two of you catching your breath, your bodies tangled and spent.

*

You could feel the warmth of his bare skin against yours as you shifted in your sleep, the soft rustle of the sheets under your movements. The bedroom was still dimly lit, the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains, hinting that it was probably around 5 or 6 a.m. There was still plenty of time before you needed to get ready for school, but the comfort of his arms around you made the thought of getting up feel so distant.

His arms tightened around you, pulling your body closer to his. You smiled softly, relishing in the safety and warmth of his embrace.

“You tired?” His voice, soft and hushed in the early morning, broke the silence. You shook your head slowly, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

"Wanna do it again?" His teasing tone was unmistakable, and you could feel the playful glint in his voice. Before you could respond, you slapped his bare chest lightly, a small laugh escaping you, but he was quick to catch your hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“You look so pretty waking up in my arms,” Wonwoo murmured, his words a soft caress against your skin. "Can't wait to wake up like this every morning."

You chuckled softly at his words, his hints about marriage becoming more frequent these past few weeks. You had a feeling that soon—maybe sooner than you expected—he’d be down on one knee, asking you for forever. But last night, the conversation had shifted something inside of you. You knew, without a doubt, that you would say yes, even before he could ask.

He had proved it to you, over and over again, that he loved you unconditionally, that you deserved everything he had to give—and more.

Wonwoo’s voice broke the peaceful quiet as he let out a soft chuckle, pulling you from the warmth of the moment. "Chan will be here with breakfast," he said, as if he were casually mentioning the weather.

Before you could respond, Wonwoo pressed a button on his bedside table, and the automatic curtains of his bedroom slid open. The sudden burst of sunlight caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as the room was flooded with golden light. You quickly glanced at the clock beside you, your heart dropping when you saw the time.

It was already 08:54.

"Oh no, I’m late!" you exclaimed, panic rising in your chest. You cursed under your breath, shooting a glare at Wonwoo's automatic blinds. You shot up from the bed, scrambling to get your bearings. "Why didn’t you wake me up?!"

Wonwoo chuckled softly, clearly amused by your sudden rush. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on you with a playful smile. "Relax, love," he said, his voice smooth and calm. "I already called your school. You’re off today. You’re sick."

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You did what?"

"Yep," he replied nonchalantly, his tone unbothered. "You’ve been working too hard lately. I figured you could use a little break."

Your mouth fell open in shock, and you let out a breathless laugh, though it was mixed with a touch of annoyance. "You can’t just call my school and pretend I’m sick! You know I’ll get in trouble for this. We talked about this last night, Jeon Wonwoo!" you protested, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you.

Wonwoo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he casually stretched and reached for your hand. "I couldn’t discuss it with you. You were asleep, remember?"

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his audacity. "You’re unbelievable!" you said, your voice dripping with mock exasperation. You slid out of the bed and grabbed your robe, walking briskly—almost stomping—towards the bathroom. Wonwoo watched you with an amused glint in his eyes, clearly entertained by your reactions.

He leaned back against the pillows with a satisfied grin, knowing full well he had won this round. “Take your time, love,” he called after you. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

You didn’t look back, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The playful banter and the way he cared for you—whether you liked it or not—was part of what made him so irresistible.

*

The grand hall was bathed in a soft, golden light, with chandeliers that seemed to glitter like stars above. Every inch of the room exuded opulence, from the intricate tapestries lining the walls to the marble floors polished to perfection. Floral arrangements in hues of white and gold filled the air with their delicate scent, while the soft murmur of the guests whispered in the background, all waiting for the moment that had been years in the making.

"And now," the officiant said, with a smile, "you may kiss the bride."

Wonwoo could already sense the impending storm. He knew you were going to kill him once the wedding ceremony was over and the two of you had to leave for your honeymoon. The honeymoon you had dreamed of—Ireland, watching the aurora borealis together, indulging in romantic moments while exploring nature. The thought of it made his heart swell with happiness. He loved the idea as much as you did.

But then, Chan, his ever-loyal secretary, had come to him with bad news a week before. Apologetic and flustered, he explained that there were no available tickets for the wedding day. Wonwoo's heart sank. There was no way he could cancel all the bookings he’d meticulously planned for months.

"How could this happen?" Wonwoo asked, frustration seeping into his voice.

Chan looked guilty as he spoke, "I... I forgot to book the tickets, sir."

"Are you kidding me?" Wonwoo muttered under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to make it work.

Your face was set in a perfect expression of disbelief and annoyance. "You’ve got to be kidding me," you mumbled, turning on your heel to walk away when you saw the jet. Your reaction was the complete opposite of the excitement you had shown during the wedding ceremony.

Wonwoo's heart raced, panicking. He couldn't let you walk away, not when you were this upset. He hurried after you, grabbing your arm to stop you. "Love, I can explain," he said, his voice full of panic. "It was Chan’s fault. He forgot to book the ticket. So this is the only solution. I promise it won’t happen again."

You pulled your arm away, looking at him with disbelief. "How could you blame your secretary for this? He’s worked so hard for you! He’s been running around non-stop because you decided to have the wedding on such short notice."

Wonwoo looked down at his shoes, guilt flashing across his face. "I know... But please, love, they're waiting for us."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "You're unbelievable!"

Suddenly, with a determined grin, Wonwoo scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly. You gasped in surprise, your breath catching in your throat, but Wonwoo was clearly amused by your reaction.

"Wonwoo, put me down!" you squealed, but he just laughed, his arms holding you tightly as he walked toward the private jet.

"No way, love," he teased, his voice soft but playful. "You're not getting away from me that easily."

You let out a sigh of exasperation, but there was no denying the flutter in your chest at the sight of Wonwoo's playful grin. He was carrying you like it was nothing, as though the private jet was just a small obstacle on the way to your honeymoon. As he approached the steps leading up to the jet, you finally stopped resisting, your body melting into his embrace, realizing that no matter how much you wanted to be annoyed, you couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"You're lucky you're cute," you muttered, resting your head on his shoulder as he gently placed you down on the stairs of the jet.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I know. And I plan to keep it that way, especially when you’re around."

With one last playful look, he took your hand, leading you inside. The sleek interior of the jet was luxurious, the setting perfect for the adventure that awaited you both. The two of you settled in, the soft hum of the engines beginning to fill the cabin as the jet prepared for takeoff. It wasn’t the trip you had imagined—far from it—but as you sat next to Wonwoo, feeling the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the day’s earlier frustrations seemed to melt away.

You both settled back into your seats, the tension lifting as you exchanged soft smiles, your heart finally feeling at ease. The world outside the windows blurred as the jet soared higher into the sky, heading for a destination that was just the beginning of something beautiful.

After a while, Wonwoo leaned over, his lips brushing softly against your ear as he whispered, "We’re going to make unforgettable memories together, love. I promise you, this is just the start."

You smiled, your heart swelling with the truth in his words. No matter the bumps in the road or the surprises along the way, this was the man you loved. And with him, you were ready to face whatever came next.

"With you, Wonwoo," you whispered back, "I’m ready for anything."

As the private jet glided through the sky, the two of you sat side by side, hand in hand, knowing that this was just the beginning of your forever together.

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”  

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.  

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”  

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.  

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”  

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”  

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.  

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”  

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”  

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”  

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.  

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.  

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—  

Click. Thud.  

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.  

Roman Reigns.  

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.  

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.  

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”  

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.  

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”  

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.  

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.  

“He left.”  

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.  

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.  

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.  

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.  

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.  

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.  

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.  

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”  

You didn’t even get to finish.  

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.  

Then, before you could react, he moved.  

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.  

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.  

“Up. Now.”  

A command. Not a request.  

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.  

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.  

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.  

Then, he stopped behind you.  

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”  

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.  

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.  

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”  

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.  

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.  

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.  

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.  

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.  

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.  

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.  

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.  

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.  

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.  

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”  

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.  

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.  

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.  

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.  

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.  

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.  

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.  

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.  

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.  

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”  

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”  

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension. 

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear. 

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.  

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.  

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.  

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”  

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.  

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.  

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.  

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words. 

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.  

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching—as your body reacted to his every move.  

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.  

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.  

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.  

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”  

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.  

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.  

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.  

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.  

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.  

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.  

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.  

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”  

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.  

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”  

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.  

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”  

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.  

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.  

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.  

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.  

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.  

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.  

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”  

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.  

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.  

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.  

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.  

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.  

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.  

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.  

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.  

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.  

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.  

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”  

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.  

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”  

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.  

“Damn right, sweetheart.”

[cinnamqnx]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing. sae itoshi x f!reader

summary. after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

warnings: nsfw elements, smut, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

11 | pillow talk ( smut 18+ )

you had finally gotten back to sae’s apartment once again, feeling slightly awkward inside from your last encounter here.

“you don’t have to stand so awkwardly, make yourself comfortable.”, sae says casually, walking into the kitchen.

you quickly followed him, “well last time i was here we had a little problem.”

he turned around to face you after getting out a protein shake from his fridge, “didn’t we fix that?”

you stayed silent, “…or are you still upset?”

“i’m not upset, i just feel like there was a bit of awkward tension between us today.”

“i felt it too. it’s probably because we was with other people right after we spoke about it.”, you lean on his kitchen counter, soaking in the view of him.

there’s a small amount of silence before he speaks again. “do you want to stay?”, he asks, shaking his drink.

“i do, i think we should talk too. it’s not the same as over text.”, you nod.

“yeah, i actually didn’t really use my phone before you.”, he sets his drink down, “i feel like you have me doing a lot of talking.”

“is that a bad thing?”

he shrugs, “i don’t know, i just don’t really do all this, so it’s new for me.”

you make an amused face, “you don’t talk?”

“nah, i just mean in relationships. i’ve not really had girls pull me up on things i’ve done.”, he paused after realising what he just said, “sorry, that sounded really dickish.”

“it’s okay. at least you’re improving, a few days you wouldn’t have even realised.”, you joke, a small smile on your face.

“your smile is really pretty.”

you smile while rolling you eyes, “you’re a sweet talker.”

“can’t i just admire you?”, he tilts his head, an innocent but affectionate glint in his eye.

you smile at him, the same glint in yours.

12:22 am

you let out a shaky breath as sae began to kiss up your thighs, itching closer and closer to your centre, “you okay, beautiful?”

you nod, “mhm.”

he uses his arms to push himself up, planting a soft kiss on your lips, “you sure you wanna let me do this?”, he asks in a soft tone, making your heart swell.

“yeah.”, you whisper.

“c’mon, give me more than that.”, he says, placing his large palm at the side of your face.

“i want this, sae.”

he kisses you again, this time with more passion, tracing his tongue against your bottom lip, softly biting at it, causing you to let out a heavy sigh.

he smirks, “you’re so cute.”

he then started kissing alongside your jaw, tilting your head to the side for him to have better access. licking, sucking and kissing, you gasp, moving your head away slightly.

“you’ll leave marks.”, you say, his eyes staring into yours.

“hm? good, other men will know to stay away.”, he says before moving back onto your neck, just to move back to your lips.

you let out a breathy laugh at his possessive response, “i’ve not given you a reason to worry.”, you joke.

“i know. and you won’t, right?”, he murmurs, a vulnerable tone which has you surprised.

“i won’t. promise.”, he simply smiles gently, going back to kissing your neck, collarbone and shoulder, leaving no place unmarked.

he pulls away, looking up at your hazed expression, smirking before moving back down, placing small, gentle kisses on your abdomen.

“am i okay to take this off?”, he asks, his hands lingering at the waist band of your skirt.

“mhm.”, you nod, lifting your head up to look at him before dropping it back down.

he swiftly pulls your skirt off, throwing it to the side of his bed, teasingly pulling on your underwear before placing soft kisses on your upper thighs, moving to your abdomen.

“quit the teasing.”, you breath out.

he looks up at you, a smirk on his lips, “can’t i just appreciate you?”

you huff quietly, making him smile against your stomach, placing his last kiss, rubbing up your thighs and pulling away, getting a good look at you sprawled out on his bed in a tiny crop top and your underwear.

“be good for me.”, he says, his hands rubbing small circles on your hips, “do you want me to take your top off?”

you hesitate for a moment, that being enough for sae to bend down and give you a reassuring kiss on your lips, moving back down, “i’m gonna pull these off, okay?”, his hands on the waist band of your underwear, moving his fingers under the sides, ready to take them off.

you breath out, your stomach knotting with anticipation, “okay.”

he swiftly pulls off your underwear, checking your face for any discomfort, the cold breeze hitting you making you gasp quietly.

“you’re already so wet..”, he mumbles, moving down to place gentle kisses on your pussy, making you nibble softly on your bottom lip.

he hooks your thighs over his arms as he gets comfortable in his position, placing teasing kisses on your clit as he uses his tongue to tease your entrance.

you bite your bottom lip harder, your head leaning back even further.

“don’t hold it back.”, he looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, “i wanna hear you.”

“it’s embarrassing.”, you whine, but came out more like a quiet moan.

“stop being silly, let me hear how beautiful you are.”, he says, leaning up and kissing you, making you taste yourself.

you nod slowly, looking back at him as he pulls away, “good girl.”

he returns to his original position, but using his now free hand to slowly rub on your clit while his tongue slowly licked along your entrance, eliciting a needy whine from you.

“there you go.”, he says as you let out the noises he’s been dying to hear.

he picks up his pace once he feels he’s edged you on enough, the slow circles on your clit moving faster and faster while eating your pussy like it’s his last meal on earth.

“oh, fuck”, you mutter, your hands moving to his hair, tugging on it as you throw your head back, his quiet moan vibrating on your clit.

he unravels his other arm from your thigh, using his thumb to gently circle your entrance, letting you know what he was planning to do, the new sensation drawing out a small gasp from you.

he gives your clit a teasing kiss before focusing his attention onto his fingers, his middle sinking into you while curling upwards, hitting that spongey spot that’s been dying for attention immediately.

you let out a gasp, arching your back and moaning put his name, “hm? what is it, beautiful?”, he asks, his tone irritatingly condescending.

“asshole.”, you mutter as he chuckled, staring up at you with adoration and lust.

he sinks in his ring finger right next to his middle, fitting snuggly as he picks up his pace while attaching his lips against your clit.

your legs shake with the overwhelming pleasure, your mouth letting out uneven breaths and shaky moans while your hands clutch the bedsheets beneath you.

he never stops his pace, the veins in his arms prominent, continuing to abuse your g-spot.

