#you know that they exist outside of each other... right!?!??!

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ [𝒎.𝒍 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆]

pairing: idol!mark lee x needy!afab reader

genre: smut, 18+ content ahead. minors dni ˚₊ · »-♡→ inspired by this nsfwtwt post!!

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: sometimes your shyness gets the better of you when it comes to being intimate with mark. it's a good thing your boyfriend doesn't mind giving orders.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, explicit language, teasing/foreplay, fingering, brief mention of fisting, pet names (nothing degrading)

🖤 - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

You were so, so incredibly shy around your boyfriend sometimes. Especially if things got intimate. Even though you had been together for so long, you couldn't help yourself. He was just too goddamned perfect for you to ever truly exist around him - to ever let loose.

And Mark knew this, despite your best efforts to try and hide the shyness and anxiety that would bubble up in your tummy and sprout forth in your mind whenever he was around. It was so noticeable to him - from the way you'd pull away slightly each time he started making out with you, or how you'd whimper just a little bit each time he teased you mercilessly.

Deep down, you think that Mark liked the shyness. Even if it meant he had to take things a little slower at times, or talk you through certain feelings and thoughts. He loved to care for you, after all. He fucking adored you and worshipped the ground you walked on. So he didn't seem to mind it too much.

That's how you found yourself in your current position: completely bare expect for the thin pink-and-white panties that covered your heat, limbs sprawled haphazardly across your yellow daisy-printed bedspread. And with Mark bare on top, his broad, sculpted shoulders gleaming in the dark.

The moon's light shone somewhere in the distance of your peripheral vision, casting an ominous, cool tone to everything in your shared bedroom. Mark's own figure was shrouded in hues of blue, thanks to the nearby curtains that shielded the two of you from the chaotic world outside.

Your boyfriend was staring down at you, walnut-brown eyes already a little blown out and hooded. You could feel the blush begin to creep up the column of your neck, the unmistakable flutter of nervousness cascading throughout your entire system, aching in your jugular.

"Baby..."

Is all he said at first. Voice a soft whisper, staring down at you like nothing else in the entire world mattered to him right then. Or ever, really. He was kneeling back on his heels, warm palms grounding you by resting atop your bare knees.

"I-I know, Mark... just, give me a second. Yeah?" You started to say, swallowing down the strangled groan that wanted to burst forth from your mouth. You didn't know why you were getting shy - the two of you had been in this exact same positions hundreds of times.

But sometimes, it was simply the presence of Mark Lee that left you teetering over the edge. That left you unbalanced in a way that was so very delicious and yet daunting all at the same time. It forced bees to erupt in your tummy just as it sent a rippling of heat through your entire bloodstream.

The way he always gave you so much attention - called you the prettiest named, gave you all of the love that you could ever ask for. The way he was always so fucking in-tune with your needs and wants. You never even had to tell him what you wanted, because 95% of the time, he'd already know before you could get it out.

At the smidge of stuttering in your voice, Mark leaned closer into your form, mouth hovering over one of your knees. His lips ghosted across the skin there, before he was giving it a gentle kiss. "You always get like this, babydoll. Just take some deep breaths, okay? I gotchu." His eyes never fled from yours, as he spoke against your flesh.

His mouth touching even the littlest semblance of your skin left your craving more in the most insane of ways. It made the feral beast deep inside of you start to claw its way out of its holds in the dungeons of your heart. It left you whining out quietly, "But Mark- please-"

But he was already beginning to shake his head, his fingers pressing into the sides of your knees. And you knew it was too late. The switch was flipped almost instantly across his face - from the sound of you crying out his name, from the vision of you lying underneath him practically naked.

"Now... open up and show me, princess. I wanna see your pretty pussy lips," he said in the darkest of voices, lips kiss swollen from your earlier make out. Slowly, he was prying your legs open. And you let him, despite the incessant pounding beneath your ribcage. Despite the wetness that had soaked through your panties long before your toppling onto the bed.

Almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. And Mark had you right where he wanted you. Completely open and spread for him, slick running down your soft thighs, the moonlight filtering in through the nearby windowpane and casting a glittering shine of quicksilver across your stomach. Truly, it was a sight that only the Greek Gods could've conjured up - could have painted with their ethereal brushstrokes.

At your submission to him, Mark was smirking incrementally. "See? Wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?" His mouth found the inside of your knee, as he began a trail of wet kisses down your leg. Drawing closer to your aching heat.

"Baby- don't tease me. Please..." You found yourself moaning out, head tossing and turning across the white downy pillows.

Mark's focus flashed from your covered pussy up to your face that was red with a flush. "Why? You're so fucking cute when I tease you."

"Because- I don't need your fingers right now. I need your cock." You cried outloud, just as his palm found the mound at the centre of you that was barely covered by the wet mesh fabric of your panties.

Raising a dark eyebrow in question, Mark let out a deep chuckle. "Funny... 'cause I've barely touched you and you're already dripping," he said with a sardonic laugh. Without any warning, he was pushing your panties aside, swiping his fingers up your cunt, pressing his digits to your swollen clit.

Your spine convulsed across the bedsheets at the immediate contact, and you had to hold everything in yourself back to nog come undone right then and there.

"Guess you don't want me fingering you, though-" Mark started to say with a taunt, even though he began to dip two fingers into your entrance and curl them towards the sky. Immediately, he found that gooey, warm spot inside of you. Pressing up against it, massaging it, he elicited a string of breathless cries from you. "Such a shame, because stretching this tiny pussy open is one of my favorite pastimes."

Just then, he started to pull his fingers out, and at the feeling of the drawling absence you haphazardly shot one of your hands down to meet his between your legs. Quickly taking ahold of his wrist, you shoved his fingers back into you.

Giving him a sheepish smile, you giggled lightly. "A-actually wait. Hold on, maybe... maybe you can finger me for a little bit longer." You both knew he had been teasing you and wasn't asking for your permission to stop or begin anything. You had given everything to him freely a long time ago, and by the looks of your shaking thighs and dripping cunt, your body had submitted to him all the same.

Your boyfriend's pearly canines flashed your way after that, against plump lips. "That's my good, pretty girl." He managed to fit three fingers in, pumping them in and out of you at a toe-curling pace. You rode the high, moving against his hand with a practiced kind of precision. "My pretty princess... so fucking tight and hot for me. Only me, right? You don't let anyone else fist you, hmm pretty girl?"

He slid a fourth finger into your entrance after that, the stretch so delicious your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and you swore you saw galaxies splash across your vision. Gradually, your hips lifted up from the bed in anticipation of your release.

"I didn't hear an answer, babydoll."

Mark's voice cut through your reverie of pleasure, and you stared up as him with a faint smile and blown pupils. It felt like you were looking through the rainbow-tinted glass of a kaleidoscope. "Y-Yeah, Mark. Only you."

He reached out to you, one hand taking a fir grasp of your hip and pressing you down into the bed the harder he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were so wet, the slip and slide left the scent of sex and the lewd sound of lovemaking to resonate across the entire room.

"Need you to moan for me, okay princess? Let everyone know- the neighbors and the people below us... how good I give it to you. How good your boyfriend fucks this perfect pussy of yours." Mark said with a demanding kind of tone. Your high-pitched moaning began to lift your hips off of the bed again. This time, Mark took full action against you by dragging his hand away from your waist and pressing it against your tummy. Gradually, you could feel the weight of his warm palm meeting the thrusts of his fingers, as he ground his digits between your clenching walls and that golden spot deep inside of you. "C'mon, babydoll... moan for me."

And that's all it took for the screams of ecstasy to start falling from your lips.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊fin.

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[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rin Itoshi x GN!Reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 1.2k

❏ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You're kind of a pain in Rin's neck, but you're also the only one who's always been there. Maybe Rin can find a spot for you in his life...

❏ 𝗮/𝗻: Still getting used to writing for Blue lock in general so this might be very out of character idk but I'm just kookie for Rin before the trauma MY SHAYLAAA 😭

“Slowpoke!” You call out gleefully to a disgruntled Rin Itoshi, running towards the goal with a ball basically glued to your speedy little feet.

It’s just a friendly game, goal limits marked by school bags and a pair of cleats. But it could never be just a friendly game between the two of you.

Really, it’s Rin’s fault for egging you on, saying you couldn't possibly be the best striker in the world since Sae will be the best and him second best – no space for you – as if third place doesn't exist. Idiot.

“GOOAAALLL!! With no competition, with no hope of being stopped it's a GOAALL!”

“Alright! Pipe down already.” Rin scolds you, cheeks adorably flushed, lip poking out petulantly.

“What's that? Sorry, I can't quite understand you, since I don't speak loser!” 

Rin’s round face twists angrily at your taunting, as if he didnt start this, lips already twisting to ask for a rematch when clapping sounds from outside his field of vision.

“Sae-san!”

“Nii-chan!” You call out at the same time, running over to the older boy, “Sorry I'm late.”

“Sae-san, did you see? That goal was perfect, right?” you speak as quickly as your young lungs will allow, desperate for some validation from the one who’d one day be the best striker in the world.

(You believed it then.)

“Well, I wouldn't say perfect necessarily. See, your balance was off and you hit it–” he stops at the slowly deflating confidence on your face, “I saw it. Heard it too. Pretty sure the whole neighborhood did.” 

“Well, good!”

Rin immediately scoffs, childishly irked at the pride on your face, “I could’ve scored a perfect goal, two even! If you hadn’t tripped me.”

“Ha! You mean if you hadn’t tripped yourself. Seriously, how will you be the No.2 striker in the world if you can't even walk in a straight line?”

“You–” Rin starts, infuriated and ready to prove you wrong a hundred times over, before Sae cuts him off.

“Alright! How about we all get some ice cream and sort this out another day?” He'd usually let you fight it out, but your volume was beginning to attract odd stares.

You and Rin shoot each other one last glare promising a rematch, before rushing to grab your things and follow Sae.

“Ah, wait. I can't.” Rin’s face flickers with disappointment for a split second. And then he's back to running his mouth.

“Hmph! How are you planning to be the best striker if you keep running off to do other stuff?”

“What does that have to do with ice cream?”

Turns out, everything. Since football is everything, everything is therefore football related.

Totally not because he's jealous of the fact that in spite of training less than him, you have no problem keeping up on the field.

Nope, totally not.

“Tch, whatever. I'm going now. See you tomorrow!” Turning around to leave as Sae tells you goodbye while Rin furrows his brows at the flower of disappointment blooming in his chest.

For a moment, you stand there, thinking, considering.

“Oh and Rin?” You catch his attention, turning around just in time to see his eyes light up like the ocean on a calm sunny day…

And sticking your tongue out at him, “Bleh!”

