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trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

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dreamland: faded

authors note: this is part two of the 'can you stand the rain' mini series within dreamland. make sure you've read 'the rough patch' before reading this one.

keep in mind the characterization, history, past struggles and other things while reading.

warnings: angst and violence

words: 6k

song inspo/rec listening: faded (acoustic version) by sara farell

Solana knew the minute she laid eyes on her that she would be an issue. Young, pretty, curvy, a charismatic smile that could sway even the hardest of the hard. A far cry from Alicia, also pretty and charismatic, but in a less….dangerous way. Her retirement and stepping down to move closer to her parents that were getting up in age came at no surprise. Solana sensed it coming in the past few months, though selfishly, she hoped Alicia would stick around just a little longer. So did the kids.

Her oldest set of children often referred to Roman’s long time receptionist as “Aunt Alicia.” She’s been missed, for sure, but by none more than Solana. Because if Alicia was still here, she wouldn’t be here.

Celeste.

Celeste Davenport.

Solana hasn’t a clue where she came from or just how she landed the job as Alicia’s replacement, just that from the day Solana Reigns walked into Bloodline Headquarters to surprise her husband for lunch, she knew there was something about the woman that she didn’t like.

Didn’t trust.

—------

Especially when Solana walked towards her husband’s office only for the twenty something to stand up and clear her throat.

“I’m sorry, Solana.” Her voice was sugary sweet, the “kindest” smile on her pretty face. “Mr. Reigns is preparing for a meeting right now.” The lack of being properly addressed didn’t bother her as much as the overall overstepping. “I’ll have to take a message.”

Solana just looked at her, taken back by a lot of things, somewhat disturbed by how pretty and young this girl was. For reasons she didn’t understand. Not at that point, at least.

Solana cleared her throat and tightened her grip on her Birkin. “You’re the new receptionist, right?”

She nodded, pushing her jet black hair over her shoulder, providing a glimpse of the tattooed heart on her shoulder. “Celeste. Celeste Davenport.”

Normally, Solana would say something polite, something friendly and aligned with her character, but again, there was something about the woman that she couldn’t shake. “Well, Celeste, I know you’re still new here, but—”

“Ehhh,” she interrupted, shrugging casually. “Been here about a month now, so not too new.”

Solana’s smile was even as she calmly countered, lifting up her hand to show off her wedding. “I’ve got a little bit of time on you.” It didn't miss her how something flashed in Celeste’s eyes but was quickly pushed away.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” she complimented. It felt inauthentic, though. Forced, almost.

Solana didn't bother with a thank you. “You should know that when I and/or our children come to see Roman, we don’t wait.” She kept her voice and gaze even. “I don’t wait.”

The same way Solana didn’t wait for a response as she continued her trajectory over to the double doors that lead to his office, doors she placed two quiet knocks to, followed by his deep voice barking from the other side, “what?”

A small smile on her face, Solana didn't spare Celeste a glance before welcoming herself into her space with her husband.

A husband who didn't waste any time meeting her halfway across his office, pulling her body into his and kissing her like he didn’t just see her a few hours earlier as they got the kids ready for school.

“What are you doing here?” His deep voice rumbled, hands moving to her ass, squeezing her cheeks through her fitted scrubs.

She smiled, stroking his beard. “Figured I’d come drop in and see you before I start my shift.” It was a long one, hence her making double portions the night prior, as she’d likely be late for dinner or miss it altogether, hence him needing to handle early evening duties. “And make sure you don’t forget—”

“I gotta pick the kids up.”

“Except—”

“Lina, Leya, and Tama later because they have practice,” he finished for her, making her smile grow as his hand shifted to the small of her back. “I know, baby. I got this.”

She didn't doubt it, but she also couldn't help but to point out, “see, the family calendar is helpful.” Solana giggled, seeing the way his face instantly shifted into a scowl.