“wait- wait. fuck.”, you moan out, your brows furrowing as you feel the pleasure start to build up in your stomach, so desperately trying to hold on, “i’m gonna-”

you cut yourself off with your own moan, “yeah? cum for me, baby, fuck. let me see you.”

you arch your back as you feel the intense pleasure hit you like a bomb, throwing your head back while gripping onto sae’s forearm, your legs instinctively wrapping around his shoulder’s as they shake with vigor.

suddenly, you feel a splash of liquid ricochet off sae and onto your thighs, looking down to see you had squirted all over this man’s face and chest.

“my god, i don’t..”, you pause, breathlessly, “i’ve never done that before.”

“yeah?”, he he hums, to which you nod weakly, your head falling back from exhaustion.

he smiles at himself, so obviously smug.

sae had cleaned you up after being so adamant he didn’t want anything else from you tonight, satisfied with just making you feel good.

he was more attentive than you could’ve imagined, running you a warm shower while he got you both some snacks from his kitchen. then putting on a movie for you both while cuddling on his bed, the covers over you both as you get closer and closer to drifting off to sleep.

tracing small patterns on your skin, he asks, “you feeling okay?”

“mhm.”, you pause, “i feel really good.”, you smile at him.

“good, i’m glad. i felt like i owed this to you.”

you half lidded eyes open, confused, “what do you mean?”

“i just feel like ive been a bit.. dickish, with you recently.”, he shrugs.

you hum, leaning your head further into his bare chest, “so you felt like you had to please me sexually?”, you joke.

“i mean, i guess, i don’t really know how to explain it.”, he sounds unsure.

you raise your head to look at his face, “do you wanna try?”

“well, i’m not usually liked for my personality, just what im good at.”, he pauses, trying to word it for you, “sorry, i’m not good at this kinda stuff, talking about how i feel.”

you nod understandingly, “i don’t wanna rush you, but im here to listen.”

he doesn’t say anything, moving his hand to play with your hair, “you’re definitely way too good for me.”

“i don’t think that’s true.”

“it is. i don’t wanna fuck this up with you.”

“you won’t, as long as you’re honest with me.”

“i can definitely do that.”, he mumbles into your shoulder, placing a soft kiss on it.

“then there’s nothing you need to be worrying about.”, you reassure.

he hums at your words, “give me a kiss.”

and of course, you obliged.

navigation. heartbreak summer

next chapter. 12

author’s note. this is the first smut i’ve wrote in years LOL so be nice guys, sorry this took me longer than usual to get out it just has way more writing than usual and i’ve lowkey been having writers block w this story, i think after this chapter i’m going to focus on virtually yours as it’s only going to be 15 chapters long, but after that heartbreak summer will have my full attention 🫶🏻

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi @megumiivs @captainshindo @evry1luvssm @alatusorrow @pookalicious-hq @gigiiiiislife @tnt-kokoo @misosoupii @whisperofae @bontensbabygirl @s4-mmy @viviinpt @werfiedeii @dinnersyummy @sccubss @nuhahani @treeguzzler @pctterheadd @taefanclub @literallyushiwaka @yiiscorner @suksatoru @manjiroswifo @sugacor3 @kaz-0e @rinniebinniebay @heartcam @arwawawa2 @sharks-3 @saeishiro @ira-in-ink (open)

[ditzydoe444]

Jason finding out his sweet shy girlfriend has nipple piercings and/or a clit piercing

-🪼

a/n: i might have to make a part 2 with smut

“hey sweetheart,” jason whispered softly as you walked into his piercing room, you were a clingy little thing, being his shadow following him everywhere. “what are you doing here?” he snuggled deep into your neck smelling your sweet scent. you beamed, your huge smile displaying your pearly whites were enough to make him weak at the knees.

the two of you were polar opposites, he was the brooding tatted and pierced man who would make anyone walk away if they stared the wrong way at him, and you on the other hand? you were a ray of sunshine. you were too good for him, hence why the two of you haven’t had sex, he didn’t want to scare away the only good thing in his life, he couldn’t afford to.

you nodded, your teeth sank into the bottom of your lips as you undid his belt, “doors locked and receptionist said that you don’t have any more clients so?”

he frowned, grabbing your shoulders as he gently squeezed them. “you want your first time here? at my tattoo parlour?” jason always thought about making it romantic as cheesy as it seemed, you deserved the best and he was going to give you the best.

“i want it here jacey, please, i can’t wait anymore.”

you’ve waited for what felt like ages, you were always a little insecure but after a few months with him jason treated you like the best thing in the world, he was different.

without a warning he slammed his lips on yours, holding the back of your head tightly as he wrapped your hair with his hand. “fuck darlin,” he groaned as he lifted up to to the counter, tugging your skirt off as you lifted your shirt up.

jason’s eyes went wide seeing your nipples pierced, you didn’t seem like the type to have them, god you were scared of getting your cold shot done to the point of tears.

though his shock then turned into jealousy, who pierced you? who got to see you like that?

it didn’t help when you took your panties off, putting your knees up to your chest just for him to see a small piercing on your fucking clit.

“didn’t know you were pierced baby,” he cooed as he gently traced your wet folds, watching as the tips of his fingers glistened with your arousal.

you grinned shyly, “you don’t know a lot of things jacey.”

those things included how you spent the last month with fingers shoved up your cunt thinking it was him, humping your pillows before going to bed.

“who pierced them darlin?” his voice low, if your nipple piercings weren’t enough having some stranger piece your clit? god he was going insane.

“just some piercer down the street from my apart,” you gasped as he inserted a finger, his other hand stroking his cock.

“hm guess i’ll have to have a talk with them.”

[joelmillerisapunk]

Love me like a loaded gun

fuckbuddy!jJavier Peña x f!reader // 1.3k

There's things I wanna say to you but I'll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did.There's things I wanna talk about but better not to give.

summary: Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how.

-or-

my interpretation of Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey if it was a Javi fic

warnings: mdni, 18+, unprotected emotions, unprotected p in v, a lil fingering, a lot of angst

notes: this is the doings of this tiktok (which I suggest you watch the 23 seconds of it to get in your feels before reading) AND the song that was on the tiktok Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey and then I heard 2 Hands by Tate McRae and it was over for me. Thank you @milla-frenchy for doing what you did. Thank you @thundermartini my baby for reading this lil guy over for me and always hyping me up and cheerleading me with everything especially my moodboard crisis that seems to be never-ending.love you both so much 💖

masterlist

Javier Peña is a hard man to hold onto. He never stays in one place too long. Never lets anyone get too close. You’ve known that since the moment you met him. 

But that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door in the middle of the night, his knuckles rapping against the wood like he already knows you’ll let him in.  

You shouldn’t.  

But you do.  

Javi steps inside without a word, the familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him, sinking into the space between you. He looks like he had a long night—tie loosened, hair a mess, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on his shoulders.  

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You could’ve called.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s humorless. “Didn’t think I needed to.”  

He doesn’t. He never does. And that’s the problem.  

You watch him shrug off his jacket and take off his tie, tossing them over the back of the couch like he belongs here. Like this is just another night, another excuse, another way to forget whatever the hell’s been haunting him.  

Your stomach twists.  

“Mmm, guess not.” You say with a voice softer than you mean it to be.  

Javi looks at you—really looks. His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, something caught between hunger and hesitation. He’s good at this game, at keeping his distance even when he’s got his hands all over you.  

You should tell him no. Should tell him that you’re done being the thing he comes to when he needs to bury the parts of himself he won’t face.  

But then he steps closer.  

“You want me to leave?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s something vulnerable under it, something he tries to hide.  

You could say yes. You should say yes.  

Instead, you reach for him.  

His lips crash against yours before you can even think, all teeth and desperation, almost angry, like he’s trying to take something from you—like he needs this more than he should. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he groans into your mouth, deep and ragged.  

Your fingers move down and twist into his shirt, holding on like you can stop him from slipping away. But he always does, in the end.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of him through his clothes, through yours. You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how familiar this all is, how much you want him even when you know he won’t stay.  

It’s always like this. Heated, frantic, like he’s running from something. Like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You let him back you toward the bed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

You break the kiss just enough to whisper, “Javi.”  

He breathes against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw, down your throat. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t say my name like that.”  

Like you mean it. Like this means something.  

But it does.  

And you both know it.  

His hands slide under your shirt, rough fingertips against soft skin, and you shiver at the way he touches you—possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. Like he wants to forget everything except the way you feel beneath him.  

Without a word, he grips the hem of your shirt and tugs it upward, his knuckles skimming along your sides as he peels it over your head. His eyes darken as he takes you in—bare skin, breathless anticipation, the way your chest rises and falls beneath his gaze.

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with a practiced ease. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, letting them slide down your arms before tossing it aside.

Javi’s hands are on you in an instant, palms rough against the softness of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks.

You let him pull you down onto the sheets, let him hold you the way he only does in the dark. His hands are reverent, his mouth sinful, his body pressing into yours like he can carve himself into your bones. And you let him, because you need this too.

And he doesn't hold back.

Javi is all over you, his hands skimming down your stomach, pushing your pants and underwear off with the kind of urgency that makes your breath catch. His fingers brush against the heat between your legs, and he exhales sharply, like the feel of you alone is enough to unravel him.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he mutters against your throat, his voice rough, almost angry. The way his fingers stroke over you is anything but. It's worship. It's desperation. He spreads you open, a slow, teasing drag of his fingers before he slides one inside you.

Your back arches. "Javi—”

He cuts you off with his mouth, swallowing your moan as he works another finger inside you, curling them just right, like he knows your body better than his own. Maybe he does. Maybe that's why he keeps coming back.

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, keeping you in place like he needs you to stay right there—needs this to last. But it never does.

You reach for him, tugging at his belt, desperate for more, and he lets you, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself. He’s already hard, already aching, the tip dragging through the slick between your thighs before he presses in, slow and deep.

Your head falls back, a whimper catching in your throat as he stretches you open, as your body takes him the way it always does. Like he belongs there. Like you were made for this.

Javi groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His hips start to move, slow at first, deep, like he wants to drag it out, like he wants to feel every inch of you. But then your fingers dig into his back, your nails biting into his skin, and something in him snaps.

He thrusts harder, deeper, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You cling to him, gasping his name, and he hates it, hates the way it makes something crack open inside him, so he kisses you rough and messy, like he can make you forget what you just said.

You don’t.

And neither does he.

It’s fast and desperate, a little too rough, a little too much, like you’re both trying to take something from each other that neither of you can really give.

But right now, it’s enough.

For a moment, it feels like he’s yours.

For a moment, you can pretend.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit, dragging you closer to the edge, until you're falling, unraveling beneath him. You cry out, your body tightening around him, and Javi follows right after, a shuddering groan pressed into your skin as he spills inside you.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy breathing. The warmth of his body still pressed against yours.

Then, like always, the moment starts to slip away.

Javi pulls out too soon. Rolls onto his back. And when you glance at him, when you see the way he stares at the ceiling like he’s already somewhere else, the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask what this is or what it could be.

And he doesn’t offer, doesn't pretend this is anything more. 

Because Javi loves like he fights—reckless, desperate, and always ready to leave before the dust settles.

And you let him.

Even when it breaks you.

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓: 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍

- a = aftercare (how he takes care of you after sex)

daryl doesn’t do the kind of ‘aftercare’ you read about in fics. bringing you a snack, talking you down from a hazy headspace, telling you everything will be alright - those things don’t happen with him. they don’t need to.

every time you have sex with daryl, it feels good. amazing. he fucks you, not just because he wants to get off, but because he wants to make you feel good too. he won’t admit it, but he likes the closeness of it. the intimacy that is sex. when you’re both done, sweaty and tired and coming down from an orgasm high, he’ll help clean you up - and if you ask, he’ll bring you some water. cuddle you extra tight, tell you how much he loves you.

of course, if kink is involved, daryl would do more to make sure you’re okay after a scene, but regular intercourse doesn’t warrant anything special after. because every moment with daryl is special. and when you’re around him, you know that he’ll take care of you and make sure you’re okay at all times.

- b = body part (his favorite body part of yours)

daryl likes boobs and ass. just as much as any other guy. but for different reasons.

he would never look at a woman and think ‘wow, she’s hot because of her huge tits’ or anything like that. while he might notice certain physical things about a woman’s body, he really could care less. daryl dixon does not let lust or his cock run his life - and in the world he lives in, that’s a good thing. he has more important things to focus on.

if you’re dating daryl, he likes your boobs because they’re yours. he likes your ass because it’s yours. he doesn’t have a type. it doesn’t matter if you’re skinny, tall, petite, thick - if you managed to get close to daryl, believe that he adores every inch of your body and everything about you.

- c = cum (anything to do with cum)

daryl will kiss you after you suck his dick and swallow his cum. he doesn’t care if your mouth still tastes salty, doesn’t mind the taste of himself. he also doesn’t necessarily think it’s hot, just - it is what it is. sex is natural. sex is dirty. that’s what daryl believes, anyway.

he loves the taste of your cum. is obsessed with the concept of squirt. he loves spending majority of foreplay, or even just for fun, going down on you and fingering you. i imagine him with the bottom part of his face slick, your inner thighs stinging from his facial hair rubbing against them, his lips looking glossy from your juices after he gave you a few orgasms. his smile from between your legs is probably shy and loopy as he licks the taste of you from his fingers.

- d = dirty secret (a dirty little secret of his)

daryl would never verbally admit this - but he loves when you call him daddy.

and not in that, who’s your daddy? kind of way, that’s a little degrading and a whole lot of powerful. daryl just loves what it stands for - that he’s taking care of you. that you trust him.

and, okay, maybe feeling like he has that power over you is a little hot. but it’s not the main reason he likes it.

when you curl up next to him and call him that name, snuggle into his side, or just tease him to ask for something using that name and a sweet voice - god, it gives him butterflies, makes him eager to do whatever he can do to make you happy. because he loves taking care of you. loves spoiling you in whatever way he can.

the name is romantic to him, but at the end of the day - also a little kinky. the fact that you trust him the way you do means everything to him.

- e = experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

daryl doesn’t have a lot of experience - but that’s by choice.

people can think what they want about daryl, but women want him. because not only is he physically hot, he’s also untrained - in that dirty, masculine way every woman secretly wants a piece of. in his life, daryl has had many admirers, but just a few partners.

in fact, most of the women he’s been with sexually have probably been older than him. kind, soft, they took good care of him while he learned the ropes. maybe that’s why he’s so good with his tongue and fingers and cock - older women with more experience, who could see the appeal that the women his age maybe couldn’t back then, have taught him well.

so, yes - daryl knows what he’s doing, and he does it well.