Sae tries his best not to lose it as his brother trembles in bitterness at you getting the last dumb word, while you're already running off in the other direction.

His brother tells him he'll be going to Spain later that day and time passes in a blink. Before you know it, it's just the two of you.

Walking home. Practicing late after school. Eyes catching during games.

It's a little awkward at first, silences seem to stretch on for longer than they ever have, especially as adolescence puts strange thoughts in both your heads.

Has Rin always been so pretty? So tall? His voice so smooth and his expression so cool when he scores one of his perfect goals?

Has your smile always been that bright? Your eyes? Your laugh that melodic?

When did your presence become the most treasured constant in his life?

Was it all the times when you comforted him when he was missing Sae but never admitting it? (Somehow you always knew.)

Was it when you practiced with him after hours, even when you were ready to drop from exhaustion?

Was it all the times he helped you with your homework, without ever teasing you for needing help?

Or was it this one day…

The sky had been a gloomy kind of dark all afternoon, ready to bring down mighty rain at any moment.

The moment chosen fell right in the middle of one of your late practice sessions.

Slowly, the stickiness of the sweat on your skin turns to the wetness of cold autumn rain.

“Oh, it's finally raining.” Rin comments softly, lightly jogging toward shelter – a few more minutes of training are not worth catching a cold for.

“Huh?” He notices you're not moving, stood still as a statue as the rain keeps coming down without mercy.

“What are you doing? You're–” 

“Hey, Rin?” Your voice is so quiet amidst the heavy Rai, but he hears you as… any day but this one. A sliver of nervousness crawls down his spine at something in your tone – what it is, he can't say.

“You still wanna be second best?”

“Of course I do.” He answers firmly, without a speck of hesitation. As if he could ever change his mind. 

(If only he knew.)

The corner of your lip lifts into a fond smile, with a dash of something heavier, before you turn to him with a wet and shining ball beneath your foot, “Then, come on No.2. First to score wins, the other's a lukewarm loser.”

You're off before he can say another word, watching the back of your drenched uniform as you race towards the goal.

“Slowpoke–!” Both of you gasp as your foot slips on the wet grass, sending you tumbling onto your back, punching the air from your lungs.

Rin finally moves, rushing to your side without following your example before leaning over you while scanning for injuries.

And then, you're laughing.

He's worried sick, looking at you with the widest eyes in the world, wondering if you have a concussion and you're laughing. Loudly, openly, bright as sunshine with rain water all over your lovely face.

Your lovely face… your lovely dumb face that he just can't stop thinking about – even if it distracts him during games, or class or any moment of his day – he just can't stop thinking about you.

Because you'd always been there, and he hopes you always will be.

“Stupid,” he tells you with no bite, kicking the forgotten ball so it rolls slowly towards the goal, “There, you're a lukewarm loser, now get up before you become a cold loser and I have to carry you home.”

You’re not a loser though, far from it.

And maybe third best isn't that bad. Not if you stay close to him as you are.

Because if the one thing he's always had, the one person who’s always been there, suddenly left?

It might just break him.

[osohchoso]

Blood and Chains

Chapter Nine- Healing Hands, Hungry Hearts

beautiful art by @aransmind !!!

Choso x F!reader

Previous | Chapter Index | Chapter 10 coming soon!

Content: fluff and smut, comfort, girls' night, bath time, multiple POV, drinking, oral (f! receiving) MDNI!!

The first week of healing you spent trapped inside the walls of Choso’s apartment. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight the entire time, unable to stop thinking about your frail mortality. It was as if he thought you might keel over and die the second you were out of view. The only ounce of privacy you received was when you needed a bathroom break, which he would wait impatiently right outside the door until you were finished. 

You understood what Yuji meant about Choso being a helicopter parent now. 

Though it wasn’t always suffocating in his home. Over the past week you started forming a bond with Yuji. The two of you teaming up to torment Choso, poking fun at his age of 150 by calling him ‘old man’. He hates it, you know he does, but the love for his two favorite people becoming friends grounds him. 

Living with Choso came with its perks too. Three meals a day prepared by your new favorite chef. Options ranging from french toast to sushi. Whatever your heart desired he would make that day. He made sure you were comfortable during your recovery, fetching you anything you needed and providing as many cuddles as you could handle. Then at night, Yuji would join the two of you in a round of games or watching a movie. It felt like being part of a family with them, you felt like this was where you belonged.

After a week, Choso finally allowed you to return home. You appeared to be fully healed, the wounded flesh quickly evolving into a scar that looked like it had existed for years. It was inhuman how quickly it had healed, thanks to the help of Dr. Ieiri’s cursed technique as Choso had explained. Still, there were lingering pricks of pain that would radiate from the wound and shoot through your entire body. Sometimes brought on by a sudden movement and sometimes for no reason at all. 

It was more of an inconvenience than anything, the pain always seeming to announce its presence when either you or Choso tried to make a move on the other. Both of you were desperate to finish what was started that night, but each sting of discomfort caused him to blame himself. It was getting to the point where he was afraid to even touch you, acting as if some invisible wall separated you from him.

It was worse than torture. At this point, you were willing to risk the pain if it would also lead you to satisfy the aching need for him.

You were finally home and attempting to fall back into your usual schedule. As much as Choso loved taking care of you, you needed to regain some semblance of independence. However, with classes out until autumn and the time off from work you were given, there wasn’t much to do other than housework. Something Choso wouldn’t let you do when you stayed at his apartment. He wouldn’t even let you lift a finger, taking care of all the dishes and laundry while you sat on his couch and watched, it honestly made you feel useless. 

You just finished dusting every corner of your home, the place looked spotless. Tonight, you planned to gather with your friends, Emi and Suki. You had told them you were in the hospital due to a stabbing on the street, a truth and a lie all at the same time. They freaked out, of course, if only they knew about the creature that caused said ‘stabbing’. 

You assured them you were ok, that it was a minor injury. Another lie. Yet they still wanted to come see you, and you agreed. It has been a while since you have made time to see them. Tonight would be a girls night just like how you used to do it. 

There were still a couple hours until the time they agreed to come over, you started mentally calculating when to throw the snacks in the oven. The front door swings wide open, startling you. They never arrive early, if anything they are always late. 

But it wasn't them.

In walks Choso, looking beyond exhausted. Ever since you went back to your own place, he has been coming to check on you every night. More for his own sanity if anything. He even started sharing small details about his day with you, what curses he encountered and bragging about how quick he was to dispatch them. Nothing was a secret anymore, opening a whole world of trust between both of you. 

But you have never seen him quite like this. He walked further into the room, eyelids droopy and focused on the floor ahead of him. Hair fallen out from his pigtails and plastered to his sweaty face. You take a step forward, worried he might collapse from fatigue any second now.

He wasn't supposed to be here tonight. You told him that your friends were coming over so he didn’t need to come by. He agreed even, thought it would be good for you to see them after so long.

“Cho? What are you doing here?” He lifts his head when you ask, eyes dull. He looks almost lifeless. Whatever he had just been through clearly left him drained. His lips turn down in a small frown. 

“Sorry, I forgot.” He turns his head slightly and you notice smears of crimson clinging to his cheek and trickling down his neck. The uniform on his body caked in dirt and more blood. 

“Are you hurt!” You rush forward until you stand directly in front of him. All he can manage is a shake of the head no. You reach for his chin, tilting his face in every angle to examine him. “What about all this blood?”

“It’s not mine,” he closes his eyes, dark purple circles a testament to his lack of energy. “I can heal myself, remember? It's going to take a lot more than that to take me down.” He lets out a low chuckle. 

“I had a long day, there were a lot of them. I’m just tired.” He explains with a drawn-out sigh. Choso mentioned that creatures like the one who attacked you, transfigured humans, were popping up in droves around the city. Each day there were more than the last. Keeping him and all the other sorcerers busy, day and night.

You couldn’t possibly send him away in his current state, not when he looks about to pass out. Plus, there is still time to kill before your friends arrive, maybe you should repay your boyfriend’s care with some of your own.

“Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” You grab his hand and lead him toward the bathroom. Once inside, you walk over toward the bathtub and turn on the faucet. A hand under the stream until it reaches the perfect temperature, hot but not scalding. You allow the water to fill up until the tub is full.

“Clothes off.” You hold your hands out, waiting for him to shed his soiled uniform. 

“Okay bossy,” he chuckles as he removes each item and places it within your outstretched arms. This is the first time you have seen him fully naked, and you waste no time inspecting every muscle with an appreciative gaze. Every line on his chiseled stomach, every scar that marks his skin. Following the trail of dark hairs until it leads you to the thick length between his thighs. 

You knew he was big, you had seen the outline of it through his clothes many times. But you never would have believed he was that big. Now you understand why he has been so adamant on waiting until you were fully recovered, that thing would destroy you. Yet the thought only makes you want him more.

You have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from your shameless staring. Though it seems he hadn’t noticed, his eyes half shut as he walks over to the bath and lowers himself to the water. He immediately grabs a washcloth and begins wiping the blood from his face.

“Be right back,” you tell him before exiting the bathroom and walking to the closet that hid your washing machine. You try to focus all your energy on scrubbing out the stains in his clothing, needing something to get your mind off the heat pooling in your core. He was clearly drained of all his stamina, now wasn’t the time for these thoughts. 

You pad into the bathroom once again, steam filling the air and casting a fog over the mirror. You set his fresh change of clothes on the bathroom vanity, something comfortable to help hide away the stress of his day. Choso is leaning back, head lolled to the side and eyes closed. He looked so peaceful while he was relaxing…or maybe he's just asleep? 

You were about to exit, giving him his privacy while you continued getting ready for your friends to arrive, but his voice stopped you. You were surprised he even knew you were there.

“Mmm…come to join?” He hums in question.

“Do you want me to join?” 

“Mhm.” He slowly nods his head, hair wet and smelling of your expensive conditioner you keep begging him not to use. 

“Sure, but only because I don’t want you to fall asleep and drown,” you tease as you strip from your own clothes, he’s so out of it he doesn't even sneak a glance at your naked body. You lower yourself into the tub between his opened legs, leaning your back against his hard chest. The water ripples as his arms move to wrap around your waist, holding you against him in a strong hug. He rests his chin on your shoulder, wet strands of his hair sticking to your own skin. 

“I don’t need a lifeguard,” his throat rumbles in low laughter “But having you close always makes me feel better.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

He held you tight the whole time. Soft snores brushing past your ear as the weight of his head continued to rest against yours. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the once soothing bath water was now cold as an iceberg. You hated to disturb his much-needed rest, but you were not so immune to the temperature change. The chill seeping into your bones. 