“It’s still annoying,” he mumbled, prompting her to roll her eyes. With so many kids, several of which who were in extracurricular activities, it was pertinent that they kept a calendar to track everything. Multiple, in this instance. Hence, along with the large dry erase boards on the wall near the kitchen laying out weekly schedules, Solana started to implement digital calendars as well. She found a neat app that she put on all the kids phones, Roman’s as well, to help keep them all just a tad bit more organized.

Of course, her technologically challenged husband grumbled and struggled the most with it, needing tutorials from Koa and Kai, as well as herself, before learning how to properly use it. And, now that he got it, it seemed like it was working well.

At least that was working.

“So….” She trialed off, hands moving up and down his chest. “The new receptionist.”

His scowl deepened. “Who?” Solana rolled her eyes as it hit him. “Oh, the new girl. Cindy.”

“Celeste,” she corrected.

“Does it matter?” She wasn't sure she’d ever seen him look so disinterested and disconnected. It comforted her in a strange sort of way. “What about her? She’s no Alicia. I know that.”

That sparked Solana's interest. “How so?”

And, with the biggest expression of disgust, he answered with a straight face, “she talks.”

Solana sighed, a small smile breaking on her face as she buried herself into his chest, once more, comforted. “You’re impossible.” He said nothing, just holding her, Solana speaking from the heart more than anything. “Just….be careful with her.”

At that, Roman pulled back to look down at her, expression speculative. “What do you mean?”

Solana considered how to word it, not wanting to offend or upset him, just truly speaking from a place of looking out for him. “She’s young and pretty—”

“Solana, you know I would never—”

“I know, I know.” She did. She really, truly did. “But, that doesn’t mean she won’t.” Because Solana knows people, knows that true intentions can often be hidden, cloaked behind a pretty, white smile. “Just…be careful.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she had to warn him.

Later that day, Solana walked into work feeling a little better, though that was a given. Being around her coworkers, being able to interact with patients, just being in her element like that, always helped in one way or another.

Walking into the staff lounge in the back of the pediatrics office, Solana found herself naturally smiling at seeing someone already present. “Hi, Dr. Garcia.”

Robert Garcia lifted his eyes from the phone in his hand, a smile falling on his face as well. “Nurse Reigns.” He hits the side button, sliding the iPhone in his back pocket. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“Bit of a last minute thing,” she answers, walking past him to the refrigerator to set her pink Stanley covered in stickers, courtesy of her middle and youngest daughters, on the top shelf. “I thought you were at Main today?”

Dr. Garcia is on the newer side, having recently moved to the area from down South, currently operating out of both of the city’s major hospitals, Main and Central.

He gives a lazy shrug and half-hearted smile. “Bit of a last minute thing.”

Solana chuckles, “I get it.” She grabs one of the energy bars from the stack of them located on the counter when she notices his expression shift just so slightly. “Everything alright?”

He looks at her, shaking his head, smiling almost shyly now. “Would you judge me if I asked you the craziest question in the world?”

Solana smiles warmly. “I have seven children, Dr. Garcia. I’m sure your question can’t be any crazier than what I hear during family dinner.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.” Robert leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “What perfume do you wear?” Solana’s face gives away the surprise she wasn’t expecting to experience, forcing him to put up his arms in a defensive manner. “Crazy, I know, but my wife’s birthday is coming up, and I’ve been wrecking my brain trying to figure out what to get her, and every time I’m around you, I can’t help but notice how amazing you smell.”

Solana’s smile falters just a bit as she focuses more on the initial question rather than the explanation. “Thank you, umm—” Shaking her head, she closes her eyes and tries to retrieve the answer. “Oh my gosh, what is it called?” A question posed to herself rather than him. “And, my daughter was just asking me this morning if she could borrow it, too.” Samaria. It was Samaria, but Solana thought it a bit too grown for her, instead letting her use her Mon Paris one instead. “Baccarat something? I’m sorry, my husband got it for me—”

“Baccarat Rouge 540?”

“Yes, that!” Solana claps from instant recognition. “I don’t think I would have guessed that.”