- f = favorite position (this one goes without saying)

in the beginning, when he’s getting comfortable and more vulnerable with you, daryl is a little scared of missionary. it’s a lot of pressure, to have your pretty face looking up at him - you can see how he’s feeling, and he can see the way you’re feeling. wonders if you’re enjoying yourself, if he’s making any weird faces. he’s also a little scared to admit just how much he enjoys himself with you, no matter how silly that sounds.

daryl just wants to impress you. he just wants you to feel good.

as you get more serious in your relationship, missionary becomes his favorite because of the intimacy that looking into each other’s eyes brings. he also loves doggy, because duh, and he loves showing off his strength by holding you up against a wall and fucking you like that, just bouncing you up and down on his cock like you weigh nothing. because to a man as strong as him - you are light. no matter what your body type.

and when you ride him? god, it’s so overwhelmingly good he could just about cry. but really, any position, as long as he gets to put his dick inside of you, is perfect for him.

- g = giving (is he more of a giver, or a receiver?)

giver. daryl isn’t a sexual person unless he’s really into someone - and if he’s really into you, then his sexuality is pretty much…you. he could please you and focus on just your pleasure for hours, even if it’s at the expense of his own. whatever you want to do in the bedroom, he’ll try. even if he gives you a funny look, or teases you about it, he’ll give it a chance.

if it’s something super kinky, he might be hesitant - but ultimately daryl just wants to make you happy. seeing you turned on turns him on. definitely a giver.

‘you’re a little weird, ya know?’ he murmurs, face flushed when you ask him to dominate you a certain way, or do something dirty. but he’s a good sport - he’ll do it, whatever it is, especially when he sees how much it turns you on.

- h = hair (how well groomed is he? his thoughts on body hair, his partner’s and his own)

this might be surprising to some, but daryl is well groomed. his hair is pretty light but he keeps it trimmed, because even though he has the reputation of someone who doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually hygienic. uses bar soap, freshens up everyday. he’s just really active and outside all the time, which is how he gets dirty so fast. and he doesn’t care what he looks like, not when the world is the way it is. but he’s not unhygienic. he smells manly, woodsy, musky in the best way possible.

as for your hair, he really doesn’t care. daryl has literally eaten raw squirrel meat just to survive. he’s rough and tough and a survivor - you think he cares about fucking body hair? he’ll go down on you no matter what your grooming situation, will cuddle next to you and touch your body no matter if you shaved yesterday or haven’t touched a razor in months.

although, if you do happen to be smooth, soft and hairless just because that’s something you prefer, he definitely notices. can’t believe someone as sweet and pretty as you even lets his rough fingertips touch your body, but overall, body hair is not a factor in his attraction towards you. not at all.

- i = intimacy (how is they during the moment? the romantic aspects)

when daryl loves you, he’s romantic all the time. without even knowing it. for some reason, he’s under the impression that he’s not romantic. maybe he thinks that romance is red roses and money and expensive dinners, things that don’t matter in the world you’re both living in. he also has a bit of a self esteem issue - he doesn’t really see himself for who he is, you know? he’s amazing, and everyone knows that. he’s the one who has a hard time believing it.

he’s so romantic. in the way he takes care of you. listens to you. he’s a sweetheart, wrapped in a tough package. when you’re having sex, he’s the same daryl he always is. intense, thoughtful, voice a little mumbled even as he tells you how tight you are, how good you are for him, how much he cares about you.

he loves you, you know that with all your heart - but acts of service, sometimes gift giving is the way he shows it. the words i love you are rarely explicitly verbalized. but he fucks you so good that it’s obvious.

giving you orgasms is an act of service and a gift at the same time, right?

- j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

daryl doesn’t just jerk off for the fuck of it. never gets horny and immediately think, ‘lemme touch myself.’ if you’re dating him, he’ll just put the moves on you, because he’d rather watch you not waste a drop of his cum then get it all over his hand. if he’s single, he definitely only gets himself off when he has to. when its been so long it’s starting to become a need, and his body is desperate for release.

god, he looks so hot laying on his back, perfect arms flexing as he jerks himself off. it’s easy to imagine. it’s also easy to imagine watching him cum all over his stomach and licking it off -

okay, maybe he lets you watch him get himself off one time. tells you to take your clothes off in front of him while he strokes himself, embarrassed, and so turned on at the way you clean up his mess with your cute, pink tongue.

- k = kink (one or more of his kinks)

daryl isn’t the kinky sex god everyone in the fandom makes him out to be. he has his moments, sure, but the only time he’d ever do something truly kinky is if you asked.

if you wanted him to spank you, or lightly choke you, or roleplay a little - he’d awkwardly do it in his own cute, grumpy way.

the way he naturally is, and the dynamic he has with you - some might think there’s elements of kink to it. he’s such a man, but he’s also sort of versatile. would let you dominate him, although not aggressively, even while he’s on top of you. he’d think it’s hot if his woman told him how to fuck her, demanded things - he definitely thinks a little bit of a brat is sexy.

there’s something very primal about sex with daryl, but it comes naturally to him. he’s a little bossy with you, even if you have him whipped. when you fuck, he takes what he wants, he’s a man about it, and that’s endlessly sexy to you.

- l = location (favorite places to fuck and mess around)

bed.

it seems boring, but having a bed and a roof is a luxury these days. there was a long time when daryl didn’t have anything to sleep on but a thin sleeping bag, and even worse, a hard fucking prison bed. fuck the tent, fuck the outdoors - you’re precious to daryl, and he wants to fuck you somewhere that’s worthy of you.

he’ll also fuck you over a couch, or in the shower. and, okay - he’ll fuck you outside or behind a tree or wherever you want if you’re desperate for it, but he definitely prefers to have you on his soft mattress, bedroom door closed, so he can give you the princess treatment you deserve and fuck you like -

the girlfriend he adores.

- m = motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

you.

all day and all night long. anything and everything about you. he wants to please you. make you happy. take care of you. he can’t rest if you’re unhappy, can’t cum unless you’re completely satisfied. doesn’t want to even have a good time unless you’re having one too.

anything and everything you do turns him on. just by being yourself, you get that man going like nothing and nobody else. it’s kind of your superpower, you think sometimes - the effect you have on daryl dixon.

- n = no (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he doesn’t want to hurt you.

even if you ask for it, tell daryl you’ll be fine and him getting rough with you turns you on - he’ll be hesitant.

i don’t think daryl would ever tell you no. he’s pretty inexperienced, but when it comes to anything kinky, you have to tell him what you want, and he might be freaked out. if you asked him to spank you, he might look at you like you’ve grown a second head. ‘you know i’m a lot stronger than you, don’t you?’ he’ll say, as if you’re literally insane, and you’ll nod and roll your eyes, telling him in your best brat voice, ‘that’s the point.’

daryl will do whatever you want, and he’ll enjoy it because making you happy turns him on - but i think anything that could hurt you scares him a little.

- o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving.

of course, he loves receiving head because who doesn’t? but come on. you know that man is obsessed with eating pussy. loves to get dirty and sticky and wet between your thighs, or have you sit on his face so he can feel you all over him. bonus points if you’re thick: because the weight of you on his face, your smell and your taste and just you on top of him could literally make him cum untouched if he tried hard enough.

daryl loves to give - and he’s so fucking good at it. partially from skill, but mostly because he’s so enthusiastic. will jump at any opportunity to go down on you.

- p = pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

daryl isn’t inherently rough.

but he is. he’s just so big, and kind of unaware of his strength, and when he’s enthusiastic and excited and you beg him to flip you onto your stomach and fuck you silly - he’s going to do it. he’s so strong, and anytime he puts his hands on you while he’s fucking you, it always feels a little rough. the good news is: you love it. because even when he’s rough, doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping your hips or folding your legs into your chest so he can fuck you at a better angle, he’s still so sensual. can go so slow. make you feel so loved.

sex with daryl makes you feel like a prized possession, and when he’s inside of you, you want it to last forever.

- q = quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

daryl can get you off quickly, but it takes him a little longer to cum. his pleasure centers around your pleasure, and if you feel good - he’s satisfied, even if he doesn’t cum himself.

a quickie for daryl means quickly getting you off fast. with his fingers or mouth and tongue, or his cock, even if he tucks it back into his pants, slightly hard, and pulls his shirt over the bulge while you’re still shaking from your orgasm. as long as you’re satisfied, so is he.

he wants to savor the chase of his orgasm for longer than just a quickie while the rest of your group is momentarily occupied or you finally have some free time together during the day. if you want sex, he’ll happily oblige, but long nights with daryl are more his style.

- r = risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

daryl doesn’t take risks when it comes to sex. meaning: it’s rare that he’ll fuck you somewhere where others could hear or walk by and catch you both. you’ve had a few outside romps for sure, but if there’s a bed or a couch or a roof over your head, daryl will always pick that. it’s not that he doesn’t want to have fun, he just wants to make sure you’re getting the best experience. what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let you get grass stains on the knees of your pants if he bent you over outside? he’d never put you in a degrading position like that.

unless, of course, you ask for something like that. even if he’s huffing and puffing, mumbling ‘yer crazy, girl’ under his breath about a sexual request you have - he’ll always try to please you. and honestly, he can’t deny you when you’re all over him, begging for a little risk, especially when life is more settled. how can he tell you no when you’re pulling at his sleeve and rubbing your tits against his arm, asking him to take you behind a tree even with the rest of your group close by?

with daryl, you pretty much always get what you want.

- s = stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

once daryl cums, he’s good. doesn’t see the need to go an extra round and exert himself - because he’s definitely fucking tired after giving you a pounding. when he fucks you, he uses all his strength, makes you cum so many times before he lets himself cum that you’re too exhausted to go another round even if he wanted to. he can last a long time, with foreplay and blowjobs and making you cum around his cock - which is why he’s usually beat for a few hours after he finally lets himself spill. it really doesn’t take him long to be ready again once he cums, but one round with daryl is deeply satisfying.

- t = toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

daryl doesn’t use toys on himself. wouldn’t even think to do that.

at first, he honestly doesn’t like the thought of you using toys. not because he’s insecure - he literally just doesn’t understand why you need a toy if you have him. or your own fingers.

but one day, he catches you using your vibrator under the covers and he sees how fucking wet it makes you, how easy it is for that little toy to take you over the edge, and then he understands. doesn’t feel like it takes away from you, or him, or what you two do together - no, he just gets a little curious, is all.

daryl enjoys, very rarely, using a vibrator while you fuck. loves to see you come apart while you ride his cock and he holds it to your clit, the way you shudder and shake on top of him, have orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

and sometimes, he asks you to hold it on his balls. or the base of his dick. lightly - just for a second. his face turns red and his dick leaks precum. when you bend down to lick it well -

he understands the appeal of toys now, okay?

- u = unfair (how much he likes to tease)

as hot as it would be, daryl doesn’t really sexually tease. he does do it verbally though, when you’re crawling on his lap after he already spent the better part of an hour between your legs, fingers almost pruning from how long they’d been inside of you as he licked at your pussy. “you ready to go again jus’ like that?’ he’ll tease, all while heat creeps into your cheeks at how easy you are for him. but even when he teases you, you never feel ashamed for sharing any need you have with daryl. he doesn’t judge.

well, he does - but he never judges you.

- v = volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

he’s not loud. partially because he’s just a quiet person, but also because he’s used to constantly being around people and sharing a living space. his voice is soft even when he talks dirty, little grunts and moans leaving his mouth so quietly that sometimes the only way you know he’s having a good time is the feel of his dick rock hard inside of you.

it makes it all the more special when he does get a little louder. after a few drinks, when he’s more outwardly touchy and talkative, or when you suck him off so good he just can’t help the noises coming out of his mouth. it’s a glorious feeling, when you can actually get daryl dixon to moan in your ear, or press his forehead to yours as he lets out a breath, the walls of your pussy clenching around him so tight he doesn’t even know how to move.

‘fuck,’ he’ll whisper, the most delicious little whine leaving his lips. you savor those sounds, commit them to memory, keep them in the back of your mind in case you ever need to get yourself off when daryl’s not around.

- w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

daryl never knew how much he needed a woman in his life. someone feminine, soft, to offset his masculine energy and understand the vulnerability beneath his surface.

but when he met you, someone sweet and cute and pretty and warm - everything he never thought he wanted nor needed, your presence kind of became an addiction to him.

daryl feels his dick start to chub in his pants whenever you wear a skirt, or a dress. whenever he feels your soft thigh against his leg in bed at night, or when you fit your body, so much smaller than his, on his lap or tucked under his arm. when you freak out if you see a bug because you’re scared of spiders, but not walkers, tie his hair back with little ribbons while he’s napping - he’s so incredibly fond that it makes him sick. it turns him on, the woman you are, and it’s like his dick is half hard the entire day when you wear anything pink or floral print.

you make him crazy in the best way.

- x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

hard body. toned, every inch of him. slightly tan, skin the most beautiful bronzed color in the summer, blemish free. his cock is big, but not overly so - perfect size, perfect color. the head of his dick is sort of pink, soft. he’s too hot for his own good, too beautiful, and he doesn’t even know it. actually blushes, when you lick your lips as he gets undressed, but daryl’s naivety about his own good looks is kind of part of his charm.

- y = yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

daryl is ready to fuck and get sucked at all times. but it’s not his main goal - he’s got a lot of shit to do, a lot of people depending on him, and he can go a long time without cumming. not that he wants to - especially not when he’s with you.

whenever you want to fuck, daryl is game. if you want his cock, you’re going to get it. don’t get it wrong - he is initiating. he can tell when you want to be fucked, because you go all quiet with your eyes glassy, or the opposite, you’re loud and a little bratty, begging him to just give you some type of release that you can’t get on your own. he knows you well, and he’s got you. ‘okay, pretty girl,’ he’ll say, leading you by the hand to a private area. ‘lemme make you feel better.’

daryl has a high sex drive, but until he met you, getting off was just never a big deal to him.

- z = zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

very fast. such a cutie. he puts his all into it when he’s fucking you - and he’s not trying to be intense, that’s just how he naturally is regarding everything about you. he’s always giving his all when it comes to you, in any situation. but there’s also the fact that - he doesn’t know how else to be?

doesn’t understand men who’d let their woman do all the work during intercourse - it makes no sense to him, and the thought actually makes him uncomfortable. because of this, he’s definitely exhausted after he cums. if he fucks you at night, he’s passing the fuck out afterwards. if it’s a quickie during the day, he’s tucking his dick back in his pants after you’re done, grumbling something about ‘never getting a chance to nap anymore’ or some shit while you stifle a giggle.