“I’m going to go lay down, have fun with your friends.” He kisses the top of your head, walking away toward your bedroom now wearing the sweatpants and white cotton shirt you fetched for him. 

“Goodnight,” you call after him. You can guarantee he was out again the second he hit the pillow. The poor guy has been overworking himself lately, not once stopping to recharge. Yuji explained that he has always acted this way, that sometimes Choso forgets to take care of his human body and acts invincible. Taking every mission thrown his way until he inevitably hits his limit.

It has been worse lately. With the influx of transfigured humans after your own encounter, he has been working nonstop. He never understands when to quit, when it’s time to stop and recuperate. It’s beginning to take a toll on his body, and it worries you. All it takes is one simple mistake, one minor miscalculation, to bring his downfall. He may act bulletproof, but in reality, he’s not.

“Hey! We are here!” Your friends call in unison from the other side of the door. 

You rush forward and yank the door open, the two girls immediately pull you into a group hug.

“I missed you both so much! It’s been too long!” You hug them back even tighter, then drag them inside your space. “Come on, we need to catch up.” 

The first two hours breeze by. Catching up on all the failed dates Emi has been out on and how the wine shop Suki opened has been successful. You fill them in on your recent art projects and celebrate the grades you received on your finals. Briefly mentioning the ‘stabbing’, fabricating a fake story about the whole encounter that they luckily bought.

You leave the details out about Choso too. Even though you two are starting to nurture a more open and trusting relationship, you haven’t had a chance to ask if he would care if you shared the details with them yet. With you now knowing the true nature of his world, you didn’t want to bring unnecessary danger to your friends. If meeting Choso would risk putting them in harm’s way, you would happily hide him away for as long as needed. 

“Another glass?” Suki picks up the half finished riesling bottle. You stare down at your cup, taking the last sip of the sweet liquid and pushing it forward.

“Sure, why not,” you let out a loud laugh. “But just one more.” She pours the three of you a second serving, finishing off the second bottle of the night. You say that now, but you know they will talk you into opening at least one more before the night ends. 

“We should play a game next!” Emi suggests.

“That's a great idea, Em. I bought a new one I have been dying to play.” You ordered a game online a while back with girls' night in mind, it was a drinking game where the focus was on how well you knew your friends or partner. If you guess wrong, you drink. You take another sip before standing from your seat at the dining room table. 

Their eyes widen, looking past you toward the direction of your room. Slowly turning around, you see what has caught their attention. Choso stumbles down the hall, his now dried hair sticking in every direction. One of his hands pinches the inner corner of his eyes in an attempt to draw the sleep away.

“Can you guys keep it down?” He yawns when he stands in front of the group. Your friends appear just as shocked as you are right now. What possessed him to come out? 

It was a standoff. No one dared to make a move. Their eyes flickering between you and Choso while he stands there unperturbed, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Choso blinks a few times, adjusting to the bright overhead lights in your kitchen. His eyes finally meet yours, an unreadable expression in his amber gaze that doesn’t reach the features on his face. Panic maybe?

“Um…who the hell is this man in your house?” Suki shouts at you, pointing a finger in the direction of Choso as he stretches his arms above his head. She always has been the overprotective friend, never believing anyone was good enough for you. You can only imagine the interrogation she is about to give both of you.

It’s time for you to come clean.

“Um…guys…I want you to meet Choso,” you swallow hard, seeing the confusion lining their faces. “He’s my boyfriend. Choso, meet my best friends, Suki and Emi.”

“Boyfriend!?” They shout in unison, tone dripping in disbelief. “How long has this been a thing?” Emi squeals as she waves a hand between the two of you.

“A little over a month now,” Choso is the first to respond, speaking matter-of-factly. They stare at him as if he was an alien speaking in some unknown tongue, trying to decode his words like a secret message. 

“He’s telling the truth,” you confirm.

“And you didn’t tell us!?” Emi’s shrill wail assaults your ears, a pout on her face. You have always been honest with them, and you just dropped a big bomb. Of course they would feel a bit hurt at your secrecy. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She probes further.

“I wanted to wait until I knew we were serious before introducing you to him,” you lie again. Choso turns and scowls at you like he too believes your deceit, a look that says ‘were we not always serious?’ You blink twice, trying to send him a message to play along.

“And how did you meet?” Suki presses for more information. 

Oh shit. You can't come out and say that you were being chased by a cursed spirit the day you first met him, at the time you didn't even know that bit of information. You were completely unprepared for this whole conversation. If you had thought ahead of time then you would have had a believable story all planned out, but Choso decided to make things hard for you tonight. Your brain working overtime trying to work quickly to fabricate another lie.

“He’s a security guard,” you say the first thing that comes to your head. “He helped me escape the attack in Shibuya when I was supposed to meet you two for dinner. We have kinda been seeing each other ever since.” You turn and give Choso a soft smile, it wasn’t a complete lie at least, just some of the details changed to something their minds will understand. Suki says your name, turning your attention back to her.

“Why don’t we get that game, then we can test how much Choso here actually knows his girlfriend.”

“Great idea!” you agree, giving Choso a kiss on the cheek before walking off to your bedroom.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Choso's POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

Choso watches as you disappear into your room, leaving him alone with the two girls who he can't even remember the names of. He stares at the doorway you vanished into, shifting back and forth on his feet awkwardly, praying for your speedy return.

He hadn’t exactly meant to present himself to your friends like this, it was a complete accident. Your joyous laughter ripped him away from the most peaceful dream he has had in days. His mind still foggy as he rose from the bed, unable to comprehend where he was and what could possibly be making you laugh so hard. He assumed Yuji told you another one of his stupid jokes that only you and him understand. 

But when the world came back into focus, after he revealed his presence, he realized where he actually was. Two unfamiliar girls staring at him like he's a ghost sitting at your kitchen table. Your table in your apartment, not his own where he thought he was napping. 

He can’t believe his mistake, mentally scolding himself for the situation he just put you both in, with no way for him to escape. Now, he is basically forcing this sudden information onto your two friends. He was thankful for your quick thinking, smoothing the situation over effortlessly. But that was short lived as you were sent scurrying off to retrieve some game. Leaving him in a den full of lionesses.

“Sit,” one of them commands, waving an arm toward a chair in front of her. Choso says nothing, moving forward and quickly taking a seat. She narrows her eyes at him, studying him up and down.

“We don’t have much time until she gets back,” the girl with narrowed eyes speaks in a low tone, Suki he believes was her name. “We need to make sure you are worthy of our favorite girl.” The other friend nods in agreement. Choso can already feel the beads of sweat forming on his brow. 

“What are your intentions with her?” Her question surprises him. “Why should we let you continue dating her?” 

“Let me? I don't really think that’s your decision, it’s hers.” He responds a bit defensive.

“Sure, but that’s our best friend. She doesn't need to end up hurt by another guy again, I just want to make sure you are what’s best for her.” Choso sits there in silence as he tries to put his emotions into coherent words.

“I care about her, more than I have ever cared about anyone before. She is special to me. I’ve never met anyone like her and I only want what's best. To keep her safe and shower her in affection.” He pauses for a moment. “When I am with her, I feel like I'm home. She makes me feel wanted. She makes me glad to be alive. I lo–” he cuts himself off, his face turning bright red as he realizes what he was about to say. 

The look on your friend’s face softens when she hears him slip up, already able to fill in the blanks to finish that sentence.

It’s not that it isn’t true, but he hasn’t spoken those words out loud yet. It just came tumbling out before he could stop himself.

“Good. Then make sure she knows. Make her feel loved everyday of her life, never let her second guess it.” Distant footsteps can be heard as you make your way back toward the group, game in hand. “And if you ever hurt her, I will hunt you down and double the pain back onto you.” Suki hisses quietly, and she means it. 

“Yes ma'am,” he whispers, swallowing hard. She happens to strike more fear in his heart than most curses do.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Your POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

Choso crashing girls' night ended up more fun than you would have expected, you didn’t think he would click with your friends so well. The normally reserved man transformed to match their energy. Indulging in all the drama of their lives and listening to them tell story after story while enjoying a glass of wine.

The two of you won that game of course. Both of your competitive spirits come out to play with the mission of destroying Suki and Emi. They never stood a chance. When the whole premise of the game was ‘how well do you know your partner’, of course you and Choso would be the obvious winners. He knows everything there is to know about you, and vice versa.

But the whole time, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you. It was almost like his eyes were sparkling each time he viewed your face. A sweet expression with his skin flushed, making your heart skip a beat. You wonder if something was on his mind, or if the alcohol was getting to his head.  

After the game was finished, you and Choso the undefeated champions, the night started to wind down into something more relaxing. He was such a good sport too. Letting you and your friends paint his nails black and apply facemasks to his skin, his bangs pinned back with purple barrettes. Giving him the full experience of what a night with your friends is like.

He even let you sneak a quick picture, his hair still in clips and his skin glowing. He just looked so cute; how could you resist? A tiny pout on his face like he thinks you will tease him after, or worse, send it to his brother. But all you really want is to make it his new contact picture, that way you can remember this memory each time he calls.

His eyes started to droop, and only one-word responses came from his mouth. He seems to be hitting the limit of both his energy and social battery. 

“Why don’t you go lay down? We won't be up much longer anyways.” You lean over and whisper in his ear. He nods in response.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, placing a light kiss on your forehead before standing up from the table. He turns back to your friends. “It was nice to meet you both, I hope to see you again soon, goodnight.” He yawns and makes his way toward your bedroom. 

“Goodnight,” they call after him. “He’s got the right idea, it’s getting late so we should probably head out too.” Emi responds. They were right, you didn’t even realize the time with how much fun you were having. The two girls float around your apartment, quickly gathering their things.

“It was so great to see you guys, let's do this again soon.” You bring both of your friends in for a hug, but you can't stop yourself from asking one last question. It's been nagging you this whole night, and you don't think you can sleep without an answer. “So…what did you think of Choso?”

“Hot,” it was only a half second after you asked, Emi saying the first thing on her mind. You smack her arm playfully. “What? You know I am right, you're so lucky!”

“Besides that…do you guys like him, ya know, as my boyfriend?” There is silence after you speak. You never even thought about the possibility of what would happen if your friends didn’t like him. You can’t imagine life without him after everything you've been through, would this ruin your friendship with them? Emi will always be supportive, but your other overprotective friend is a whole other story.

She doesn’t speak, leaning against the door with her arms crossed as she analyzes her thoughts. Each dragged out second of silence feeling like a lifetime.