He, too, chuckles. “That’s quite alright.” Making a face, he nods to himself. “Maison Francis Kurkdjian, huh? Your husband has nice taste.” His eyes flit to hers. “But, that should be pretty obvious though, I suppose, no?”

At that, Solana’s smile drops a bit. Unsure. She’s unsure of how to take that. What to make of it. A genuine compliment or…something else.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have much time to think—overthink it—a knock on the door from one of her coworkers, Kim, pulling her from the conversation that felt like it’d taken a turn.

“Patient in room 3 is asking for you, girl.” She shares, blue eyes sparkling with humor. “Sanchez kid. Wants to show you all the cool signatures he got on his cast.”

At that, the mother of seven smile returns. “Of course, he does.” An adorable little boy who reminds her a lot of Tama when he was younger. Solana offers the doctor a small smile, before walking out with her coworker, eager to start her day, strange starts aside.

—------

The second warning came not even a month later.

Another surprise visit at his office, this time with her girls as Solana was taking them out for a salon visit so they could all get mani-pedis. The elevator doors dinged open right as Samaria sent her mom the link for the latest purse she wanted. Something also sent to Roman, of that, Solana was certain.

Aroha was out the doors as soon as there was space for her to dart, dressed in her Tinkerbell costume, the latest to her growing collection. “Daddy!” She said prematurely, yet happily, clutching her bunny from Build-A-Bear she’d affectionately named after herself. Roro.

Samaria talking about the Marc Jacobs bag, Lina and Leya chatting among themselves as the rest of the Reigns girls’ exited the elevator, up until an interruption.

“Well, hello there,” Celeste greeted, standing up. Solana took in her bodycon dress and low neckline. A bit too low to be considered business professional, in Solana’s opinion. However, as Celeste was also top heavy, it wasn't hard for the wife of the Tribal Chief to be understanding of the dilemma that often came with finding outfits that didn't show off at least some skin. “You must be Roro.”

Aroha looked up at her, clutching her teddy bear, saying nothing. A strange reaction for her social-butterfly of a daughter.

Catalina, however, moved to stand behind her little sister, eyeing Celeste up and down. “Only some of us can call her Roro. You can call her Aroha.” There was no mistaking the skepticism—and dislike—in both Lina’s voice and expression, borderline glare. “And, just who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Lina,” both Solana and Leya scolded at the same time, though Solana could acknowledge not as much irritation with her daughter’s language as she would typically have from such an interaction. Not with that situation.

Celeste didn't break from her smile, introducing, “Celeste. I’m your dad’s new receptionist.”

Aroha’s response was quick and to the point as she hugged her stuffed animal to her chest. “I like Alicia better.”

“Same,” Lina agreed, crossing her arms over her chest, continuing to look Celeste up and down. “And, you work for the Bloodline, not my dad.”

“Girls, that’s enough,” Solana scolded. She and Roman had always taught their children to be honest, but that could be attained without being disrespectful, and right then and there, the conversation had easily drifted into the disrespectful category. She cleared her throat, offering Celeste a contrite smile that didn't really meet the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m Leya,” Cataleya introduced herself with a small wave, Aria already by Roman’s double doors, knocking, too busy to do the same.

Not that she would.

Even Leya’s introduction felt….off, for her little girl.

It was clear Solana wasn't not the only one not feeling Roman’s new receptionist.

A comforting thing…but also not.

Solana sat more on the quiet side of things, as she let her daughters bombard Roman with a variety of things. Lina asking Roman if he’d work out with her and Tama that weekend. Samaria sending him yet another link for the latest purse she wanted. Roro asking for a pet guinea pig. Leya simply asking for his opinion on an art project she’d been working on.

She left them alone, allowing them that time to bond until before she realized it, he’d sent them out and on their merry way to wait in the car.

“You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” Roman asked, standing in front of her, hand on her back, the other behind her neck.

Solana opened her mouth, prepared to dismiss his concern, because she knew he worried about her. Didn't like seeing her upset or bothered, and she hated that it was even impacting her that much.

“It’s silly.”

“Baby, we’ve been over this too many times,” he sighed. “If it’s impacting you, it’s not silly.”