‎ ‎ original template credit

[tricoloreddango]

Phainon with chubby reader headcanons

contents: female reader / fluff and smut / insecurity and comfort / possessiveness / protectiveness / clingy behavior / mentions of marriage / riding / oral fem receiving / 69 position / cockwarming / soft and rough sex / service dom / period sex / aftercare / not suitable for minors

[Mydei version] [back to m.list]

SFW

—You are constantly made to be flustered. No, he won’t spare you any compliments, making sure they’re as poetic and detailed as possible. He’ll go as far as telling you how much he’d worship a statue made in the image of your body, leaving offerings for his ‘goddess’. But even if he can’t sculpt, he’ll gladly paint you if you give him a permission.

—Phainon wasn’t afraid to be constantly touching you, enjoying the physicality of you under his palms; being in public never stopped him from touching you either—he was just more subtle about it. He didn’t mean anything naughty (unless in a right setting), he just liked the fact you were there with him. Having your hip stroked or your waist wrapped with his arm, or even sleeping with his hand under your clothes just to feel your warmth was an everyday thing.

—Whenever you feel insecure, he’s not the one to just say “nah, don’t worry” and some compliment. He much preferred to get to the bottom of your insecurity and talk you through it until you no longer feel as if it was that bad—no matter how many times it takes you to fully solidify the fact in your head.

—Let him buy pretty or flattering clothes for you. One on hand, he didn’t like others having a clear view of your body; on the other hand, he wanted your shape to be enhanced and decorated—especially for others to agree with him that he’s indeed a lucky man.

—Phainon loved to take you to swimming sessions, somewhere by more isolated pools. His favorite part was you lying next to him on the blanket, the sun warming your skin, your body in a swimsuit and him having an excuse to spread open kisses onto your uncovered skin. You’ll make his heart flutter a lot if you giggle happily.

—Please let him rest on your stomach. He really liked taking a nap with him between your thighs, wanting an occasion to feel your soft body under him. You probably will feel ticklish with his warm breath teasing your skin, but he’ll fall asleep into a nap very quickly.

—All kinds of bodies were worshipped on Amphoreus, but should anyone end up spilling unpleasantries for your ears to hear you’ll have nothing to worry about. He’ll make sure to call out this person, not afraid to embarrass them in public either.

—Did I mention how clingy he is? On top of that, you’ll hear “I love you” on every occasion possible.

—Phainon knew you two should get to know each other well first. However, the ideas of marriage will fill his head rather quickly just in the beginning of your relationship… simply because he had feelings for you a long time before, and probably chased you for just as long.

—Teasing was just a big part of his personality. That’s why he liked to act like he’s your husband already, with that being done in front of others (it’s beneficial to him anyway, as no other man will think you’re an option anymore). Other form tease came from his touch you in small amounts throughout the day, just to get bit breathy and thinking of him.

Not to mention asking things such as “and who’s this pretty girl, huh?” or “what would you do if I was to kiss you all of the sudden?”—all whispered right into your ear, leaving him with a satisfied flicker in his eyes at your provoked tremble.

NSFW:

—He’ll set any warm and fuzzy setting you wish to have. Candles, essential oils, massage oil? You’ve got it. Sex wasn’t some mindless or animalistic ritual to him. He wasn’t using you, he was making love to you.

—You’re being fondled everywhere and I mean everywhere. He’ll become a whiny creature if he has to separate his hands from your body for even a second. It’s like during the day where he can’t keep his hands away from you, with a difference that this time it’s done in a really desperate and erotic way.

—He loved when you get on top of him. Any weight was enough for him to handle; he loved to see your beautiful body being exposed when you were sitting on him. He’ll squeeze and knead your flesh, while spilling out praises and encouragements.

—Every part of you was sweet, that’s why your pussy was no different. Phainon couldn’t get enough of eating you out on everyday basis, sometimes even stopping you in the middle of something just to drop down on his knees to pleasure you. You’re cooking? Great, turn off the stove for a moment and turn around to face him, before you spread your legs for him to sit between. It will be a perfect argument for him to touch and feel your thick thighs.

—69 position was arguably one of the best in his humble opinion. He could feel the weight of your body, the flesh of your chub against him on the bed; while you both exchange the beautiful act of mouthy-pleasuring like two true lovers. He’d service you anyway, yet he adored you wanting to make him feel good as well. Really, you were growing more and more lovable to Phainon everyday.

—Another perfect position was you both on your sides, with him either behind you or in front of you. He’ll hold you regardless, wanting sex to be something more than just fucking. He craved the intimacy with you… which of course didn’t mean he didn’t get rough with you occasionally, especially if he stared at you throughout the day than usual and needed to release his tension.

—Romantic gestures didn’t have to be cliche. One of his idea was you cockwarming him to sleep, in case cuddling wasn’t enough.

—Forgive him if he sometimes sounds too loud (high pitched even) or if he squeezes your hand too tightly (an intimate gesture he couldn’t deny himself of). It’s just that every time you laid each other on your shared bed, he was becoming a man thirsty, desperate and weaker than ever…. you’ll kill him too if you choose to be same amount of loud or squeeze violently around his cock. Perhaps you’ll force loud vulgar words from his mouth as well.

—He didn’t care if you or someone else found it nasty, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you during your bleeding. It’s just a matter of placing a towel under you for him. He’ll gladly help you with your cramps by pushing orgasms out of you, and the fact you’d let him trust with your body even on your vulnerable time of the month made him feel a step closer to you. It’s just another way of him fully accepting you.

—Aftercare was as intense as possible. You need water? He’s already on his way. A towel was ready next to the bed. If you feel cold, he’ll keep you warm or help you dress up. Any soreness you had, he’ll gladly massage (and feel your plumpness with that). Not to mention all the pretty praises you’ll hear, even through your ears ringing post-orgasm.

[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 🫶🏽

[trustmypoison]

Ateez confessing to their best friend

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘‘Can you please do a headcannon of ateez confessing to their bestfriend that they have a crush on them?‘

Hongjoong

I think there would be an unspoken tension between you two that you’re afraid to address. When you think about it, there always has been. It’s something you dance around for a while until you just can’t. But you’re visiting him late in the studio one night and you both are looking at something together, sitting close, and then suddenly you’re kissing. When it’s time to come up for air, he feels quite a bit of confidence in saying, “I guess we should talk about that.” 

Seonghwa

He’s stunning and you’re not blind. Neither are a lot of other people. The thing is, he turns down people left and right. You don’t think anything about it at first, but when an idol that everyone chases after asks him out and he says, “Oh thank you, but I’m not interested,” you just have to ask. When you bring it up, he initially shrugs it off. When you ask if he’s already interested in someone, he flushes and says “It’s not important.” It’s only after a little arm-twisting that he finally admits he’s interested in you. He’d feel a lot of fear about this moment but would be so, so relieved if you returned his feelings. 

Yunho

You both already act like you’re dating so why are both of you surprised?? (I’m sorry, all I can see is the friends to lovers fic I wrote for him.) This sort of creeps up on him in a way that once he realizes how he’s always looking for and reaching for you, he can’t unsee it. I do think there would have to be an external force that would compel him to confess. Like if you were asked on a date by someone else and you asked his opinion, he would find himself saying, “I’d really rather you not.”

Yeosang

So fucking casual!! So casual in fact that it feels like it came out of left field. He just straight up asks you out and you have this horrible moment of confusion before the panic sets in, because you can’t ask something like that so casually after years of friendship!! But he does and he accepts that it’s a shock for you, but he really just wants to get it off of his chest. He’d totally go back to normal if you didn’t like him like that, but if you did? Not so casual anymore because the relief is obvious!! The casualness was totally fake!!

San

He’s so touchy that this is another one that to strangers you look like you’re dating. But the thing is, he’s touchy even when no one else is around. So imagine cuddling up to him on the couch and he goes in to kiss your cheek like he’s done a million times. Naturally (and stereotypically) you turn your head at just the right time that he ends up kissing the corner of your lips. He likes to see you flustered and acts like he doesn’t understand why. “That was a little close, don’t you think?” You’ll laugh nervously. He’ll shrug in a strong attempt to be casual and ask if that’s a bad thing. If you question if he actually would want to kiss you, he says, “Yes of course,” in an instant. 

Mingi

This is totally an overnight realization. One day, he wakes up and sees you that day and thinks, “Uh when did I become attracted to them??” His attitude will do a 180. He’s totally avoidant, and when he can’t avoid you he’s totally awkward. You actually think you might have done something wrong and one of the group members has to step in. The problem is that he’ll have let this go so long that you’re mad by the time he’s ready to talk. He has to confess and grovel. 

Wooyoung

He confesses so many times in so many ways and you really think he’s joking. It’s funny to him at first because he thinks you’re just a little dense. But over time, the confessions get increasingly more serious and you still aren’t getting it. This will be to the absolute delight of his members to watch him struggle with this. Eventually, he’ll reach a breaking point and just pull you into a kiss because it seems words just aren’t working. His head might explode when you ask, “Wait, are you into me???” and he’s just like, “Yes!!! I kept trying to tell you!!!”

Jongho

Another stereotypical moment, but bear with me. You have a bad partner that just isn’t treating you right and you’re upset for the millionth time. He’s almost scolding you when he says you shouldn’t put up with that sort of treatment and you can do worlds better. But you might be a little jaded that all relationships are like this. If you express this, he’ll just snap and say, “I wouldn’t be like that.” That’s most certainly something that he can’t back out of now. Not that he wants to because bitterness about watching you suffer in your current relationship has been building for a while and he has a lot to say. 

[alieinthemorning]

Familiar Warmth [Caleb]

Content: Touch-Starved, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Caleb, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Note: I see Caleb within the childhood friend trope. Anything outside of that makes me uncomfortable, so I won’t be engaging with it in any sort of way.

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries

Wanna support me? Here’s my Ko-Fi!

It was raining tonight. Although it sounded far off despite the curtains being open, letting in the blurry moonlight. He focused on the pitter-patter of rain, he focused on his breathing, his heartbeat…

And yours. 

He was at your house, an occurrence that was somehow both rare and frequent. Anytime he had a break from being the colonel, he sought you out. He needed to be around you. You drowned out the darkness, the voices, all of it. It left him with just you and him, and that’s all he needed. 

When the rain started, you pulled him up from the couch and dragged him to your bedroom. He was very confused at first. Especially when you stripped down to your undergarments (and told him to follow suit), but then you lied down and gestured for him to join you and he understood. He went to lie beside you, but you gently tugged his arm closer to you. He confusedly maneuvered himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. Then your hands made their way into his hair, and he melted. 

How long had it been since you’d done this for him? Over a decade. It felt even longer after his death and year separation from you. Even after all this time, however, your fingers were still gentle, and you still hummed that same tune. 

On one hand, it made him feel like a kid again, but on the other…he felt special. Like this was just for him, you’d never do this for anyone else….well, maybe someone else…someone who looked a little bit like you and a little bit like him—

“You’re thinking pretty hard, Cap’.” Your comment pulled him out of his thoughts. “Wanna talk about it?”

He flushed. He definitely didn’t want to tell you about his white picket fence dream. At least not now, not while he was deep in your bliss. If that made him selfish, so be it. 

“Should I start guessing?” 

Eyes reminiscent of sugilite flashed open met your closed ones. There was a soft smile gracing your features with the moonlight from the open curtains of your window haloing you.

You were beautiful.

He shifted his head so that his chin was resting on your chest now. “Nah, you’re just imagining things.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re definitely not thinking about the future right now.” You chuckled. “When you think about the past, you start running your mouth, but when you think about the future…you get real quiet…”

He froze. 

You were entirely too perceptive for your own good. 

And his silence was a loud confirmation.

He quietly cursed himself. It had taken a while, and a lot of apologies, but he had finally gained some semblance of trust with you again. And now here he was, thinking useless things. Especially since the last time he talked about the future to you, it was in a frantic haze where he said he’d lock you up in a maze where no one could find you. He hated himself for saying that. For scaring you. 

He pulled away from you, showing you his back as he sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted to leave, to shut you out and act like nothing was wrong. However, you had followed him, and the warmth of your hand was already bleeding into his back. He swore he could even feel it in his mechanical arm. 

“Talk to me.”

His eyes slid close as his body leaned forward. His elbows on his knees, and head in his hands. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your body pressed against his. 

“I keep thinking about…our future together. Which I know isn’t right because it’s not a given that I’m even in a future with you. I mean—I just barely regained a fraction of your trust, but—” His fumbled words became a sigh. “Ah…I feel a pervert”

“How so?”

“I…I keep thinking about kids…our kids.”He sighed roughly in an attempt to keep some deeper feelings from breaching the surface. “I know I shouldn’t. Especially after what I said to you. Having a kid by me would probably feel the same to you. You’d feel trapped—trapped to me, and I shouldn’t do that to you and—”

“Do think our kids would have your eyes or mine? Honestly, I’d want each of them to look like a good mix of the both of us, but if I had to choose, I’d choose your eye color.”

“Huh?” He asked dumbly. 

“What if they had an eye color each? I think that’d look good too.”

What were you saying?

Were you really fantasizing about the two of your future children right now?

And you weren’t admonishing him for having thoughts like these either? 

You had thought about it yourself?

“Am I dreaming?” He murmured, not meaning to say that out loud. 

“Nope.” You pulled away from him for a moment, making your way into his lap. “You may have lost my trust before, but you’re slowly gaining it back. And plus,” You paused, gently brushing your palm against his cheek. “You’re my forever co-pilot, Caleb.”

He chuckled, hands slotting against your waist. “Co-pilot. Who’s the one with the credentials?”

“I’m the pilot in my life, just as you are in yours.” You smiled at him. “We’re both each other’s co-pilots.”

“Maybe I should make it official…?” He asked, unable to hide the timid hopefulness as he brought up a hand to tap your left ring finger. 

You laughed. “I’ll give you the signal, Cap’in.” Then your gaze turned soft as you gathered his face in your hands. “I love you, Caleb. I always have.”

That knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t have stopped the tears if he tried. They were sudden and unrelenting as they flooded from his tear ducts, down his checks, in between your fingers and down your wrists. 

Despite this, he smiled. 