“We like him,” she finally responds, letting you release the air from your lungs in a long sigh. “I can see how much he cares for you, and how much you like him in return. There seems to be good chemistry between both of you. So as long as he is treating you right, that’s all that matters. And I’m happy you found someone like him.” She punctuates her sentence with a small smile.

“Thank you!” You immediately pull her in for another hug, her approval meaning the world to you.

They say another round of goodbyes before finally leaving your home. You lock the door behind them and head to the bedroom to join Choso. You spot the rise and fall of his chest as he lays beneath the covers, already fast asleep. You move quietly around the room and go through your nightly routine, taking care not to make too much noise and disturb his slumber. Once changed, you slip under the covers next to his sleeping body.

Or so you thought.

The instant you lay down, he rolled onto his side to face you, one large forearm wrapped around your waist and pulling your back flush against his bare chest. His lips leave lazy wet kisses on the back of your neck. Hips grinding against your ass, alerting you to his hardened cock underneath his boxers. He works his way up to your ear, nipping at it gently before he speaks.

“You took too long,” he whispers, his hot breath sparking goosebumps along your skin. 

“It was maybe 10 minutes, Cho.” You let out a low laugh, pushing yourself further into his touch.

“Exactly, 10 minutes without you is far too long,” he presses another kiss to your neck, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. He slowly drags his strong hand over the fabric of your shirt, feeling how the cloth clings to your body. Once at the edge, he slips under and trails his fingertips up to your breast. Pinching and rolling your nipple between two fingers while leaving sloppy kisses along your neck.  Each little touch ignites the fire of need, heat coursing through and pooling straight to your core.

“Please don’t get me worked up for nothing,” you groan, clenching your thighs together, but he doesn't relent. In fact, he pushes his conquest further. His fingers lightly trailing down in a slow and tortuous path until they slip under the band of your shorts, pausing before he fully reaches your core, causing your whole body to stiffen against him. 

“Choso…you know we can't yet,” you sigh, sounding more like a whine. Even though you aren’t in any pain right now, giving you a false hope that you are healed, you have a feeling the second things heat up it will ruin the mood once again. It’s like your personal curse. His index finger traces along the edge of your underwear while his teeth gently nip your shoulder.

In the next second, he has you rolled onto your back, his body hovering above yours with two muscled arms caging you beneath him. He takes a moment to admire you sprawled out underneath him, looking like you belong there, belong to him. Hungry eyes roam over your form, appreciating your beauty in silence before speaking again.

“You trust me, right?” He asks, gaze locked on your own eyes.

“With my life.” 

“Then…can I try something? Can I try to make you feel good?” He pauses as he brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking across the skin. “Just for you.” 

“You don’t have to, we can wait,” you try to assure him. It doesn’t feel fair for you to be the only one on the receiving end. All he has been doing lately is taking care of you, all without ever expecting anything in return. Yet he shakes his head no.

“Let me do this for you, please.” His eyes blaze with determination. “I know what I want, it’s you. I want to do this.” 

Your small nod is the only confirmation he needs to continue.

His hands grip the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, tossing it to the floor below. He lowers himself, his chest pressing against you as his lips make contact with yours Tongue slipping its way into your mouth, tasting you in a ravenous kiss. Soft moans escape him and into your throat, which you swallow like the sweetest nectar. 

He pulls away from your lips and begins to make a descent of kisses down your body. Lips brushing over your cheek and down your neck until he reaches the valley between your breasts. Thumb rubbing rough circles across one nipple while his mouth finds and attacks the other, tongue swirling around. His eyes meet yours as he switches sides, making sure to give them both equal attention. 

“F-fuck,” you gasp out as his teeth lightly scraped over the hardened bud, your head falling back against the pillow. He sucks hard then releases with a wet plop. 

“You're so perfect,” he whispers, quiet enough that you barely catch it, before he makes his way back down your body. Continuing his path lower and lower, kissing and nipping at the skin of your stomach until he stops at the scar. He freezes for a moment, looking up at you with his eyebrows pinched and guilt in his eyes. He will never stop blaming himself for what happened. 

His thumb brushes softly over the skin, unreadable thoughts rampaging through his mind. A storm of emotions brewing inside. 

“I’m so sorry, you never should have gotten hurt because of me.” He presses his lips to the warm flesh, pouring out an apology in the form of kisses. “Never again, no one will touch you ever again. I will never let anyone hurt you so long as I live.” His lips dance across the healed injury, sending tiny shivers along your skin. 

You were about to respond, attempt to extinguish his worry, but he's already moved on. Sliding off the foot of the bed and kneeling before you, hands at your hips as he pulls you toward the edge, close to his face.

“Can I take these off?” he grunts as his hands frantically reach for the waistband of your shorts.

"Please," you quickly reply, not caring if you sounded a little too egar.

“Just let me know if anything hurts, and I’ll stop right away.” He adds before his fingertips hook the waistband of the shorts, along with the panties you had on underneath, pulling them off your legs in one fluid motion. Staring face to face with your cunt for the first time, you almost feel embarrassed. Like he's examining you under a microscope. 

“My pretty girl,” he breathes out, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spreads your legs apart for him. Lips leaving behind a wet trail as he nips and sucks up your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where you need him. “All mine,” his breath tickles your core. 

He swings both of your legs over his shoulders, sliding his hands along the skin of your legs until he meets your hips, gripping you firmly to keep you in place. He lowers his face, licking a slow stripe along your entrance.

“Oh fuck, Choso...” you moan out, eyes snapping shut. You can’t see his face but you just know he has that cocky smirk plastered across it due to the fact he’s the reason you're reacting this way. 

He plunges his tongue inside, confident strokes as he tastes you fully. The tip of his nose nudging at your clit with each lick. Mouth latched to your pussy as he worships you like he’s been wanting to. You can’t believe this is happening right now, after wanting this for so long, it feels like a dream, and you never want to wake up. Your hips move on their own, attempting to grind against his face but he digs his fingers into your hips, keeping you from moving.

“Do you need more, baby?” He lifts his head up to ask, his lips wet and glistening in the low light of your bedroom. “All you have to do is ask.” 

“More,” you let out a strangled gasp, your head dizzy from the pleasure being ripped away abruptly. 

“You can ask nicer than that,” he sinks his teeth into your soft inner thigh, then immediately soothing his tongue over the bite. 

“Please Choso, please give me more. I need more.” 

“That’s my good girl,” he immediately goes back down, this time focusing his attention to your clit. His tongue draws hearts on it while he slips two fingers inside, pumping at a rapid pace. It was all so much, your body tensing as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Your fists balling the sheets in your hands and your loud moans echoing off the walls, only fueling his desire. 

He can’t stop the way his own hips grind against the bed, imagining it was his cock thrusting inside you right now instead of his fingers. He wraps his lips against the swollen bud of your clit and sucks, a low moan reverberating through your body from his mouth. 

“You close, baby?” He hums when he pulls back to catch his breath, immediately diving back in after spitting his question out.

“Mhm, so close,” your thighs squeeze around his head, and you snap. Entire body trembling as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. The whole time Choso doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck you with his fingers and lick up every ounce of your release until your moans die out, leaving you exhausted and panting on the bed.

He places a few messy kisses on your cunt before looking up from between your legs, a thick string of his saliva mixed with your slick connecting him to your core. Hearts practically shining in his eyes as he gazes at you. 

He can’t stop himself from saying it right now, the high from your taste still clouding his mind. The words falling from his mouth without a second thought.

“I love you.”

Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @angel04-01 @seizecherry @raedollsstuff @brutuswolfo @deathrye -if I forgot anyone or if you want to be added please let me know!! :)

A/N: sorry, this took me longer than I wanted, ADHD brain kept finding other things to do oopsie. Also, I'm employed again (BOOO! everyone booo!) so updates may take longer but that won't stop me completely!! I love writing my fics and am so excited for all the things I have planned. love you all MWAH!!

[joaosnovia]

❦ - bound 2.

summary:: quiet night with your boyfriend.

warnings:: none!

writers note:: starting this off by saying don’t even ask why i’m posting sm recently i’ve been deadass been using this as a crashout prevention so i’ve been writing my mind off issues!! so that’s a bit tmi but yk.. anyways enjoy this! this is also really similar to the hector fic so ignore that!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @cherryloveshs ; lmk if u wanna be added!

The moonlight poured through the window of their small Barcelona apartment, its silvery glow casting long shadows on the walls. Alejandro lay sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the shower he’d taken minutes ago. You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him, a smile tugging at your lips. Even in the stillness, he radiated energy, an effortless charm that made your chest feel too tight and your head too light.

‘You’re staring again,’ he teased without looking up, his voice low and smooth.

‘Can’t help it,’ you shot back, biting your bottom lip. ‘You’re kind of hard to look away from.’

Finally, Alejandro put his phone down and gave you his full attention. His brown eyes glimmered with amusement as they traced your figure, lingering on the oversized shirt you’d stolen from his closet. The sight of you, comfortable, completely at home in his space, made his heart ache in the best way.

‘Come here,’ he said, his voice soft now, almost a whisper. It wasn’t a request. It never really was.

You crossed the room, slow, like you were savoring the moment. When you reached him, he tugged you gently onto his lap. His hands found your waist, warm and familiar, like they belonged there. The world outside didn’t exist. It was just you, him, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

‘You remember when we first met?’ he asked, his tone suddenly nostalgic. ‘I was such a mess.’

‘You weren’t a mess,’ you countered, running a hand through his damp hair. ‘You were just… figuring things out.’

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against yours. ‘You gave me a reason to figure it out. I was so lost back then, and then you showed up like…’ He paused, searching for the words. ‘Like a light, you know? Something steady. Something I could hold onto.’

Your throat tightened, his words sinking deep. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. ‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ale. You’ve always been this, this brilliant, magnetic, unstoppable thing. I just made sure you saw it.’

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours, a kiss that was soft and slow, full of things neither of you needed to say. When you finally pulled back, his eyes burned into yours, raw and unguarded.

‘You’re my home,’ he murmured. ‘You know that, right?’

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the city buzzing faintly outside. No matter what the world threw at you, you had this. You had him. And he had you. Bound together, unshakable.

[kultklassickiller]

Prada You Chapter 17

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains underage drinking, age gap relationships.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 17: Heavy

The room felt smaller, as if the argument had sucked all the air out of it. I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, while Jey paced the floor like a caged animal. His breaths were heavy, his movements restless.

“I’m sorry, Nyeya,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter now, no longer edged with anger but laced with something deeper—regret perhaps. “I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I just… I can’t stand the thought of someone trying to come between us. You know how I feel about you. You know how deep this shit is.”