Similar words that they told their kids all the time. She just hated having to still be on the receiving end at her big age. Especially after so many years together.

“I just…” She trailed off, a frown falling on her pretty face as his thumb gently brushed across the nape of her neck. “There’s something about that girl, Roman.”

He also frowned. “Who?”

“Celeste,” she answered. Solana shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like her.”

“The receptionist?” He asked, looking genuinely confused, same as he did the last time she brought her up, which made her feel silly all over again. It was so obvious her husband was paying this woman no mind, so why was she? “She say something to you?”

“No.” Not really. “It’s….I don’t know. I just don’t like her.”

Roman just looked down at her, reading between the lines. “What are you really worried about, Solana?”

A good, solid question. Fair, too. She swallowed. “I trust you, Roman.” With her life. “You know I do.”

He shifted his hand to her cheek. “Then you should know I barely interact with that damn girl. I don’t even know her name half the time, and I don’t care to know, because I don’t care about her.” He spoke truthfully, from the heart, brutally honest. The way he’d always been. It’d been a consistent thing with him since they married all those years again. Roman’s thumb brushed against her skin, ghosting over her scar. “I only see you, Sol….alright?”

He dipped his head just enough for their lips to meet, a soft kiss, a promise of sorts. She nodded quietly, letting him hold her, the act washing away her concerns.

Or, so she thought.

—-----

Solana wanted to leave it at that.

She planned to leave it that.

Planned to just trust that Roman could handle if and when something became an issue.

She planned to trust her husband.

There was nothing to be concerned about. Roman’s new receptionist being….off didn’t mean anything if her husband had no intentions on biting. For years, he always told her that he only saw her, and seven kids later, she had no reason to doubt that.

Not at first, at least.

It started with longer days. They happened every so often, but Roman always did his best to keep them far and few in between. That started to shift, her needing to either leave work a little early to pick up the kids from school and/or practice. Or, arrange to have someone else do it, because Roman wouldn’t be home until late.

He’d make it for a portion of dinner some days. Others, she and the kids would be cleaning the kitchen, his plate cold in the microwave by the time he walked in the door.

Then, the time they actually spoke to each other seemed to be cut shorter and shorter. Mostly conversation in passing as they transported their children to and from with all their extracurricular activities.

Then, there were other times, honest times of miscommunication or misunderstandings that caused some issues. Issues that weren’t handled in the best way.

Tense exchanges that escalated into arguments. Unfamiliar territory. Solana hardly ever argued with her husband, but she had the past few weeks, and there was no sign of things sizzling out. If anything, the fire continued to spread, leaking over into a particularly nasty one that resulted in her emotionally disclosing something she’d been sitting on.

Not from wanting to keep it a secret from him, per se, but from her not knowing how to process, yet alone share, potentially life changing—and shattering—news.

A spillage that she regretted exposing the way she did. Something like that…it called for a sit-down. A deep, honest, hard conversation between husband and wife as they worked together to figure out if and how they should tell the kids.

Solana regretted it. Not just that. But, the argument as a whole.

It stuck with her. So much so that the next day, while on the way to work, she stopped at her husband’s office. Needed to see him. Needed to apologize and ask if they could set aside time to sit down and talk. No arguing. No bickering. No snide remarks. Just clear, open, honest communication. Be the way they used to be, because truth be told, Solana just missed her husband.

And, she needed him.

Maybe now more than ever.

All of which she was prepared to say and was going to say, too caught up in her head to notice the strange absence of Celeste at the desk.

But, there’s not enough being in her head to save her from the influx of emotions that course through her the minute she opens the double doors and is met with an unforgettable sight. Something that will forever be stamped into her head and tattooed onto her brain.

A deeply scowling Roman is in the midst of shoving off Celeste who was clearly straddling his lap, her dress is hiked up to her mid thigh, exposing a portion of her exposed ass.