“Thank you for loving me all this time, pip-squeak.”

:) This was just supposed to be fluff. I ended up making a man cry. AGAIN

CALL THAT ON BRAND

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏

Tag group 1:

@2birdsofafeather @72scsuze @76bookworm76 @a-beautiful-but-sassy-world @almostfoxglove

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @annalovesflorida @anniet852 @ashleyfilm @ashlovesdrpepper

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[no-144444]

marco polo- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

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Things had been a little awkward since coming back to Monaco. Oscar had noticed the way you’d become a little bit more… closed off, or just a bit less talkative. That didn’t bother him. If Oscar Piastri could do anything, he could definitely talk. It took a few days for the two of you to get back into a flow of things, but no matter, he just kept suggesting things you could do together, and you didn’t have anything better to do, so off you went.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“When do you leave for Kigali?” Oscar asked, sipping on his smoothie. You’d think it wasn’t December with the Monaco weather around the two of you. You and Oscar had decided to go for a quick training session (in the form of a swim) before you left for the awards. The FIA prize-giving. The one night of your life that, if you could, you’d pay any half-good impersonator to be you, and you could fuck off and enjoy your break. 

That, alas, would not be happening this year. You had to go. You were World Champion after all. 

“Tomorrow morning I think,” you huffed, swiping your card into the gym. “Want to come by any chance?” you asked, awkwardly. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a date?”

You rolled your eyes, walking away. “I don’t want one,” you sighed. “I have you.”

And with that bombshell, you walked into the women’s dressing room. 

He genuinely didn’t know what to do for a solid minute. He just stood there, his arms out in front of him and his jaw dropped. One of the gym employees had to ask if he was alright. He went into the changing room with a lot on his mind. You hadn’t meant it like that, surely? 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You hadn’t meant it to sound like that, really. You just meant, ‘oh, I don’t want to bother with asking someone to go with me and dealing with the online chatter about the prospects of my dead dating life, and you’re here and my best mate and people know we’re mates so that’s easier and I’d have much more fun with you anyways so yeah’, but you seemed to have a way with words. A way that made everything coming out of your mouth to him, deeply, deeply awkward. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He honestly couldn’t get over the earlier comment, but when you came out in a bikini, his brain stopped altogether. 

“25 metre pool… 40 laps?” you suggested, pulling on your goggles. Granted, the goggles made you look a little bit less sexy, but much more you, and he felt his shorts get tighter again. 

“Sounds good,” he nodded, following you into the pool. That did not sound good. Oscar was a good swimmer, but you went every day you could. He was fucked, but he didn’t notice that since he was too busy staring at you. 

You enjoyed swimming, you found it relaxed you. Your favourite was sea-swimming, but Monté-Carlo beaches are pretty swamped with fans, and you don’t enjoy people taking pictures of you in your swimming togs. You shot off in the pool, a simple breast stroke as Oscar followed behind you. After about 30 minutes, you’d done 46 laps, and Oscar had given up halfway through and had somehow ended up in a marco polo game with a few kids. When you walked over to get him, you sat at the edge of the pool, watching the game with a soft smile on your face. 

“Is that your girlfriend?!” one of the girls gasped. “She’s so pretty!”

Oscar opened his eyes and smiled when he found you, then he looked back at the girl. “She is, isn’t she?” 

The girl swam off again, giggling as she swam around one of her friends. He didn't deny it. He didn't try to correct her. He just smiled and agreed. As much as every voice in your head screamed that he should be ashamed of you, he never was. He wasn't ashamed of you

“You playing?” one of the teenage boys asked, coming up beside you and holding a hand out. 

You looked up to Oscar who smiled and nodded. “I’ll be on again,” he promised. 

You grinned. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Marco?” he called out. You’d both been playing with them for about 20 minutes, but you were genuinely having too much fun to notice. 

“Polo!” you called back, and he could hear the smile on your lips. God, it was good to hear you laugh again. The last triple header had been nothing but work (except from the party but he hadn’t had gained the courage to talk about that yet), and it was nice to see you let loose. 

He reached a hand out and brushed your midriff, making you laugh, and he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his arms, opening his eyes as he laughed with you. He loved this, loved you, loved being around you.

Your giggles died down, as did his and you smiled at him, looking up. “Alright?” he asked, pulling his arm around your shoulder as you both turned back to the kids. You nodded at him as they started explaining the next game to you both. You didn’t mind how his hand stayed around your shoulder. You didn’t mind it one bit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You ended up back at your house, enjoying the setting sun as Oscar cooked dinner on your barbeque. You were busy staring at your garden while he was busy staring at you (and the dinner). 

“I meant it earlier,” you told him, joining him beside the grill. “I want you to come to the awards.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Take someone else,” he insisted. 

“Who else would I take?” you questioned him. “Some random male celebrity who everyone will think I’m dating?”

He tried to ignore the fact that the thought of you with someone else made his stomach flip, but he couldn’t really. He turned to look at you. “People think we’re dating.”

You stared abc at him for a second, then rolled your eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?” he pushed. Again, you just looked at him. It was weird. The air changed. 

“It just… is,” you said, your voice small. “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I was just asking because you’ve really been the only person there for me, and I think the trophy is as much yours as it is mine,” you huffed. 

He stilled for a moment. Of course he was going to go, from the second you asked. He’d literally do anything you asked. He just… he wanted to give you an out, just in case the offer wasn’t genuine. He was happy to say that it was. And he planned on taking it. 

“Of course I’ll come,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again, and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I love supporting you.” 

The both of you stilled. Your stomach churned and he just couldn’t believe what he’d done. He hadn't even meant to, it was a complete accident, but it happened. He liked it. He loved days like these, and he hoped that he hadn’t just fucked everything up with one little action. You honestly held your breath for a few seconds, shock taking over, then decided that it was alright, and leant into him more. 

“Thanks Osc.”

Like he’d said earlier, whiplash. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar was an ‘Airport Dad’ in the worst sense of the word. He made sure you two got to the airport 3 hours early (you were flying private), made you triple check your passport and boarding pass three times before he let you get out of the taxi, and demanded the window seat you were sitting in even though it was a private plane. 

The plane ride was enjoyable though, a night of playing uno with him, Max, Charles, Yuki, and George. 

“He’s cheating!” George argued, slamming his cards down after Oscar won a fourth time. 

“How?!” Oscar laughed, arguing back as both Charles and Max rolled their eyes at him, throwing their cards on the table. 

“I don’t know, but he’s doing it!” George seethed, getting up. “I’m getting another drink and by the time I get back Y/n, I expect your race engineer to be sorted out!” 

You laughed at the exchange, taking no sides. Oscar turned to you with a bright smile and roll of his eyes while you started fixing the cards up for the next round.

“You two are insufferable, aren’t you?” Yuki sighed. 

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, throwing a card at him. 

“I’m so single!” he groaned, letting his head rest on the table. “You two keep reminding me of that!”

Max laughed as Lando groaned again, and you gulped back a shocked chuckle. Oscar excused himself to the bathroom for a moment. 

“We’re not dating,” you reminded Yuki. 

He scoffed. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s madly in love with you or anything as well then,” You stared at him for a moment and he rolled his eyes. “I mean come on! The way that man looks at you? It’s insane!” 

You shook your head, brushing him off. “We’re friends, nothing more.” 

“Oh sure.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You all landed and were driven straight to the arena to get ready. You were immediately thrown into makeup and getting dressed, and basically separated from Oscar because Max stole him away. 

You were nervous, there was no point in lying about it. You hated making speeches, you hated being on stage, and you hated being celebrated. You knew you just had to remind yourself that Oscar was somewhere in that audience and he was there for you. He didn’t care what happened, he’d sit there with a smile on his face no matter what. 

Knock knock. 

“We want to see the dress!” Max called from the other side of the door. Good thing you were almost ready. You smiled awkwardly as you opened the door, trying to show off the dress but it just ended up looking like a weird pose. Oscar’s jaw dropped anyway, but you didn’t see since Max was busy pulling you in for a hug. 

Oscar’s slacks got a lot tighter as he watched you in the dress, and he realised the night had become nearly impossible, but he’d do it for you. It would just be slightly tortuous. The way the dress clung to you made him crazy. The red, a stark contrast to the regular papaya racesuit or dark workout clothes he was used to seeing you in. It was maddening how badly he wanted to just reach out and smooth a hand on your hip, or just run a hand through your perfectly styled hair. You were goregous, to put it simply.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice uncomfortable. 

He smiled down at you. “I think you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I think you’re always beautiful.”

You wished he didn’t say the sweetest things. You still felt like you didn't deserve them. 

He knew you did.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[911lsbts]

TheWrap: What would this potential Tarlos series have been about?

Rashad Raisani: I had been desperately trying to get some steam going for a Tarlos thing with the Texas Rangers, and it just couldn’t quite get the corporate liftoff. In my mind, if Carlos got stationed in a new city in Texas as a Texas Ranger, and TK and Jonah went to El Paso, or went to some other city, and just tell a new story that way.

Why didn’t it happen?

It was because of the same issues that plagued “Lone Star,” meaning that we had a different network partner than a studio partner. And even though we’d all started under the same roof, by the end of the series, we were a child of divorce, and that was just a recurrent obstacle.

If you put it to a public vote, I’m pretty sure a Tarlos spin off would do really well.

Never say never. I pushed and pushed, and I’m not done pushing. I still believe in it very much.

And the actors would be down for that, potentially?

While they’re available. These guys are pretty successful, so I’m sure there’s a lot of people running to get them on their shows and movies. I think creatively, they were passionate about it. But the longer it goes, the harder it would be to to get them while they’re still available . I absolutely would love to be writing this. I love those actors. They’re like my little brothers. I would love to keep it going.

With Owen going to New York, was there ever a plan for New York to be the setting for the new spin-off?

When I was pitching it to Rob, I just said, “Look the beautiful thing about that is, one, it’s completely true to who he is. Two, it’s the biggest job there is in firefighting in America. And three, if there’s ever a spinoff in New York, they have to go through you, my friend.” He’s like, “Let’s do it.” He was loving the idea of New York. Certainly, if something goes through New York, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have Captain Strand up there

Could we see “Lone Star” characters on any of the other “9-1-1” series after this?

Part of the reason why I wanted them all to be standing at the end of the series was if, God willing, there’s some way to get one of them to LA for the 118 or the new city, we could still have Captain Judd, or we could have Mateo or Nancy could visit or whoever. I really would love that. I just don’t feel done talking. having these people talk, I love hearing all of their voices.

[malk1ns]

february 1 vs predators, 3-0 win

a shutout? for us? is that allowed?

there is an unspecified age gap in this fic—i don't know exactly how old geno is in it, but he's younger than mario (b. 1965) is. mario purchased the penguins in fall 1999, about a month before he turned 34, and geno can't have been too young to be financially involved in that, so...maybe he's around jagr's (b. 1972) age? that would make him somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 years older than sid. let's go with that.

also in this world he got his hair transplant done when he was way younger and it's thrived ever since. i like picturing him as a silver fox 😋

When Zhenya went in with Mario on putting up money to keep the Penguins in Pittsburgh, he never imagined a day where he’d be spending more time around the team than Lem did.

It was an easy decision at the time. The team was so badly mismanaged, and Zhenya had no desire to see the Penguins forcibly moved because their owners didn’t know how to manage a TV deal or sign sponsors. He didn’t want to move, and more importantly the fanbase didn’t deserve it. He figured he’d put up the money and let the lawyers figure out whatever they needed to to so he could keep playing, and when he retired he’d have a nice little stream of income no matter what he wanted to do.

He had no interest in the care and feeding of a professional hockey organization, not like Mario did. Mario stayed out of the GM’s day-to-day business for the most part, but whenever Zhenya met him for dinner, it was clear that the Penguins still ruled his life, the same way they had when the two of them were playing.

Zhenya stayed in Pittsburgh for Mario while he was playing. Even back when he was purchasing the team, he always assumed he’d move back to Russia, showing up for big events and (hopefully) Cup wins, but living his own life and enjoying himself.

Well, things don’t always work out the way we imagine. One knee surgery, and then another, ended his career earlier than he’d planned, and Mario talked Zhenya into sticking around and helping with player development before he could tuck tail and run back to Russia.

Almost twenty-five years later, and he’s still here. Oh, he travels plenty—there’s no point in retiring if you’re still beholden to coming into work every day, after all. Especially early on Zhenya spent probably more than his fair share of time flitting between tropical islands and enjoying the fruits of being young, athletic, and rich. But Pittsburgh had worked its way into his blood and bones, and he always comes home.

He’s been home a lot more frequently since about 2008.

Attending games as team owner is fun. He has his own box that he gets to invite whoever he wants into, and fans are still so eager to take pictures with him, starry-eyed over both the Cups he brought the town when he and Lem were still playing and his ‘team savior’ status. For years, he and Mario would sit and watch games together, waving when the cameras panned up to them and chatting.

Now, Mario barely comes anymore. Zhenya was more than happy to sell when Ron and Mario approached him about it—he’d still own some shares, he’d been assured, enough to have his opinion considered, but the brunt of decision-making would be removed from their shoulders. Zhenya was fine with that. They made a tidy profit, Zhenya still gets treated like royalty at PPG and anywhere in the league, and the responsibility of running a team that’s reaching the end of its golden age is no longer his.

He’s not clear what, exactly, went wrong between Mario and the guys with FSG. Mario won’t talk about it, and Zhenya doesn’t care to hear anyone else’s side of the story.

The result is, Zhenya’s the most consistent link to the old days that the fanbase has. In Mario’s absence, he’s found himself at more games over the last couple of seasons than probably the previous decade combined. He still watched, obviously, kept up with the team and was there for the players when necessary, but he was a more frequent presence at practice, helping out the coaching staff or chatting with the Euro scouts when they were in town than putting on a suit to sit in his box.

It’s exhausting. Zhenya’s face hurts from smiling politely some nights, and he’s sick of shaking hands with rich businessmen who want to take a picture with him but don’t actually give a shit about what he has to say.

There are perks, though.

His team is back from a long road trip, and Zhenya’s looking forward to seeing them play in person. He’s spent a lot of time with Kyle Dubas this season learning about his plan for the future, and losing is part of it, but as hard as the bad losses are there are always bright spots.

Halfway through the second period, Zhenya gets to watch one of his favorite bright spots in person for the first time in almost two weeks.

He’s always liked watching Sid score from one knee. It’s a statement goal, a fuck-you to a league that spent the first few years of Sid’s career beating the shit out of him and expecting him to say thank you and shut up. He never did.