I stayed silent, my heart still pounding from the intensity of it all. My thoughts raced, caught between wanting to believe him and knowing this wasn’t the first time he’d apologized like this. “Jey, you can’t keep doing this. It’s too much. I don’t… I don’t know how long I can keep dealing with you popping off on me.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face me. The hardness in his expression softened, and he closed the distance between us. “I know I messed up,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But you’re everything to me, Nye. I swear I’ll do better. Just… don’t walk away from me. Not tonight.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises. I wanted to push back, to tell him words weren’t enough anymore, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Vulnerability wasn’t something Jey wore often, and seeing it now made it harder to hold onto my anger.

“You always say that. You always do this,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And I mean it this time,” he said quickly, his hand brushing against mine. His touch was light, hesitant, as if he was afraid I’d pull away. “Stay with me tonight. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Please, baby.”

I hesitated, the logical part of me screaming to leave, to go home and put space between us. But the vulnerability in his voice and the way he looked at me pulled at something deeper. Against my better judgment, I nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

---

As we left the room, the heavy tension started to lift, though it didn’t disappear completely. My eyes scanned the crowded living room, spotting Kiyah near the kitchen with Jacob still close by her side. Natasha was laughing with Tama and Tonga, while Nataya and Jimmy were tucked into a quiet corner, her hand resting on his knee as they whispered to each other.

I hesitated, but Jey gave me a reassuring nod before stepping away to talk to Sami near the backyard.

Kiyah was the first to notice me approaching, her eyes narrowing with concern. “You okay, Nye? You look…” she paused, glancing behind me as if searching for Jey. “What happened?”

I shrugged, not trusting my voice to sound steady. “I’m fine. We just needed to talk some things out. It’s all good now.”

Natasha joined us, her brow furrowed. “Talk about what? We saw how he dragged you outta here. What’s going on, Nye? He trippin’ again?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. ��Everything’s fine now. Really. I’m… I’m gonna stay with him tonight."

Kiyah’s expression turned skeptical. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Nataya, who had finally made her way over, looked between me and Jey from afar. “Girl, we’ll cover for you if your mama asks, but you need to make sure you’re good. I mean, really good. If you’re not sure, come home with us.”

I appreciated their concern, but I could feel Jey’s eyes on me from across the room, his posture relaxed yet watchful. “I’m sure,” I said, louder this time. “He’s… he’s trying, y’all. I just need to give him a chance. We’ll work things out.”

Kiyah’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Alright. But you call us if anything goes left. Promise me, Nye.”

“Promise,” I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

Satisfied, the girls let it go, but the worry in their eyes stayed with me as I walked back to Jey. He stood near the back door, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. His gaze softened when I approached.

“Everything good?” he asked, his tone low and calm.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

---

The ride to Jey’s house was quiet, the city streets bathed in the glow of streetlights. I stared out the window, my thoughts tangled. Jey’s hand rested on the gear shift, his fingers tapping rhythmically, a small but noticeable sign of his lingering tension.

“I’ll get you home early,” he said, breaking the silence. “Before anyone notices you missing. You said mama don’t trip right if she think you with Kiyah.”

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the passing buildings. The lies he had me telling sat uncomfortably in my chest, but I didn’t argue.

---

Morning light spilled through the blinds of Jey’s bedroom, casting soft shadows across the walls. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic outside. I woke to the weight of his arm draped over my waist, his body warm against mine. For a moment, I lay there, replaying the events of the night before. The fight. The apology. The lingering doubt that refused to leave.

Jey stirred beside me, his grip tightening slightly before he opened his eyes. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, shifting to sit up.

He propped himself up on one elbow, watching me. “About last night… I meant what I said. I’m sorry. I know I need to do better. I don’t want to lose you.”

I looked down at my hands, tracing invisible patterns on the blanket. “Jey, you can’t keep saying that and then doing the same thing over and over. I… I need things to change.”

“And they will,” he said firmly, sitting up fully now. “Tonight, at the park if you come, it’s just gonna be good vibes. No drama. No fights. Just us having a good time. I promise, Nye. Let me make it up to you.”

I wanted to believe him. The sincerity in his voice made it hard to hold onto my doubts. “Alright,” I said finally, my voice barely audible. “I’ll come.”

His face softened into a smile, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “That’s my girl.”

---

By the time Jey dropped me off at home, the morning was quiet, the street bathed in soft sunlight. He pulled the car to a stop in front of my house and turned to face me.

“I’ll see you around four. I got some business to handle before I get there,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Wear something cute for me. You know how I like it.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto my face. “Cool. I’ll see you later.”

He leaned in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was soft but lingering, his hand lightly brushing my cheek. When he pulled back, his grin was back in place. “Later, baby.”

I stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me. As he drove off, I stood there for a moment, the smile fading from my face. The warmth of his kiss lingered, but so did the knot in my stomach. Was I making the right choice? I shook my head, pushing the thought aside as I headed inside. For now, I’d let myself hope that today would be different.

---

The midday sun beamed down as I stepped out of the house, my swimsuit covered by a loose, sheer wrap. Natasha and Nataya were already waiting by the car, chattering excitedly about the park party. Kiyah walked up behind me, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "You good?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Yeah, I’m good," I replied, though my stomach twisted with unease.

We piled into the car Jimmy let Nataya borrow, the twins up front with Natasha driving. She was the best driver out of us. The ride to the park was filled with chatter and laughter, the excitement contagious despite my own lingering doubts. I stared out the window, trying to convince myself this would be a good day.

---

The park was alive with activity. Music blared from speakers set up near the pool, the beats vibrating through the warm summer air. Groups of people danced on the grass; their movements carefree. Others gathered around picnic tables piled high with food—burgers, hot dogs, aluminum pans of baked beans and mac and cheese. The pool glistened, a handful of kids splashing while some adults lounged on inflatable floats, their drinks held high above the water.

“Okay, let’s party,” Natasha said, clapping her hands together as she stepped out of the car. The twins wasted no time joining the festivities, leaving Kiyah and me standing by the lot.

Kiyah turned to me, her expression shifting from excitement to concern. “Alright, Nye, real talk. Are you okay? Like, really okay?"

I hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. “I… Yeah. I’m cool. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kiyah crossed her arms, giving me a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been off lately. Last night wasn’t nothing. And I know how Jey can be especially with you.”

“He’s not that bad,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could think them through. “He’s just… going through some stuff. You know how life gets. It’ll work out.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyah said, unimpressed. “Listen, I get it. He’s got that whole charm thing going on, but nothing—and I mean nothing—is worth losing yourself over. Not even a Prada Boi.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I forced a small smile, hoping to ease her concern. “I’m not losing myself, Kiyah. I’m good. I promise.”

She studied me for a moment before sighing. “Alright. Just… don’t let him drag you down, Nye. You’re better than that. And he not all that anyway.”

“I won’t,” I assured her, though the pit in my stomach said otherwise.

Satisfied, Kiyah grinned and bumped my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with Jacob. I think I can play step-mama for the right price.” She turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

---

I made my way to the pool, slipping off my wrap and sitting at the edge with my feet dangling in the water. The coolness was a welcome relief from the summer heat, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glanced around, my heart skipping when I saw him.

Damian stood on the far side of the pool, leaning casually against a fence with a drink in his hand. His eyes were fixed on me, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. My breath hitched, and I felt suddenly exposed, the swimsuit clinging to my skin like a second layer.

I looked away quickly, my heart pounding. Why was he here? Why now?

The rumble of an engine broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see Jey’s car pulling into the parking lot. He stepped out, his walk slightly unsteady, a bottle of liquor dangling from one hand. He was shirtless, his tattoos on full display, the ink stretching across his chest and arms, a bold statement of who he was. His eyes were glassy, his grin lazy, and his shorts hung low on his hips, completing the effortless look. He looked good as hell.

I pushed myself up from the pool and walked toward him, meeting him halfway. “You’re late,” I said, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide the edge of annoyance in my voice.

“I’m right on time, baby,” he replied, his arm slipping around my waist and pulling me closer. The smell of alcohol clung to him, sharp and undeniable, but his touch was steady, almost comforting. “You miss me?”

I hesitated for a moment, studying his glassy eyes and the way his grin tilted slightly to the side. “Maybe. Did you miss me?”

“More than you know,” he said, his voice dropping low. He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine in a featherlight tease before pulling back. “You been behaving without me?”

I hesitated before nodding. “Of course.”

His grin widened, and he held the bottle out to me. “Here,” he said, holding the bottle between us. “Take a sip. Loosen up. It’s a celebration, right?”

I took the bottle hesitantly, the liquor burning as it slid down my throat. Jey’s fingers danced on my hip, the touch intimate, almost claiming. He leaned in as I swallowed, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "That’s my girl," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. I glanced toward the pool and caught Damian watching us, his expression unreadable. The intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle, and a surge of defiance rose in me.

Turning back to Jey, I slipped an arm around his neck, pulling him flush against me. "You’re in a real good mood today," I murmured, my lips brushing the edge of his jaw before trailing lightly to his ear. "What’s got you so happy?"

“Because I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “When you’re with me, it’s like everything’s right. Last night’s behind us, right?”

I nodded, even as my heart pounded. “Right.”

Jey’s grin widened before he kissed me again, this time deeper, his lips firm and insistent, as if he was staking a claim. The heat of the moment sent a rush through me, and I clung to him, my fingers running through his hair. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“Let’s go join the party," he said, his voice low and full of promise. "Show everyone how good we look together."

---

The festivities were in full swing. Music blasted from the speakers, and the air was filled with the sound of laughter and splashing water. Jey stayed close, his arm never straying far from my waist.

Natasha and Tonga were dancing near the grill, their movements loose and carefree. Nataya and Jimmy were sitting together at a table, sharing a plate of food and laughing like they had no cares in the world. Kiyah and Jacob were by the pool, their heads close as they talked, their laughter carrying over the noise.

I tried to focus on the party, to lose myself in the energy around me. But every so often, I felt Damian’s gaze slicing through the crowd, his eyes heavy and unyielding. It was like he was reading every move I made, dissecting every touch Jey placed on me. No matter how much I laughed, danced, or clung to Jey, Damian’s presence was a reminder that nothing about today was simple—and nothing about this life ever would be.

---

The park party was electric, the kind of energy that could only come from summer heat and a crowd that seemed to double by the minute. The bass from the speakers thumped so hard it vibrated in my chest, mixing with the smell of charcoal, chlorine, and the tangy sweetness of someone’s perfume. Everywhere I turned, there was movement: people dancing on the grass, kids cannonballing into the pool, and adults balancing plates stacked with food.