It’s been years since Solana has felt like this, felt like she’s been plucked out of time and placed above it, hovering, watching with horror as life and reality unfold before her. Like an outer body experience. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

But, the minute Roman’s equally horrified gaze lands on her, Celeste’s wide, nervous eyes glued to her, she knows. Knows that this is very real.

And, it’s heartbreaking.

Still struggling come to grips with what she just walked in on, Solana finds herself quietly closing the doors behind her. Her focus is on the ground, refusing to land on them, yet using that as a guide as she slowly makes her way over to them.

A bit of an automatic thing, as she’s still very much too overcome with any and all the emotions to really process what she’s doing. Not until she realizes Roman is calling her name and also reaching for her. Reaching for her because she’s no longer standing. She’s now the one straddling someone, Celeste, her fists raining down on top of the younger woman who cries out in pain, forearms covering her face.

“Baby, stop!” His deep voice enters her hemisphere, further angering her, as she forces Celeste’s forearms out of the way, twisting her arm, trying to break it.

“You disgusting whore!” It sounds and almost feels like someone else. Someone not herself, but it is her. Solana. And, she’s livid. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Anger mixes with something else, as Roman lifts her off Celeste who scrambles to run out, Solana managing a final kick to her ass before Roman has her completely restrained, allowing the other woman to flee.

The door slamming shut behind her disgraced trail signals something for Solana. Signals the most uncomfortable, awful, horrific thing she could have never conceived could happen.

He cheated on her.

Roman cheated on her.

He fucking cheated.

The rage rises once more with a new target.

Her husband.

“Get the hell off of me!” She shouts, fists angrily slamming against his forearm as he continues to hold her. “Let me go, Roman!”

“Solana, please—”

“I said get the fuck off me!” Her voice is livid and icy, her elbow moving into his chest, a sharp intake of breath allowing her that space to escape. She breaks apart from him, moving to the opposite side of the room. Distance. She needs the distance. His office suddenly feeling much smaller than it’s ever felt before. Too small. Claustrophobic. She can’t can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t exist.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, hands to her face, feeling wetness. Tears. She’s crying. “I can’t—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice is surface level steady but underneath that is a sea of turmoil that’s evident in his weary gaze as he looks at her, keeping a distance but also never taking his eyes off her. “It’s not—”

“You—I told you—I told you—” She can barely get her words out, Solana crying into her hands, unable to console herself in the moment. It’s just all too much.

“Sol—”

“What the hell, Roman?” Words finally find her. So many. All of them. Every single last one. None of them, kind or pretty, or anything she’s used to with the man who’s supposed to be her husband. Right about now, he feels like anything but. “I tell you that I may have breast cancer, and you go and do this?” Her voice breaks, as she closes her eyes, unable to stand the sight of him looking at her. Desperate and almost pleading.

Pathetic.

It’s pathetic.

He is pathetic.

His voice is bolder, firmer, filled with a conviction that feels nothing but inauthentic. “Solana, I didn’t—”

“I saw you!”

Her eyes didn’t betray her. No, the sight she walked in on was unmistakable, and him trying to shove that little girl off his lap doesn’t make a goddamn difference to her. Not one. Because, it was saving face. It was being caught in the act and trying to make it less a betrayal than what it is.

But, that’s exactly what it is.

A betrayal from the very person she would have sworn on her life would never.

But, he has, and it’s crushing.

“I can’t—I need—” Stammering accompanied by her heading for the door. She can’t breathe.

“Solana, please—” His long legs have him right behind her, hot on her heels, evoking an instinctual turn and shove of him away.

“Don’t,” she hisses, voice cutting into him, deeper than even the sharpest of knives. Her eyes shutting as she keeps her hands raised, another sign of the burning desire to have him as far away as possible. It prevents her from seeing the way he swallows, an attempt to keep building emotions at bay. “Just….don’t.”

He doesn’t try to interfere or stop her, just allows her to walk out, the departure feeling different than any other time. Because, it is. Because, in that moment, too swallowed and overwhelmed emotions, she’s not entirely sure just what she’s walking away from.

—-----

She should have called out.