“Damn,” Hörnqvist says with feeling as Zhenya leans back in his seat and whistles. “I forgot how that looks. How is he still so good?”

Zhenya shrugs, tracing Sid’s path across the ice to go down the fistbump line. He can make out Sid’s sharp smile from all the way up here, and his stomach flips over.

He’s missed watching the Penguins in person, yes. He’s missed Sid more. 

“Robot, maybe,” he says in answer to Horny, who laughs loud and bright.

Zhenya spent a lot of time around the team during the back-to-back years. They had so many injuries, and when Mario gave Jim the go-ahead to fire Johnston in 2015 the team had been fragile. He’d gotten to know those guys really well, and he’s always liked Horny. When he confirmed he’d be in town for his bobblehead night, Zhenya had been quick to invite him to sit up in the owner’s suite.

They’ve been having a good time. Horny’s just as exuberant as he ever was, and Zhenya’s been able to relax instead of putting on a show for whatever bigwigs FSG saddled him with that night. He’s even let himself have a few drinks, wrinkling his nose at the wine on offer but downing it anyway.

Mario’s horrendously expensive taste in wine crept up on Zhenya after all these years, even though he tried to resist it.

He’s distracted the rest of the game, chatting with Horny and leaning around the wall to take a selfie with some kid in the next box over with half his mind down on the ice, on Sid’s fantastic goal and how he looks after a good win.

The Penguins secure the shutout, and when the jumbotron flashes Zhenya and Horny on the screen, the crowd goes wild. Horny waves and flashes his megawatt smile, and Zhenya gestures to him with a flourish, applauding long and loud right in Horny’s ear until Horny’s shoving at him playfully.

It’s perhaps not dignified for an owner to get into a fake wrestling match in his suite while on camera, but the crowd loves it, and Zhenya’s done much more embarrassing things to please the people of Pittsburgh.

He wants to make his way down to the locker room, but that’s not his place anymore, no matter how much he wants to congratulate the guys. Zhenya’s far removed enough from the current roster that his presence makes a lot of the guys nervous, and that’s the last thing he wants.

It’s easy enough to wait by Sid’s car with his hat pulled low over his face instead.

“Forgot where you parked?” comes Sid’s teasing voice, and Zhenya pockets his phone and straightens, opening his arms.

Sid doesn’t even look around the parking lot before he steps into Zhenya’s embrace.

“Missed you, лапочка,” Zhenya murmurs into Sid’s hair, running his hands over Sid’s back. “Long trip.”

Sid sighs against Zhenya’s chest. “Tell the league to not do that to us next year,” he requests with a little whine, sagging into Zhenya’s hold.

Zhenya laughs. The league doesn’t listen to him. They don’t like foreign owners.

“Good goal,” he says instead, stepping back and cupping Sid’s face in his hands. Sid looks tired, which is to be expected, but his eyes are bright. “Everyone in arena likes, Horny says to me how’s he still so good, like, maybe he’s not human.”

Sid grins at that, an echo of the same sharp smile Zhenya saw on the ice. He’s as humble as they come, but Zhenya’s praise has always gotten him to puff out his chest a little. “And what did you say?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head.

He flirts like he did when he was 18 and desperately trying to catch Zhenya’s eye when they would stay late to practice face-offs. Almost 20 years later and with a head full of graying hair, and Zhenya’s as much of a sucker for it now as he was then.

“Mmm,” Zhenya says, grabbing at Sid and reeling him back in, taking a big exaggerated squeeze of Sid’s ass. “I tell him I know you’re real boy, I check very carefully almost every day.”

Sid makes a sweet little sound in Zhenya’s ear. “Take me home,” he requests, and Zhenya drags him over to Zhenya’s own car, installing Sid in the passenger seat and tearing out of the player’s garage.

Sid has a lot of responsibilities. He’s carried an unfair burden ever since he stepped into the league, eighteen years old and the weight of an entire league on his shoulders. He’s risen to the challenge time and again with maturity and grace, wise beyond his years and an example for kids all across North America who dream of making the show.

With Zhenya, he has a space to let them go.

It took a few years before Zhenya did more than just look. He felt like a dirty old man at first, although thankfully that feeling has waned over the years, and he refused to touch Sid until after they lost to the Red Wings in a game six heartbreaker on home ice and Sid showed up at Zhenya’s house, red-eyed and shaking and needing to get out of his head.

It’s real, Zhenya knows that. It’s not some latent perversion, although Sid’s youth and relative inexperience had been appealing. Nearly twenty years later, though, Zhenya would dare anyone to call what they have anything besides true love.

That doesn’t mean he and Sid don’t like things a certain way sometimes.

Zhenya drives with his palm high on Sid’s thigh, digging his fingers in and listening as Sid’s breath speeds up the closer Zhenya’s fingers get to his dick. He doesn’t dare look over, but he can picture Sid’s face well enough.

Sid’s hard by the time they pull into Zhenya’s driveway. He lives further back in the woods than Sid and Mario do, tucked into a large copse of trees that makes his house practically invisible from his neighbors, and Sid likes the privacy, the way he can kiss Zhenya in the front yard and nobody will see them.

When Zhenya cuts the engine, Sid practically crawls over the center console to get at him. They didn’t fit in Zhenya’s little sports cars like this even when Sid was younger and not as bulky as he is now, but it doesn’t stop Sid from trying his best.

“Baby, inside,” Zhenya urges, fumbling for his seatbelt and kicking his door open. Sid’s hot on his heels, and when they’re inside the house he pulls Zhenya down into a kiss before they can even get their shoes off.

“I missed you watching me,” he breathes against Zhenya’s mouth, and Zhenya groans, wrestling them out of their jackets and dragging Sid to his office. He knows what Sid wants when he gets like this.

There’s a leather armchair in the corner that Zhenya’s had for longer than Sid’s been a legal adult. It’s huge and broken-in and comfortable, and Zhenya has it positioned so that it has a great view of his trophy case. It’s a nice reminder of everything he’s accomplished, when he wants to relax and read a book in here.

Sid likes it for different reasons.

Zhenya sinks into the chair, loosening his tie and sprawling his legs wide, tipping his head back and groaning as he palms himself through his trousers. Sid makes a desperate little sound from where he’s standing by the desk, and Zhenya cracks an eye open and pats his thigh.

Sid crawls into his lap, straddling Zhenya’s legs and scrambling to undo Zhenya’s fly.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” Zhenya soothes, bringing his hands to Sid’s waist and drawing him down. Sid’s frantic against him, but Zhenya nips at his plush mouth and holds him in place until he calms down, letting Zhenya kiss him until their lips are tacky with spit.

“Please,” Sid gasps when Zhenya pulls back, and Zhenya untucks Sid’s shirt from his pants, undoing each button and kissing at the bare skin underneath. Sid’s skin is covered in goosebumps by the time Zhenya tosses his shirt to the side, and he bats Zhenya’s hands away in favor of getting his pants and underwear off on his own.

Zhenya stays dressed. Sid likes it that way, always has.

A lapful of naked Sidney Crosby is as much of a temptation as it was back when they first started hooking up, but Sid knows what he’s doing now, knows how best to grind against Zhenya to make him arch his back moan. He knows that Zhenya likes the press of Sid’s teeth against his neck, that if Sid scrapes along Zhenya’s sides he’ll shiver and practically beg for more.

Zhenya knows a few things too now, though.

Once upon a time, he liked to have Sid facing the other way. He’d make Sid look at Zhenya’s wall of trophies, everything he did for the city while he was on the team, and whisper dirty promises in Sid’s ear of what he’d do if Sid accomplished the same. Sid used to come like a rocket when he did that, young and squirming in his owner’s lap, desperate to prove himself on the ice and in the bedroom.

Sid’s done everything Zhenya’s ever asked of him. Now, he likes to look Sid in the eyes instead.

There’s a little table with a drawer on one side of the chair, and Sid fishes the lube out and pours some into his hand without breaking away from where he’s sucking on Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya unzips himself, pulling his pants aside enough to draw his dick out from his briefs.

It takes Zhenya longer to get hard now than it used to. He has a bottle of little blue pills in the bathroom upstairs just in case; Sid tried to tell him not to worry about it, but Zhenya wants Sid all the time, and he’ll be damned if he lets his body deny him something that he wants. It’s not a problem tonight, though—he’s hard and wet at the tip already.

Zhenya thinks Sid doesn’t realize that he licks his lips every time he looks at Zhenya’s erection. Zhenya’s certainly never going to tell him.

The first stroke of Sid’s hand makes Zhenya moan, and he has to close his eyes and breathe deep to focus. He only has one per night in him these days, and he wants to make sure he can give Sid what he needs.

Zhenya knows that a lot of what Sid likes in bed is because Zhenya taught him to. It’s a little heady, knowing he’s shaped Sid’s sexual preferences that permanently. It means that when Sid lifts up and lowers himself onto Zhenya’s dick without so much as a finger for prep, Zhenya knows he can take it.

Sid’s always liked a challenge. His nostrils flare and his face screws up as he sinks down until Zhenya’s fully in him the same way they do when he’s shooting the puck from a difficult angle. Zhenya likes watching him like this, working for something, pushing himself to his limits to get what he wants.

When he starts to move, Sid’s thighs shake. He was on the ice for over 20 minutes tonight, after all. Normally Zhenya likes to make Sid do all the work, enjoying the view of Sid riding him in the middle of his office, but tonight he takes pity on him, fucking his hips up to meet Sid halfway, making him gasp when Zhenya gets him just right.

Sid never lasts long after games like tonight’s. He gets so worked up from hockey still, especially when he’s had a dominant game. Zhenya would tease him, but he’s the same.

“Look so good out there,” he praises, sliding a hand up Sid’s thigh and closing it around his dick. “So strong, nobody stops you when you’re play like this. You get to your knee, everyone knows it’s a goal.”

“You like me on my knees,” Sid says through gritted teeth, moving faster. He’s so tight around Zhenya’s dick, and hot, and he’s staring greedily over Zhenya’s body, at the hint of bare throat where Zhenya loosened his tie, his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. “You’d put me there all the time if you could.”

“Fuck,” Zhenya swears, squeezing the head of Sid’s dick and making him gasp. “Yes, I would. You want? Sit under my desk while I do work, suck my dick until I say you make me come.”

“Oh my god,” Sid moans, curling forward and bracing himself on Zhenya’s shoulders as he comes into Zhenya’s palm.

Zhenya’s so close that it almost hurts, but he works Sid’s dick through his orgasm, smearing the come back onto his skin until Sid pushes his hand away and starts moving again.

When they were both younger, Sid used to ride Zhenya until he was hard again, agonizingly slow until Zhenya was sweating and begging underneath him. Now, though, they’re both tired, and too old for extended edging sessions, so Sid grits his teeth and doubles down until Zhenya pulls him down and grinds up into him, coming with a grunt.

Neither of them move for a few minutes, breathing hard as they come down. Zhenya rubs his hands between Sid’s shoulder blades and lets his mind drift.

Sid has two years after this season, probably. The team will want him to stick around; he’ll want that too, to have a hand in mentoring the next crop of players hoping to bring the Cup back to Pittsburgh, to stabilize the franchise through the transition. 

Times are different now. When Zhenya was a player, what he’s thinking about right now was so impossible it would be laughable to even think about.

Now, though, he lets himself imagine Sid sitting in the owner’s suite with him, tucked in the chair next to his with Zhenya’s hand on his knee. He thinks of them waving to the crowd, and the way a tasteful gold ring might glint in the arena lights from Sid’s left hand.

They haven’t talked about it, not really. But Zhenya thinks Sid’s probably a sure thing.

[ceslatoil]

Ghost Filbrick AU

So a few weeks ago I was in the group chat and I pitched an idea for a fic (not writing it anytime soon, I have enough projects on my plate for now!) and it’s about the Pines family visiting Ma Pines before she moves to an assisted care facility. Main idea is that Dipper and Mabel meet Filbrick’s ghost who is trying to hinder the move, and the family trying to get him to move on. Lots of family drama ensues.

I wrote like, a scrap of a script draft for it if y’all wanna read it below:

(Scene: The grown ups, including CARYN, STAN, FORD and COOPER, MABEL & DIPPER’s dad, are all up playing cards. CARYN pulls out the Tarot Deck)

Caryn: I call this one “Last Man Standing!” You put down a card and the other player has to put down either the same suit or card number. If someone plays a major arcana card like wheel of fortune or the star, they can switch up the minor arcana suit. If you play death or the tower, the other players draw four. Whoever has zero cards wins!

Dad Pines: Grandma I think you just reverse engineered Uno

Stan: Dad wouldn’t buy us more than one card deck, so we made due with Ma’s tarot.

Ford: I thought it was to keep you from cheating the deck

Caryn: Both things could be true! Now hush.

Stan: … Coop is everything all right with Dipper? It’s not my business but… he seemed pretty cagey with ya earlier.

Caryn: Cagey? The kid stormed out of the room in the middle of dinner! Granted it was *my* cooking, so I can’t really hold a grudge on that front. (*plays a card*) That’s The Fool, so we’re reversing direction.

Ford: … It just doesn’t seem like him.

Coop: … that’s been the norm lately, I’m afraid. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce well, with me moving out and I just haven’t been around as much since then.

Ford: Mabel told us in one of her letters you were in family therapy together?

Coop: We’ve had a few sessions, yes. She loved it, got along great with our counselor. I think she asked a few times about becoming a therapist someday! But Dipper doesn’t really participate much during the sessions. He just sulks in the corner, like he doesn’t want to be there at all.

Stan: He’ll get over it. He’s stubborn, but not the type to hold a grudge.

Ford: I can’t imagine any of this is easy for any of you.

Coop: Weirdly enough, me and Annie— uh, Annie and *I*— have gotten on better than ever. Divorce was the best thing to happen to our relationship, it’s like we’re finally friends again?

Stan: Divorce ain’t so bad, I’ve done it at least six times now!

Caryn: I thought about divorcing your father, but he died before I got around to it. Suit change.

Ford: when did Dad pass?

Stan: … ‘97.

Ford: … I see. (*silence*)

Caryn: … Let’s not talk about funerals right now. God knows I’ve been to enough of ‘em. I’m just glad one of ‘em didn’t count. (*pinches Stan’s cheek.*)

Stan: … me too, Ma.

Ford: … Last Man Standing

Stan: Like hell you are, you shit, draw four!