Jey had me perched on his lap by one of the folding tables, his arm snug around my waist as I fed him bites of cake. His lips brushed against the fork with every bite, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I teased, wiping a smudge of frosting from the corner of his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he shot back, his voice low and full of that easy confidence. “You’re spoiling me. You’re not gonna stop now, are you?”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in his gaze made my cheeks heat. “Don’t get used to it,” I warned, though the playful lilt in my voice made it clear I didn’t mean it.

Jey chuckled, leaning in to kiss my temple. His grip tightened slightly; a subtle reminder of the claim he had on me. “I will. You treat me like a king, baby. And I treat you like a queen.”

---

As the afternoon stretched into early evening, the crowd seemed to thicken. Natasha and Sami had drifted toward the grill, where Sami’s booming laughter carried over the music. Nataya and Jimmy were sitting under a tree, their hands intertwined, looking like they were in their own world. Kiyah had switched gears, chatting up Solo now, her easy laugh and quick wit drawing him in.

I let my eyes wander, hoping to absorb the carefree atmosphere. But then I saw him.

Damian was sitting against the fence near the pool, a beer bottle dangling loosely in his hand. A woman was perched on his lap, her legs draped over his as she toyed with the gold chain around his neck. She was gorgeous, with dark curls framing her face and a smile that lit up the space around her. Damian’s hand rested on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns that made my stomach twist.

I tore my gaze away, the sight leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Why do you care? I scolded myself, but the question felt hollow. I tried to focus on Jey, who was cracking jokes with Jacob, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Damian.

---

Later, I stood and stretched. “I’m gonna put my stuff in your car,” I told Jey, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “Be right back.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with a protective edge.

I smiled. “I’ll be fine. Hold my spot.”

The parking lot was quieter, the distant hum of the party muted by the trees surrounding it. I opened the trunk of Jey’s car, placing my bag inside and closing it with a satisfying click.

“Leaving already?” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Damian standing by a car, his beer still in hand. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on mine for a moment too long.

“What do you want, Damian?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest.

“To talk,” he said simply, stepping closer. “You seemed… off earlier. I just want to make sure you’re okay, mami.”

“I’m fine,” I replied sharply. “You don’t need to worry about me. That’s Jey’s job.”

His jaw tightened, and he exhaled through his nose. “Is it bad that I care about you, Nyeya? More than you realize. More than I realized.”

His words threw me off balance, but I masked it with anger. “You have a funny way of showing it,” I snapped, glancing back toward the party. “Is that why you had some girl draped over you like a cheap coat? You worried about her, too?”

Damian’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Jealous?”

I scoffed. “Hardly.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I see it, Nye. You’re not happy. Not with him. But I told you that, mami. How long before you admit it?”

My chest tightened. “You don’t know anything about me or what I feel.”

“I know more than you think,” he said, his gaze holding mine. “And I know you deserve better.”

The silence between us was heavy, charged with unspoken things I wasn’t ready to confront. Finally, I shook my head and turned back toward the party. “I don’t have time for this, Damian.”

“Not much time left,” he called after me. “Think about it before it gets worse.”

---

Back at the party, Jey pulled me into his lap again, his arm wrapping securely around me as the card game at the table kicked off. His laughter was loud and easy, his confidence radiating as he placed his bets. I tried to focus on him, on the way his hand rested on my thigh, but I couldn’t shake the tension lingering from my conversation with Damian.

“Yo, Damian!” Jey called out, nodding toward an empty seat. “Get over here, uce. We need one more.”

Damian hesitated for a fraction of a second before approaching, his face carefully neutral. He took the seat without a word, his eyes flicking to me briefly before settling on his cards. The tension at the table was palpable, though no one else seemed to notice.

By the end of the game, I’d had enough. Leaning into Jey, I murmured, “I’m ready to go.”

He glanced at me, his expression softening. “Yeah? Alright, baby. Let’s get outta here.”

He helped me up, throwing an arm over my shoulders as we headed toward the parking lot. I felt Damian’s eyes on me as we walked away, but I didn’t look back. The weight of his gaze followed me long after we left.

---

Back at Jey’s house, the atmosphere shifted into something quieter, softer. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, blending with the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window. Jey dropped his keys on the counter and turned to me, his expression uncharacteristically gentle.

“You straight?” he asked, stepping closer, his hands sliding around my waist. His touch was familiar, steady, but his eyes searched mine like he was trying to read the thoughts I wasn’t saying. “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

I nodded, letting out a small breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Yeah. I’m good. And I know, babe.”

His thumb traced slow circles on my hip, and he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “Thanks for sticking with me tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know I can mess up, Nye. I just… I can’t picture this life without you in it.”

“You think?” I teased, brushing my fingers along the faint stubble on his jaw. “You make it sound like I’m doing you a favor just being here.” My voice softened, my gaze meeting his. “But you know it’s because I care, right? You just gotta let yourself believe you’re worth it.”

He smirked, his lips brushing against my temple. “You keep me steady,” he murmured, his voice raw in a way that made my chest ache. “It’s not just needing you, Nye. You’re the only one who gets me. The only one I trust to really see me, all of me.”

The weight of his words hung between us, and for once, there wasn’t any tension behind them. It felt honest, raw in a way that made my chest tighten. I leaned up, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that started slow but deepened quickly. His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

“I’m glad you stayed down with me,” he murmured, his lips grazing mine. “I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Nyeya. You’ve got my heart, baby.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I just stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “I love you too, Jey,” I whispered, my voice trembling but sure. And as his arms tightened around me, I let myself believe it. For now, it was enough to drown out the noise of everything else.

---

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[minteagalaxea]

steep (woo) | r.r

roman and quynh genre: angst . fluff . smut (minors dni) content warnings: thigh riding . praise kink . mild sir kink . nb character (afab) . multiple orgasms . implied age gap (quynh is in their mid-twenties) . protected sex (quynh is stated to have the arm implant) word count: 4.45k inspiration: roman reigns' many barbs about missionary position against john cena . tea and boba obsessions songs: woo by rihanna (slowed and reverb) (x) . claws by kim petras (slowed and reverb) (x) read also: "steep (xxviii reasons)" (x) note: thank you to @lov3rla03 and everyone who enjoyed the first one, so i hope you guys get to enjoy the journey quynh gets to experience and lets you guys get to know them!! they're one of my favorite ocs i've made (and i've made a lot lol)

at twenty-five, quynh learned the weight of building a life around a ghost—rightfully so for someone who was twenty-five, it wasn’t something they particularly enjoyed.

they loved john. of course they did. but it was tiring to know that when they had crafted a life, a career, and identity of their own outside of his shadow, was equally liberating and suffocating to know that they weren’t just connected to him in career, they weren’t connected to him in the slightest.

they corrected themselves as they sipped their tea as they read through the card for the night, noting which questions they were asking and to whom backstage as they did their round of pacing. it was somewhat liberating that they weren’t tethered to a clean-cut image that was so saccharine quynh’s stomach roiled violently just at the mere thought of it. but, he liked it, so they tried. they really fucking tried.

as they paced in the room, quynh realized that they should be angry with john. it was well within their rights to be. they did their part, calling and texting and sending photos to include him in their life, the moments they crafted. fuck, they even texted him and called him about their tattoo appointment, wanting him to share it with them and be there.

that text barely went acknowledged—quynh went alone, and that was when they really knew that they were living with a ghost for a boyfriend.

when they heard the door open, they looked at their lover and realized the title felt hollow, like an empty platitude to justify that they both used to be in love. and, with a hug, a kiss to his cheek, they said they couldn’t do it anymore. and he understood, kissing their forehead and wishing them well on the show; they did the same.

the shit thing was how their farewells were so easy: given how he relocated, it made it harder for them to miss him. how could they miss something that never really existed?

“you could mourn, you know?” quynh heard someone say as they started to prepare, slipping in a pair of colored contacts. silver, to separate from his blue and orange.

they peered up once they were on, affixing their gaze upon the other man through the mirror. “what do i have to mourn if there isn’t anything to mourn, roman?”

roman reigns—if quynh had to consider who they really built their career around, no matter how unintentional it was, it was him. they knew, as everyone did, and they knew that wwe was pushing him hard. so hard that they weren’t sure how he managed to get in the ring every fucking night and have the self-possession to not let it hurt his soul. except everyone figured out that there was a surefire way to get roman over without absolute question.

all it took was quynh interviewing him.

quynh knew that it wasn’t inherently as simple, but they always shared that same sense of intensity. and the way they looked at one another, body harmonizing and eyes smoldering as they let him bury his own grave with each question they asked and each silence prolonged. there was something about the tension, the unspoken dance, their natural dynamic, that seemed to have the wwe universe cheering and actually getting him over. not that the audience ever realized that they weren’t together. both had a healthy appreciation of one another, but knew what it meant if either were to ever entertain the fantasy when they were still with john up until less than thirty minutes ago.

except now they weren’t. and quynh thought that perhaps was scarier.

the two stared at one another through the mirror for a moment, silent as they pondered one another’s words in the mirror. quynh tried not to fantasize about the way his arm piece would look against the ones on their sides as their top rose while they started to work on their makeup.

roman offered a smile, one of those genuine ones beneath the smoldering intensity of his gaze, and wished them good luck, and they did the same. quynh tried to not consider how much more invested they felt with a man they were never with.

at (almost) twenty-six, quynh learned what it meant to miss someone that wasn’t a ghost, despite being far away.

roman looked…healthier. and that was good, given what he just fought. and yet, here he was, staring at them with a pallor that suggested he actually did see a ghost, except perhaps the ghost was them.

out of respect, quynh didn’t excessively contact him, preferring their meetups for boba when they were in town or a rare video call. casual and easy, they tried to be close to him, offering him patience where they could over the past four months. and they enjoyed learning about roman, the soul that was strong and gentle, sweet and bitter in equal measure.

it took them a moment to realize that roman hadn’t seen them quite as glamorous in a long while, sensual as they were deadly in their long legs and heels that put them just at his height. maybe it was a good thing they were attempting to kill a man who just came back from beating cancer, because it gave him one of the greatest reactions ever.

except nobody had to know how he took their hand when the camera didn’t notice, trying to ground himself in quynh’s iciness, their stoicism. the pallor might have remained as he stared, but both knew what their job was, and it was to give their audience the greatest damn show in the world with his return. quynh missed seeing him grind his eyes into theirs, onyx meeting whatever artificial color suited their whims. tonight was their normal color for once.

nobody noticed how they settled in the hotel bar together with drinks as they celebrated, both casual and intimate at once as they scrolled through their phone, responding to their artist about their appointment. “first one?” roman asked, voice warm and low and genuinely piqued.

quynh shook their head, swirling their grasshopper before they took a sip. “i got one a year back.”