Ford: … that’s not the tower, that’s a Stan Buck!

Caryn: Don’t tell me you’re still making Stan Bucks! You know damn well that’s not how money works!

(This next part is self indulgent and idk if I’ll include it in the fic proper)

Caryn: Now Stanford… let me ask you a question. Why the hell have you been hiding your left hand in your pocket all night?

Ford:…. I don’t know what you mean— HEY!

(Caryn pulls his hand out of his pocket, examines his second ring finger)

Caryn: Stanford Filbrick why does it look like you have a wedding band on your finger?

Ford: …. (*sighs*) because I have a wedding band on my finger.

Caryn: AHA! Here we are moping about death and divorce and you sit on good news like that! Who is she? Who’s your wife? Where’d you meet her, what’s her family like, what does she do?

Ford:… I don’t have a wife. I have a husband.

Stan: The guy used to live in the dump and now he’s a millionaire inventor running for president.

Caryn: You married McGucket?! Me and the girls canvassed for him this year! Wait till I tell that Janine, that’ll get her to pipe down about her Chiropractor Son-In-Law for once!

Coop: I really like his policies on infrastructure, very forward thinking!

Stan: Eh, I’m voting third party. Nothing personal, I just don’t want a brother in law who’s commander in chief. It would make thanksgiving a nightmare.

Ford: You’re a felon, you can’t vote at all.

Stan: That hasn’t stopped me in thirty years!

Ford: So Ma, you’re… fine with—

Caryn: Sweetie, until this morning I thought two of my sons were dead and one cut all ties. I figured I deserved it. Sitting back while your Father gave you all grief for nothin. I told myself if I ever saw you again I’d take you as is, and I meant it.

[stormblessed95]

Hi!

Long time no see....

I did TRY to get this finished as soon as I could, but between the rollercoaster of 'Are You Sure?!', the hellscape that Jikook spaces (on Twitter/X and Tumblr) became (and honestly were already...), and trying to shorten everything down, it took a good while.

But I refuse to keep this past 2024, so here's an gift for the holidays (or maybe not considering the word count 🫥)!

I wanted to articulate exactly what my thoughts and concerns were, especially since this is a more serious topic regarding Jimin’s work and art, but I don’t think it came off that well before.

Hopefully I do better this time!

I’ve seen the many anons that were spamming your and other Jikookers’ inboxes the second WHO and MUSE released because “OMG Jimin said she/her!! He’s single and looking for a woman to love!” became the newest narrative.

While I do think it would be perfectly okay for him to want a female partner, it does make me slightly upset and sad, that people resorted to being homophobic and honestly misogynistic as a response. There is a way to discuss Jimin's potential romantic partners without being nasty to queer fans or possibly invalidating Jimin’s identity (especially since it is not likely that he’d ever fully come out (if he is queer/bi) in the way most people think nor want, given where he lives and his line of work).

Even the way people were talking about women was questionable. Going on about how it is outrageous for Jimin to deny himself the chance to be with a woman, have a biological family, and overall is wasting himself on Jungkook (if they are in a romantic relationship).

Making women out to be objects for men to use and only worth making/raising families, the homophobic rhetoric towards the longevity of queer relationships and same sex parents, as well as the blatant disrespect to Jungkook (that he’s “not enough” or “not right” for Jimin). If someone thinks that Jikook are nothing but platonic friends, that is perfectly fine. But to degrade their bond, as well as Jimin and Jungkook’s characters, is just unnecessarily cruel.

In regards to your response, I would love for nothing more than to say that it helped with my understanding of Jimin and MUSE, but I’m honestly not completely sure of that….

My first ask was sent right after the behind video for MUSE dropped, so before some of your posts that you linked about MUSE and WHO were posted (though I did read them again!).

Before I continue, I do want to make a few things clear:

I’m not stuck on any of my assumptions or thoughts being the “correct” way to interpret MUSE.

I’m not here to convince anyone that Jikook isn’t in a romantic relationship. I’m honestly really just confused.

I don’t need anyone to convince me that Jikook is still real.

I’m simply having a conversation and trying to process my thoughts and MUSE with someone that I trust and respect. Do I always agree with everything said? No, in fact disagreeing with others (Storm in this case) is how I tend to find out how I feel or think about a topic or situation.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about what exactly has been confusing me with MUSE, and I’ve narrowed it down to three main topics or questions: Is MUSE a conceptual album?, Is WHO how Jimin actually feels?, and What does this all mean for Jikook?

This is going to be long, I’m sorry in advance!

IS MUSE A CONCEPTUAL ALBUM?

Initial Thoughts

Since I’m used to Jimin’s recent work, FACE and his Photofolio, having lots of Jimin’s own inspirations and ideas tied into it, like Greek Mythology, German Poetry, Robert Mapplethorpe’s Imagery and Work, ect, with the title being MUSE, the idea that Jimin was going to vaguely write about his inspirations or muses (how Closer Than This is considered for ARMY) seemed likely to me.

Then as the track titles were revealed to be more romantic sounding, it felt like he may have used the concept of love to better articulate another deeper message. Or that he chose to write about a fictional love and focused more on vocal and production styles, in a similar way to what Jungkook did with Golden.

Post MMM

 While watching the MMM video for the first time, I was confused because Jimin had mentioned MUSE being more vague (or conceptual) than FACE but that WHO was his “feelings” after the previous tracks. Ultimately, I took that as him wanting to write about love but not having current personal experiences to pull from, so he decided to make up a fictional love story/crush, and then WHO comes at the end being like “actually that’s not true. i’m not in love, though i want to be.”

Then I saw this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/just-orbiting-you/756542511466643456/muse-is-a-concept-album?

I went back to watch MMM immediately, and was almost horrified at how I managed to miss or maybe interpret parts of Jimin and Namjoon’s conversation differently.

JM: I really tried to express all the emotions I felt at the time. “What do you talk about these days?” “How are things going?” Those were things Pdogg asked me about and I felt that it had been a while since I felt excited about something.

RM: Oh, over something.

JM: Yeah. We hadn’t been active as a team for a while either. I was working hard, I wanted to do well and was trying but it felt like it had been a long time since I was immersed in something or felt excited about something.

RM: So, since your life felt really bland, you expressed your different feelings through Muse?

JM: I tried to capture that in my album. I set my album like this, from tracks one through five, those emotions compared to having a crush and confessing my feelings.

RM: Having a crush is exciting.

JM: Exactly! So I share how I feel, then in track six which is the title track, I go, “no, that wasn’t really true”. “When will I feel excited about something again?”

RM: Then does it connect to Face in any way?

JM: Not really. It’s not that connected.

RM: Face was then?

JM: Those were my emotions then. Getting clarity, and this time it’s just vague.

With this in mind, as well as the fact that BOTH Jimin and Namjoon talked about Jimin’s work, singing, and idol identity more than anything to do with love, made the idea that search for love = search for his inspiration/excitement with his art more possible.

MUSE Behinds

Then the Behinds for Muse dropped….

Which led to my first ask:

https://stormblessed95.tumblr.com/post/758126579695190016/hi-ok-so-i-just-rewrote-everything-i-wanted-to

Looking back now, I don’t think I presented WHY I was so conflicted after that video that well in my initial ask.

JM: This album has a lot of cheerful songs. But I wanted to try a different approach for just the title track. There will be a lot of fun songs.

JM: It was harder to write the lyrics this time. I had to pretend to go through experiences I haven’t had before. I’ll explain it one by one in more detail later.

So I know a lot of people have been using the “pretend to go through experiences I haven’t had before” to explain the “looking for love” vibes of WHO, but my understanding of Jimin saying this was that it’s towards the first five tracks (where he sings about having a crush and falling in love). While both relate to it being a concept, it being about the rest of the album (the love part) does make it sound like he’s currently single.

JB (Jon): *interpreting Jimin’s ideas* I’d like to fall in love. I wanna, I’ll do what it takes to fall in love. I still don’t feel it, so what is my heart waiting for?

JM (Through the Translator): It’s just a bit sentimental, so it doesn’t get too intense like, “Where is she?” It doesn’t get too depressing.

JM: It’s not supposed to be sad or anything.

Translator: He’s not like, not too deep into it. He’s like “This is what I’m feeling right now”.

JM: It’s kind of embarrassing to explain emotions. It feels like someone found my diary.

Translator: Thank you for explaining everything so honestly.

JM: My ears are red. *touches ears*

I really do want to hear more of what Jimin told Jon directly about his (Jimin’s) vision for the song.

While Jimin still could be working through the idea of a concept about his inspiration, when he says “It feels like someone found my diary”, to me it really did sound more personal to him than expected.

Especially to be getting so embarrassed about it.

JM: I’ve poured all my emotions into this, so I was very embarrassed just now. Even though they just wanted to ask about the story I wanted to tell. It’s just, everyone…. *laughs*

JM: Everyone’s just living alone, right? That’s what it is.

Yes, technically he does LIVE ALONE or he could have been using the feeling of not having that excitement to being alone….

But I'm curious as to what he meant by “everyone’s just living alone, right?” within the context of WHO, MUSE, or even in general?

Producer: If the album is going to be all about expressing the process, we could just go all out conceptual.

Producer: I thought we could do a story with a specific concept, and I thought it’d be great if we chose a name for a band.

With SGMB, the confusion for me was more about them mentioning it being about “expressing the process” and being conceptual after I had thoughts about WHO being more personal.

Now I wonder if they meant the process of falling in love.

Response to Your Thoughts

I really liked your take on the title of MUSE and relating it to inspiration and the Muses of Greek Mythology. It fits in line with what we’ve seen from Jimin, as well as what I was initially expecting.

Like I said above, after going back and paying attention to what they were saying (I literally typed out the entire video to go over 💀), the search for his inspiration and a version of himself that he’s fully satisfied with seemed likely to be the concept of MUSE.

Rejecting WHO, because “he didn’t write it”, feels not only disrespectful, but stupid to do so. It’d be one thing if Jimin had clearly stated that he had no connection to the lyrics/story and just liked the song that was given to him (though this is still weird, because him liking the song and presenting it to fans is valid and important). But that’s not what happened.

Yes someone else wrote WHO, but we’re literally told AND shown that Jimin was involved when they wrote it. That Jimin himself explained what he wanted to express through the song. Along with his further involvement with the MV and the choreo.

If he is explaining his search for inspiration through the idea of romance, that is incredibly smart and endearing of him. It shows me how much his work and art matter to him. That he’s willing to work on bettering himself (even if I thought he was already amazing) to achieve even better results that he can truly be proud of.

While I can see where topics surrounding his sexuality can come into play with WHO, more so with the MV, I’m under the impression that Jimin has come to terms with any gender expression or sexuality issues he’s had a long while ago. But still, even if he is accepting of who he is, others (ARMY, South Korea, The World, ect) might not be.

I’m happy though that even while in this search (whether for inspiration, satisfaction, or love) that he’s still able to be happy and content with where he is at and who he is.

Producers’ and Jimin’s Thoughts

Hearing that MUSE was born after Jimin was so excited to work on music, especially considering the darker topics discussed in FACE, makes me so unbelievably happy. The songs ending up as upbeat and hopeful, even romantic, really does make sense in that context.

But I'm honestly more and more confused the more people talk about this album.

The producers say the album is about looking for some imaginary woman, while every song other than WHO is gender neutral. Even with WHO, we are shown a version that was gender neutral.

“He’s a Korean Idol. He’s going to be portrayed as straight!”

So why is Jimin not following that?

Most (if not all) of what I hear him talk about in relation to MUSE is gender neutral. I don’t have an issue with Jimin making love songs about women, but make it consistent with the rest of the album that THEY (Jimin and Producers) wrote then!

Is it Personal or Conceptual?

Yes…

It's true that conceptual doesn’t have to mean fake, but the question I’m often left with is “In what way is this album conceptual?” Is it his search for inspiration and excitement of his work through a romantic lens OR is it his search for his person through a made up love story?

The idea of most of the album being love songs about a made up relationship/crush just to be like “I’m actually single and alone!”, does frustrate me a little. Like he’s an Idol, it’s already assumed that he’s single.

“Please misunderstand”, Park Jimin, what does this mean??

At first I thought maybe he meant him being in a relationship, because the songs (up until WHO) read as him confessing to someone or telling ARMY about his partner. But WHO exists on the album… so that narrative is already clear.

So is he not LOOKING FOR A WOMAN? Or is he not SINGLE?

Is the album not about his LOVE LIFE but his work?

Because ANY of those would actually make more sense to misunderstand.

Why is he releasing this in the military? I’d understand if he was planning on revealing a partner, but based on what Jimin, the producers, and WHO are saying, he’s single. So is he announcing that he’s looking for love once he’s discharged? Then we go back to it being assumed that he is already single… and not going to lie, that is a little strange to announce? Why make an entire album for that?

Why is Closer Than This on the album? I’m desperately hoping it’s not some sick way of saying “At least I got ARMY”..... and then what is Letter for?

IS WHO HOW JIMIN ACTUALLY FEELS?

The Song

So the only song that Jimin doesn’t have writing credits on is supposed to be the one depicting his “true feelings”... Interesting.

According to the producers, the song was born out of Jimin having trouble relating to a love serenade they were trying to write initially, and thus ends up asking himself if he can ever really love someone. With the song apparently being about the reality of feeling lonely and melancholy, and asking yourself where the person for you is , it does make me think that he hasn’t been in a long term romantic relationship for years, if it’s directly about Jimin and not just the concept of the song.

“He’s an Idol, of course he’ll say he’s single and doesn’t know what love is!”

Ok, but why mention it at all?

I could maybe see Jimin not being out to his producers (or more so with his possible relationship with Jungkook), but it’s also not hard to just take him at his word (via the producers) that he’s unfamiliar with romantic love.

Jimin mentions that when he meets up with friends, they’re all feeling similarly flat. I wonder if that flatness is towards not being in a relationship or feeling uninspired with life and/or work? He goes on to say it’s not a sad or scary feeling, but it’s also not exciting. This could go for either concept (Love or Work) to be honest.

The MV

Initially with the MV,  I just saw Jimin dancing with girls trying to find the one but ending up alone (in line with the song). The only thing that I really had trouble processing was the billboard…

I’ve read through multiple analyses of the MV since my first viewing, and I’ve noticed a lot more details that are somewhat questionable.

Auto Calibration being the main one as it flashes on screen after Jimin dances with men and then leads into him dancing with women. This does give some queer vibes, and makes me interested in what “story” Jimin had in mind with WHO as the choreo also has similar vibes too.

Jimin mentioning people instead of just women as potential options when passing by is also interesting, especially when he has mostly talked about this album gender neutrally.

The billboard with SOMEONE’S EYES dropping after Jimin sings “Who is my heart waiting for?” does seem as though it's an answer for Jimin, or maybe others. Especially when WHO with NO QUESTION MARK and Keep Going are written on it. In my opinion, it does resemble Jungkook's eyes. But I find it hard to take it as a promotion of some sort when it quite literally interrupts the MV, seemingly for no reason, instead of being a poster in the back.

Then of course, there is the insane potential connection of Taeyang, someone Jimin is a known fan of and is now friends with, showcasing his then girlfriend (now wife) on a billboard in a MV….

The Choreo

Most of the choreo just matches with the lyrics, but there are some parts that I found interesting.

During a Chorus part Jimin joins up with SIX OTHER MEN. I don’t know if this is supposed to be a BTS reference or just formations. But what is the point of having SIX when there is only FIVE later for the girls vs boys part? Why not just keep the seven men (including Jimin) and have seven girls? Where’d the other guy even go?

Next in Verse Two when Jimin sings about “taking her places they ain’t found yet, putting it all on the line, and being that someone she can count on”, he dances with two men. Why? Would it not be better for him to do some sort of partner choreo here?

In the bridge, he repeats “who is my heart, heart waiting for?” as he passes by BOTH WOMEN AND MEN. Sure he only tries to match with women, but he’s a kpop idol and the song uses female pronouns, so that’s expected. I’m sure the male dancers were most likely included just to have it look better, but considering Jimin saying people when talking about it, the gender neutral version of the song, and that Jimin was involved with the choreo, it’s something to consider!

Jimin also keeps mentioning the choreo feeling like a short film or musical, which makes all the film (play, pause, rewind) details in the MV fit.

I am a bit disappointed that he, once again, warned fans about him interacting with women in the choreo. Even to the point of saying “moments that you might find uncomfortable” and “please don’t be too disappointed”

This is part of the reason I’m genuinely confused if this was to be some big “ARMY I’m dating/going to date!” announcement, because why would he care??? He mentions that “it is part of the grand scheme of things”, does that just refer to the story aspect of the choreo or is there more to it?

His conversations with his friends come up again, about how there are few instances to feel really strong emotions and him thinking “Should I start feeling more passion?” while making WHO, and that the writers of WHO worded the story he wanted to tell in such a lovely way.

The choreo has a lot of fun theatrical elements as he seems to want to express a lot of picturesque scenes, and the dance suits him while being simpler and fresh. But he’s still concerned about how to express the emotions for this song, as it isn't a sad song, but it does kind of become one towards the end.

Jimin’s Truth

With the amount of story elements, I’m considering the song being more of a way to describe his feelings about needing passion in his life than a detailed recount of his “failing love life”. It’s still his thoughts and feelings, but maybe expressed in a more digestible way for the audience.

If he is being up front about his romantic past, then I really do hope he finds his person, whoever they might be.

Park Jimin OF ALL PEOPLE deserves to love and be loved!

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN FOR JIKOOK?

Being More Open

I know Jimin, and all idols, needs to be careful when talking about love. It’s why I’m so confused as to why this concept, and why now? Though with Jin stating that he wrote Falling for someone, maybe this is just part of BTS being more honest and open.

I do want to take Jimin and Jungkook’s words and actions seriously, however part of what has been said about MUSE and WHO from Jimin and his producers, does make me question if I (and the rest of us) were mistaken of what the nature of their bond is.

Why Does It Matter?

I think part of the reason that it's important to me to know if Jimin is legitimately saying he’s single, is that I do want to respect him and his words.

“So why were you shipping him with his bandmate?” 

Personally I’ve always left room for doubt when it comes to Jikook. It’s not everything I think about in terms of BTS, Jimin, and/or Jungkook. Nor is it the end of the world for me if they’re simply platonic friends. I just thought Jikook seemed like they were/are dating.

Now I’m a little confused on where I stand, and knowing what MUSE and WHO are about in relation to Jimin would help. I know you obviously can’t know exactly. But I’m hoping I’ll get something other than “Jikook is real! Stop doubting them! You’re projecting your internalized homophobia!” OR “Jikook isn’t real! Jimin is straight and looking for a woman!”

Random AYS Interjection

I did want to finish this before Are You Sure premiered because I didn't want to keep talking about this past then and really didn’t think I had that much more to say.

But as I was going through my ask, your response to me, your posts you linked, my notes on Jimin’s video, the new videos that were being uploaded, and other anons and bloggers opinions, I realized this was going to take longer than I thought.

Part of me was also curious if my thoughts on MUSE would change how I saw Jikook in Are You Sure. Honestly my surprise when I didn’t find anything that pointed to them breaking up or being just platonic, was nothing compared to seeing that my opinion was uncommon to quite a few in the Jikook Community….

“What about the Car Conversation?!?!”

OK???? What about it?

Honestly, watching people discover that Jimin and Jungkook were busy and missing each other (or at least quality time) in 2023 for the first time this August was interesting to say the least…

We could get into the abuse and bullying allegations, calling Jimin being anti romantic over things taken out of context or making it into some weird narrative that Jimin doesn’t love Jungkook as much or that he sees their relationship as the Devil, or the fifty other weird things some of y’all said on your "Jikook Supporter" blogs…

But this is about MUSE, so THAT RANT will have to wait!

Final Conclusion

I’m still confused, but I do think after reviewing things that there is more to MUSE than I think. Especially with stories and theatrics being involved in so much of the concept.

I really just want to know what MUSE is about. The misunderstanding thing was fun for like a couple days, now it just makes me anxious and stressed. But maybe it was supposed to be like this 😔

Thank you for actually responding to my first ask so nicely and being willing to have this discussion with me!

Sorry this response took forever, hopefully it's somewhat decent 😭

Hope you're doing well, and are having a good holiday!

— Nice Muse Anon 🎨

I'm going to cry. I typed this whole fucking thing up. And it got deleted. So here we go again 😭

Hi love, I'm going to do this in a bit of a direct response thing. Copy what you say in red and then reply to it and so forth. Here we go. It won't be EVERYTHING you say, just the parts I wanted to make a comment about....

But I refuse to keep this past 2024, so here's an gift for the holidays (or maybe not considering the word count 🫥)!

And yet here I am months later. Sorry!

Your first 3 opening paragraphs about homophobia and misogyny.... Hard preach!

IS MUSE A CONCEPTUAL ALBUM?

Rejecting WHO, because “he didn’t write it”, feels not only disrespectful, but stupid to do so. It’d be one thing if Jimin had clearly stated that he had no connection to the lyrics/story and just liked the song that was given to him (though this is still weird, because him liking the song and presenting it to fans is valid and important). But that’s not what happened.

Agreed

Yes someone else wrote WHO, but we’re literally told AND shown that Jimin was involved when they wrote it. That Jimin himself explained what he wanted to express through the song. Along with his further involvement with the MV and the choreo. If he is explaining his search for inspiration through the idea of romance, that is incredibly smart and endearing of him. It shows me how much his work and art matter to him. That he’s willing to work on bettering himself (even if I thought he was already amazing) to achieve even better results that he can truly be proud of.

Agreed x 2

Hearing that MUSE was born after Jimin was so excited to work on music, especially considering the darker topics discussed in FACE, makes me so unbelievably happy. The songs ending up as upbeat and hopeful, even romantic, really does make sense in that context.

It does make sense in that context!

“He’s a Korean Idol. He’s going to be portrayed as straight!” So why is Jimin not following that?

This is part of why he is beloved. Him and BTS. They do this all the time and queer or not, it's impactful and meaningful and special to so many people

It's true that conceptual doesn’t have to mean fake, but the question I’m often left with is “In what way is this album conceptual?” Is it his search for inspiration and excitement of his work through a romantic lens OR is it his search for his person through a made up love story?

Personally, I think it's option 1. People can have their own opinions though, no right or wrong answer. Some might even have other options they think it is

The idea of most of the album being love songs about a made up relationship/crush just to be like “I’m actually single and alone!”, does frustrate me a little. Like he’s an Idol, it’s already assumed that he’s single.

1000% fair and I can even agree a bit with that frustration. Mostly my frustration there is with the company and fans though that cultivated this environment for idols

Why is he releasing this in the military? I’d understand if he was planning on revealing a partner, but based on what Jimin, the producers, and WHO are saying, he’s single. So is he announcing that he’s looking for love once he’s discharged? Then we go back to it being assumed that he is already single… and not going to lie, that is a little strange to announce? Why make an entire album for that?

I don't think he is announcing anything exactly. Like it's not a release meant to be for an announcement. If that makes sense. He isn't trying to inform people he is single and/or ready to mingle. He is trying to share emotions and a story. Why during MS? Idk.

Why is Closer Than This on the album? I’m desperately hoping it’s not some sick way of saying “At least I got ARMY”..... and then what is Letter for?

Usually singles that are released before albums get put on the album. Personally I think that was a one off goodbye song for ARMY before the army. I don't think it actually has anything to do with the album concepts or themes at all... Lol it just got stuck on the album because of release times. But that's just me and what do I actually know 🤷‍♀️

What is letter for? Good question. There are soooo many theories lmfao

IS WHO HOW JIMIN ACTUALLY FEELS?

The Song

According to the producers, the song was born out of Jimin having trouble relating to a love serenade they were trying to write initially, and thus ends up asking himself if he can ever really love someone. With the song apparently being about the reality of feeling lonely and melancholy, and asking yourself where the person for you is , it does make me think that he hasn’t been in a long term romantic relationship for years, if it’s directly about Jimin and not just the concept of the song.

Fair enough friend. I disagree but that's totally fair and valid feelings to have

“He’s an Idol, of course he’ll say he’s single and doesn’t know what love is!” Ok, but why mention it at all?

Because with the concept and theme being what they are, it would be discussed to hell and back (low-key hello is us in this post) and it's "damage control" regardless on how I feel about that, it's most likely what it is. No matter how annoying

I could maybe see Jimin not being out to his producers (or more so with his possible relationship with Jungkook), but it’s also not hard to just take him at his word (via the producers) that he’s unfamiliar with romantic love.

I personally Don't form my opinions too much based on things that are second hand. I still take them into account for sure. But I don't put too too much stock into things that via someone else on behalf of any of BTS. Because really, they can just say anything. Now don't take this as me dismissing things said, because I'm not. I'm just clarifying for everyone that I form 85% of my opinions ONLY on things that are direct from Jimin himself and based directly on Jimins actions. Things are going to be influenced by personal bias always as well too

The MV

I think we are mostly just mostly on the same page with everything you said here

The Choreo

Again, mostly think we are on the same page about your thoughts here. Will just comment specially about....

I am a bit disappointed that he, once again, warned fans about him interacting with women in the choreo. Even to the point of saying “moments that you might find uncomfortable” and “please don’t be too disappointed”

Very fair and honestly same. Again, mostly in the fans and company that have cultivated that environment he feels like he has to operate in now. I do wish he would care less about it though.

This is part of the reason I’m genuinely confused if this was to be some big “ARMY I’m dating/going to date!” announcement, because why would he care??? He mentions that “it is part of the grand scheme of things”, does that just refer to the story aspect of the choreo or is there more to it?

Jimin just cares a lot and very deeply about everything that matters to him, which includes his job and his fans. As for the grand scheme comment, I personally think it's in regards to the story aspect of the choreo, but that's just me

With the amount of story elements, I’m considering the song being more of a way to describe his feelings about needing passion in his life than a detailed recount of his “failing love life”. It’s still his thoughts and feelings, but maybe expressed in a more digestible way for the audience. If he is being up front about his romantic past, then I really do hope he finds his person, whoever they might be. Park Jimin OF ALL PEOPLE deserves to love and be loved!

HARD AGREE!!

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN FOR JIKOOK?

I know Jimin, and all idols, needs to be careful when talking about love. It’s why I’m so confused as to why this concept, and why now? Though with Jin stating that he wrote Falling for someone, maybe this is just part of BTS being more honest and open.

Between Jin saying he wrote falling for someone, and Joon with some of his songs and posts... And some other things and comments, I really really hope that they come out of MS feeling more free and giving less of a fuck about certain fans and their feelings about things. But only time will tell

I do want to take Jimin and Jungkook’s words and actions seriously, however part of what has been said about MUSE and WHO from Jimin and his producers, does make me question if I (and the rest of us) were mistaken of what the nature of their bond is.

Fair enough friend

I think part of the reason that it's important to me to know if Jimin is legitimately saying he’s single, is that I do want to respect him and his words.

Highlighting the respect part, because everyone should want to do the same

Personally I’ve always left room for doubt when it comes to Jikook. It’s not everything I think about in terms of BTS, Jimin, and/or Jungkook. Nor is it the end of the world for me if they’re simply platonic friends. I just thought Jikook seemed like they were/are dating.

Yes

AYS comments....

Honestly, watching people discover that Jimin and Jungkook were busy and missing each other (or at least quality time) in 2023 for the first time this August was interesting to say the least…

It really brings back up that whole media literacy thing I keep bringing up people's lack of and as well as people's lack of understanding of relationships in general (platonic and romantic) doesn't it. Lol

We could get into the abuse and bullying allegations, calling Jimin being anti romantic over things taken out of context or making it into some weird narrative that Jimin doesn’t love Jungkook as much or that he sees their relationship as the Devil, or the fifty other weird things some of y’all said on your "Jikook Supporter" blogs… But this is about MUSE, so THAT RANT will have to wait!

Always willing to have any kind of discussion with you lovely 🎨! Either through asks or DMs.

Your conclusions

I’m still confused, but I do think after reviewing things that there is more to MUSE than I think. Especially with stories and theatrics being involved in so much of the concept.

I agree

I really just want to know what MUSE is about. The misunderstanding thing was fun for like a couple days, now it just makes me anxious and stressed. But maybe it was supposed to be like this 😔

JIMIN PLEASE. YOU ARE KILLING US. And this is for sure how it's going to stay. We are getting NOTHING more from him 😭😂

Thank you for actually responding to my first ask so nicely and being willing to have this discussion with me!

Fucking always. But I feel like I didn't actually DO anything for you here and I'm so sorry! I wish I could be more helpful for you in a discussion. Let me know if there are things I can give a more in depth opinion on if I haven't already?? I enjoy talking with you and hearing your thoughts!

~ Storm⛈️