“he come with you?” he didn’t need to name him—both of them knew.

“left me on ‘read’.” they weren’t sure why they didn’t sound as bitter; perhaps it was due to john’s own lack of them. their eyes lingered on roman’s own arm, a beautiful tapestry of his culture and took another sip of their drink, trying to not think too hard about how it contrasted and complemented their minimalist lines.

“i could come with you, if you’d like,” he offered, snapping them out of their introspection. quynh’s hand stilled, eyes heavy with scrutiny as they questioned his intentions. “i know you probably didn’t cry or anything, but i’d want to be there if you wanted mortal support.”

they blinked at him carefully, not wanting to set themselves up for disappointment, “day after tomorrow if you wanna come.”

quynh hadn’t expected for him to show up then, sitting sentinel throughout their session and providing copious amounts of attention to them as he watched the art take shape on their physique. they hadn’t felt quite seen like this before, and it made them feel acknowledged as he saw the art continue onto their thighs—heard the story behind the genesis of the piece from their artist. when the piece was finished, the heat returned to roman’s eyes as their artist applied the second skin bandage, admiring the masterpiece to their body with ferality. he looked at them through the mirror as their artist took more photos of their physique. the heat was unmistakable as they tilted their head in confusion.

“what was he like?” he asked them.

quynh considered the question thoroughly, attempting to find the words for a man they didn’t want to entirely badmouth.

yet, they couldn’t deny the heat in their eyes as they responded, “regular white meat babyface, i guess.”

“and i’m not, baby?” roman challenged with a smirk, one that brought heat to quynh’s eyes as they let themselves indulge in the timber of his touch, the velvet of his voice.

“you’re back now…i guess we’ll see if you can follow through on your ambition, big dog.”

at twenty-seven, quynh learned exactly how ambition turned a ghost into something physical, ferocious, and fantastic.

they had always liked roman just fine—they had no reason to deny the unfathomable amounts of chemistry and connection they had. yet, they had no reason to broach the territory beyond tenuous friendship and burgeoning want. not because of john, though the beginning certainly contained that, but they were both…complacent, they supposed. it wasn’t unwarranted, and the constancy of their dynamic was one they definitely valued and appreciated as the pandemic hit.

and then, roman returned at summerslam and destroyed braun strowman and the fiend with absolute vengeance that quynh hadn’t seen from him before. and he took a chair to braun strowman. and quynh, who had observed the entire match, commentated on the entire match?

well, they had never felt more heat stream through their veins when he met their artificially gold ones.

in quynh’s opinion, roman had never been more attractive to them, now that he was tapping into the ambition, the darkness, the power they always thought he tried to temper to make himself successful. and now that the brakes were off, and he was asserting what was his, taking without mercy, quynh felt their heart rate spike.

when roman took back his universal championship, they smiled with a feral want they hadn’t expected in themselves. they were starting to truly understand why roman looked at them so, and perhaps why things seemed to naturally work between the two of them, with each appearance to support them through their tattoo appointments (not that they ever needed it) and each interview and comment they gave him now that he was the head of the table, the tribal chief.

quynh quickly learned where the irony really lied—he took from others, but gave to them beyond measure. and it really started one night in his hotel as they fell back into their easy ways until he leaned up into them, forehead against theirs as he offered the smile of a jackal poised to pounce. “what was it like…being with him?” roman asked, and quynh wasn’t sure how to respond, or the context he even asked. the only additional hint it required for them to really decipher the context was his hands splayed on their waist.

“he preferred missionary,” they murmured dryly, ambivalent about it all, but not wanting to badmouth a man who they loved once a long time ago, dissonant as they pondered the reasoning. it was easier, given his exhaustion, and he wanted the intimacy they could provide in that way.

certainly, though, routine was the mother of complacency, and it did explain quynh’s revolving door of boba drinks they picked depending on their temperament.

“every time?” he asked, subsequent to a moment of silence. they nodded, and shrugged haplessly as they thought about it.

“it was easier.”

roman’s voice growled as he cinched their waist closer to him, “easy doesn’t mean good, baby.”

quynh nodded, a hand resting against his arm as their legs straddled over his hips, while his own roamed up to their halter-neck bralette, the crisscross cutout revealing the moment of ink on their sternum. “baby, why did it take so long?” he asked, “you know this ain’t something you can hide. you know we keep coming back to each other.” they knew, and they whispered exactly why.

“the beginning…we knew…with john, and we knew we were better than being dirty secrets,” they confessed, “but, i was waiting…you seemed like you were going through an evolution, trying to figure who you wanted to be. and the man i see now is the man i adore even more. i’ve always known what we could be, but we weren’t ready. we didn’t know who we were then. we do now.”

when roman bridged the gap, capturing their lips into a kiss that told them everything he didn’t say aloud, quynh knew that this was where they were meant to be as he lifted them to his bed, extricating their bralette and undergarments to have them straddling his thigh. flexing the muscle there, he let them set the pace, allowing them to rediscover human intimacy in a way that died down long after their relationship with john. maybe even because of him. roman, however, seemed hellbent on trying to reignite that spark in them as he murmured things. so many things and fantasies that dated back to the very first interview they conducted with him. things about how he wanted to kiss them, pin them against the wall.

“baby, when i came back in remission and saw your outfit?” he rasped with interest as he helped them bounce on his thigh at the pace they were finding they liked, “that silver hair of yours, that turtleneck? your leather jacket? your heels? fuck, i wanted to get you out of those right then and there, make a big statement on my return with you.”

part of quynh realized that this probably explained a large part of why roman’s gaze always lingered the way it did, like he was trying to respectfully undress them in his mind. not that they were susceptible to that type of energy now, and especially now that he made it so much easier with those fitted t-shirts over that tactical gear.

as their hips flexed on this thigh, they rested their face into the junction of his neck, whimpering in an almost uncharacteristic shyness as one of his hands brushed their pearl, pressing insistent circles to help them along. quynh thought their body was crumbling apart, bursting into seafoam, only for him to mold them back together.

maybe the metaphor is inaccurate—roman might just be more adept at helping them blossom and be devoured at the right time, like a master of fine and rare teas that they had been exploring at tea shops more recently.

yet, somehow, it didn’t matter as he whispered them promises of desire, stories of want, years of yearning that he could finally have them, the version of them unencumbered with ghosts and monsters and tannins that sucked the moisture from their mouth. it was enough for that wave of tension to crash over them and soak the fabric of his pants as he offered them a kiss and swallowed their gentle sounds with greed until their hips stilled. it was a fascinating paradox, then, one that sent their mind reeling and hazy in the most saccharine of ways as he held them close, pressing kisses that made the heat rise to their skin and dilation to their pupils.

“you okay if i fuck you now, baby?” he asked, running his hands along the new pieces along their waist and thighs with a small, playful smirk, “promise it won’t be missionary for the hundredth time.”

quynh leaned into him, a breezy sort of giggle as they assented, their artificial nails digging into his shoulders as he knelt, wrapping their legs around his waist as he rubbed his tip against their soaked folds, before helping them sink down onto his length and feel every stretch.

“better than missionary?” he teased, giving them a moment to adjust before allowing them to set the pace while he caressed every inch of their inked body in between fevered kisses. they didn’t respond, not verbally, punctuating their desire with slow, impactful slams down onto his sizeable girth, the airiest of mewls tumbling past their lips as they kissed, tongues tangling as his hips met theirs halfway and harmonizing with his heavy growls.

as they arched their back towards him and tilted their head back in bliss, roman took over the pace for them, matching their preferred rhythm while lavishing kisses and marks to the column of their throat; quynh held him close, claws sinking into his luscious locks to keep him affixed to their throat as his thrusts swept inside deep into them, imprinting their cunt to fit him perfectly as he dragged them to the precipice of euphoria.

it was with this that they came with a breathy moan of his name, letting him spill into their clenching tightness not long after, sinking his teeth into the junction of their neck just above their tattoo as their groan reached a crescendo, just enough to bathe the room with their desire as roman pistoned himself through both of their climaxes. whispers of his name flowed from their lips as quynh settled, craning their neck forward again to press their forehead against his as their breaths mingled.

as their voice came back to them, quynh’s eyes settled on the man beneath them, cupping his face as they finally decided to answer that question of his from earlier. they hadn’t remembered the last time they felt this powerful, this free, now that their ambition for an equal let them take as much as he was willing to give them.

quynh lilted, “better,” and they felt like they had finally blossomed into the creature they were always meant to be as they peered at roman with a breathless, blissful beam.

at twenty-eight, quynh learned that some ghosts, no matter how much they buried them, didn’t like to stay there.

john was back, of course he was. they weren’t sure how they felt about it personally, but they maintained their professional veneer. they weren’t sure how they could function without it, despite their body simmering into frustration, because of course john had to return now.

roman, as he always did, took it somewhat unpleasantly, though it wasn’t just for his own sake, much to their shock. because he was right: john didn’t change, no matter what hollywood wanted to portray him. however, the other part of it was the intrinsic knowledge of their relationship, and the snippets that quynh offered over the year of their relationship, their proper relationship as partners.

the fact that roman really had to use the missionary reference for john when delivering that promo made them sound like a borderline hyena backstage despite the audience jeering at the statement. though, quynh considered, a fair majority of it had more to do with the fact that they knew roman was trying to protect them in his own way, upset about the situation for them about john in a way they never really processed.

and when john cena hijacked the signing for that summerslam match? all because roman denied him his challenge for the universal championship?

they felt like they were a teapot of steaming water about to fucking explode.

roman told them he was going to deny it—that wasn’t the surprise, because they knew what the whole point was. roman had changed, evolved into someone with so much more than the initial reputation he had. and that had made them even more chilling on the microphone during their interviews with him than he probably expected, because he still knew them. more than they wanted to admit to themselves.

hence, the sense of vindication they felt when roman brought up how twenty years of missionary wasn’t enough for them evidently. quynh could only smirk behind their mug of tea as they blinked at him with a raised brow, safe behind their sage colored contacts and their almond-shaped press-ons, the perfect juxtaposition to the vivacity of john’s attire and roman’s monochrome. and the nebulous definition of their relationship on the screen enabled roman to rattle john so deeply, a lesson john had taught them about letting the appeal of their relationship, the on-screen will they won’t they parts of it, become the major draw of their thing. quynh loathed that they had to learn how to hide the true nature of their relationship with someone they loved so deeply to spare them both given how intertwined their persona was with roman’s.

when summerslam started, they let everyone else talk. there was no point for them to exert that energy towards something that they didn’t feel pertinent to the overall story, though they provided their own analysis of the situation in the way that would make sense to anyone else: john wanted to come back and take opportunities away from younger, more current workers. and they chose not to answer when cole asked them if they thought it had to do with them, providing context for others the potential jealousy john might be experiencing given how roman swayed their affections. everyone else could think what they wanted to about the matter.

yet, as they thought about the nature of their relationships with these things, they scoffed as roman nailed john with another spear after some superman punches after john tried to mimic roman’s signature move. quynh wasn’t sure if they wanted confirmation that he tried that after seeing their disinterested expression. and then roman looked at them as they leaned back in their chair, and he finished the job. corey also had to snark that roman worked devastatingly hard to earn quynh’s praise, praise that felt like an elusive prize for someone as dominant as he was.

so, they gave it to him, commenting that roman laid out an almost artful performance. john nearly glared at them for that, though they paid him little mind as they worked on commentating the loose ends of their feud. and the heat in roman’s eyes when he looked back at them as he walked away made their cheeks imperceptibly warm.

the smirk on their face from brock lesnar’s unexpected appearance and giving john german suplexes and a f-5 in immediate succession was just the icing on the cake to try and keep their ghosts away now that this was all over.

at twenty-eight (several hours later), quynh learned how to properly bury a ghost.

roman, for all his exhaustion, was determined to celebrate in his impatient sort of way as he kissed them, hard and intense but with considerable care as they leapt into his arms, his hands gripping their denim trousers before slipping off their leather jacket and the belt of their pants.

“you make it hard for me to do my job, baby,” he teased, voice raspy in his exhaustion as he managed to slip off their pants and leave them in their black turtleneck bodysuit.

their hair billowed in this face, soft and fluffy against his wet and denser tresses from his conditioner and water as their nails tangled into them. “does it matter since you won?” quynh rebutted, jovial and seductive in equal measure as they buried their nose into his neck, “can’t have a fighting champion that slacks off right, sir?”

he nearly ripped their bodysuit off of them, how they used that title like it was a weapon that made him bleed with pride for them, one used sparingly and with the full force of a freight train as he pressed them on top of his face, sinking them down onto his handsome visage with vigor. they took from him, cognizant of his exhaustion in this position as they rode his face with semi-reckless abandon, blossoming underneath his tongue like a moon-blooming flower as they mewled and whined and preened for roman over and over. his tongue delved in like a man starved in the desert, having finally found his oasis—an oasis willing to give him all the ambrosia to consume.

they weren’t sure how many times they came like that, but quynh knew that at some point, they felt a pair of eyes on them, a familiar pair that could easily discern by the sheer weight of his gaze. yet, they didn’t deign to give him more satisfaction beyond a view that he evidently couldn’t look away from. maybe it was ironic, then, maybe it could be attributed to roman’s youth relative to john, the fact that he never really stopped wrestling, and didn’t just return on a whim.

they also knew their lover well enough to know that he really wanted to spite john just a little more, while also bringing them to new precipices of pleasure as he took them from behind, their body arched deep as he took his time, letting everything about them melt into a perfect harmony and contrast, their complexions, their ink, the bodies telling a story of yin and yang as roman pulled moans from them and had their body writhe in inexorable ways with each apex of pleasure.

but the reality that they were being watched set quynh’s nerves ablaze, and not because it made them aroused. it was the fact that the ghost they wanted to exorcise wouldn’t fucking leave. and they wanted roman to hide them, to shield the type of vulnerability they had just started learning to give again. roman hadn’t broken a promise with them yet, and he understood what they needed as he held them close, helped them slide onto his length, meeting them despite his exhaustion, his stamina relentless as ever.

quynh was starting to forget what it felt like to have just a piece of silicon bring them pleasure on nights like these, nights where they couldn't have the closeness they craved more than anything else. roman always delivered on that aspect, their banter fluid as water and viscous with adoration as he felt the imprint his length made in their abdomen, the deepness he provided, as they begged. and with the impeccable timing of his favorite pet name, he spilled into them, deep inside their walls as he kept them close and worked through their nth climax. yet, their most favorite part was the aftercare, the way he always ensured their comfort as he kissed the shrine of ink along their body, especially their arm with their implant as they shied away from their intruder, wanting to hide the artwork that defined their journey without him, especially their first one on their sides.

roman helped them back up back to their feet, helping them affix their heels and hair before draping his hoodie over them and asking if they wanted hotpot for dinner. quynh also heard the scurry of john’s footsteps to try and recover some semblance of dignity, but they knew when they affixed their gaze onto him, eyes scanning as they always did as they reflect on the amount of barbs roman had left about missionary, him asking them earlier if their coupling position beat it out.

at twenty-eight, quynh learned that they became their old flame’s ghost with just a single word: better.

[sebs-raging-with-testosterone]

this is my little corner of the internet, yes, and even if it’s tiny, and will stay that way for a while, i still will say what needs to be said and what is probably being thought about by millions of my fellows.

i’m a transdude. i’m pre-everything, and have an appointment set up with an endocrinologist next week that will probably help me get on testosterone. i’m 17-years-old. i’ve been out as a transguy, as anything queer for that matter, for a little over a year now.

i’m terrified. i did not plan on being another part of the vast majority of history that has come to exist in this country when i had first discovered myself and come out. i did not plan fearing for my life, my identity, literally every single second of the day. i know some already have to deal with that, and i know i already have to be careful, but this is a whole new level of fear.

and i’m currently in the depths of recovery from both SH and the beginning stages of an ED, both of which are constantly on my mind, same with SI, and now i have this. this was not a good timing at all. i’m terrified i might lose my internal battle before they can come for me, because of the fear that they will. (i’ll keep living, if purely in rebellion of them and in the intention to give my fellows hope and strength.)

but do i go stealth? i don’t pass, people will misgender me. should i not correct them when they do?

or should i wear my pronoun pin? should i do trans themed makeup when i go out? should i patch up some pants of mine, covered in patches that are speaking about the rights to my very existence?

or should i detransition for the time being? should i, to the outside world, become a girl?

should i just simply exist as i always have?

i don’t know what to do. i’m terrified. i want to help, help make some random queer stranger feel not so alone when they see my pronoun pin, help trans kids who are still in the closet know that we are still living when they see me out and about, help rebel against those who hate my every breath on this earth. but i don’t want to be killed. i don’t want my boyfriend, my sibling, (both of which are as equally queer as i am, only one is “visibly” so), my mom, to have to mourn someone, and see their loved one go down with history.

i have a life i want to live. what do i have to do to have it? what do i have to do in order to breathe anymore?

i’m terrified. i am. i really, truly am. and i’m unsure of what to do next, but i think my mind is pretty made up.

i’ll wear my pronoun pin. i’ll patch up some pants of mine. i’ll paint my face with trans themed makeup. i’ll live visibly queer and transgender. i’ll get on Testosterone. i’ll grow facial hair and i’ll speak deeply, as my chest is still visible.

i have every right to live my life as who i am, and to shout that from the treetops if i have to.

and i want all my queer, trans fellows to remember, and keep in mind, you are not alone. we have been here before, our community has been here before. we survived it ten million times before, now we have to survive it again and i’m unfortunately sure this is not the last time we’ll have to.

my advice: stick together. i know we’re all a bunch of socially awkward people, but this is your time to make connections. any trans or queer person, you two are now buddies, best friends, you have each other’s backs, and are always there for one another when they come to you randomly about anything under the sun. if you need someone like that right now, i’m your new buddy, i’m your new best friend, come to me any time of the day. if you aren’t in a situation where you can safely be out and the danger of your outness is pretty much entirely confirmed, don’t be out to those people/the public. if you can pass, pass. if you are visibly trans or queer, and you do have a safe/r place to do so, do so if you want to. but most of all, don’t give up on yourselves. it’s gonna be a rough 4 years, but i can promise you, we’re gonna survive, and that means you have to live. it’s hard, no one said it would be easy, but we got this. you are worthy of love, of acceptance, of support, of everything they say we aren’t. there is nothing wrong with you, and you don’t deserve death of any kind. if i keep living, you keep living. we can do this together, too.

we’re gonna get through this, together. STICK TO EACH OTHER LIKE GLUE, THEY WANT US SEPARATED SO WE HAVE LESS POWER!!!

[whamss]

"Making Rosemary tea drinking lesbians is bad" says Internet User, but not because it strips them of their characterization and turns them into carbon copies of each other, destined to sit in the background while other characters (men) have character arcs around them, but because they aren't Silly Enough. No no, we don't need to flesh them out, we just need to turn them from Wise Lesbian Couple to Comedic Relief. This will fix everything wrong with fandom depictions of them. *Wipes sweat from forehead* Woo! Being a feminist is so tough!

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[dykedvonte]

I dislike takes that Danse would be just as conservative in modernized aus when it's clearly shown his staunch views of things come from his time in the Brotherhood and his deep-rooted desire to belong to something with a greater purpose.

Not to mention lines that show much more open-mindedness that get overlooked for his harsher sentiments when you first meet him. Like the oppurtunity to be a part of something is why Danse fell so far into Brotherhood dogma and it doesn't negate the offense things he does but I feel like it's just lazy to be like "hmmm he'd def be racist" just so it aligns to his BoS beliefs.

[soupblr]

[omarwolaeth]

thinking 'bout how the lads interact with what the bracelets represent, especially in their decks

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

When I was making my first trying-to-be-serious ocs it was in the start of the 2010s (and I mean the START, 2010-2012) and there was a big “anti Mary-sue” movement on deviantart (the website I spent half my internet time on and was posting my art on) and I liked to make my character designs pretty extra (although compared to modern stuff they look pretty normal) so I started to get self-conscious. At the time though I was watching soul eater (and there was another thing I’m forgetting and it’s really frustrating me) and I saw that it was popular with a cool art style and the characters were extra AF, so I was like “okay. Maybe, as long as I can draw my character often and consistently it doesn’t matter if they are wild!” and you know what? Early teen me was RIGHT. Not about many things, but about this in particular she was!

[ignatiusteto]

i think people should stop thinking in stark black and white and stop taking things violently at face value and maybe society would be a little better. or at least stop making it the problem of other people. it really is a great brain exercise to stop and be like well okay wait a minute. you literally feel better.

[burningcomputerpersona]

oh wow i am fucking terrible at pretending to be a person

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. Hear Israel (the state and supporters, Israel the icon) I should outlive it long enough to bury it. (old yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.