Solana knows this the moment she arrives at work and after emptying her items into her locker, navigating to the staff lounge to refrigerate her water, the door barely shut before she breaks down in tears.

Heavy, heartfelt sobs, the shock wearing thin and settling into a sort of pain that has her chest tight, her stomach in all sorts of knots, and her heart aching. A physical, undeniable hurt.

Placing her cup on the counter, Solana moves her hand to her chest, trying to settle herself. She can’t remember the last time she had a panic attack, but one is loading and pending.

Roman cheating on her is just something she could have never anticipated, never expected. Not even in the worst of her nightmares. But, the more she thinks about it, the more she starts to put the pieces together.

The late nights, change and lack in communication, the arguing. The lack of physical intimacy. The dismissal of her concerns about her.

For each connection and realization, she’s hit with more questions. Just how long has it been going on? Weeks? Months? Is that how she got the job?

Because she’s his mistress?

Just the thought has Solana feeling nauseous. Sick, she feels sick to her stomach.

Solana wants nothing more than to tell herself this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Part 2 of the situation that led her to finding out about Fetu so many years prior. But, that was different. Roman had done nothing to make her believe he was being unfaithful. The conversation wasn’t even suggestive, just misleading.

This though….this is different.

His behavior has been different, and it all lines up. The sight she walked in being the final piece to the gut-wrenching puzzle.

And, what kills her maybe more than the actual cheating, is the fact that it hasn’t even been 24 hours since she told him about the results of her mammogram, something that has her terrified of what those follow-up tests could come back with, and he does….that?

Broken.

She feels broken.

Solana is too caught up in her racing thoughts and broken heart to pay attention to the entrance and sound of footsteps. “Solana?” A sharp gasp as she looks up to see Dr. Garcia looking at her, face full of concern. “What’s going on? What happened?”

She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—I need a minute.”

“Are you hurt?” His professional instinct kicking in, clearly, as he moves closer, doing a one over. “Did–did something happen?”

Yes. Everything. Everything happened, but she’s not prepared or even wanting to disclose that, any of it, to her boss, of all people.

“Please.” She sniffles. “I’m fine. I just—I just need to be alone.”

He shakes his head, lips pressed together. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that. What kind of doctor would I be to leave the best nurse I’ve ever had alone when she’s clearly upset?” Solana looks at him, unsure as to why another feeling is building in her stomach. Discomfort.

It’s discomfort.

She’s certain she must look a mess, having been crying since she walked into that devastating scene. But, her wishes not being respected in this moment isn’t helping. It’s only making things worse.

“Was…was it your husband?” At that, her eyes widen.

Did he really just…

Solana swallows, clearing her throat. “That...that’s none of your business.”

“It was,” he surmises. Another assertion that only further upsets her. “Well, whatever he did, know it’s because he’s an idiot.”

And, the hits keep coming, each jarring statement chipping away at her hurt and building up her anger. “Ex—excuse me?”

Dr. Garcia takes a step closer, prompting Solana to straighten, realizing her back is already pressed against the counter. “If you were my wife, Solana, I’d make sure to never cause any tears to stream down that beautiful face.” His gaze drops to her chest, burning dark. “Not for any bad reasons, at least.”

What the hell?

Solana feels like she’s in some sort of twilight zone. She’d been right with her instincts about Celeste, but how had she not picked up the same with the man she worked for?

The compliments. The smiles. The questions that teetered the lines of professional and personal. How had she caught that but missed this?

So many questions racing that it doesn’t dawn on her he’s closed the gap between them until he has her boxed in, his hot breath fanning her face.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Solana,” he breathes, Solana’s panic setting in when she realizes how close he is. Too close. And his hand reaching for her hip is confirmation of just that. “I could—”

Two things happen at that exact moment. Solana prepares to not only push this man, but punch the living shit out of him accompanied with her knee ramming into his crotch, because this is beyond a boundary being violated.

It’s harassment.

Sexual harassment.

But, she doesn’t get the chance to, she doesn’t get the chance because Robert is snatched away from her with a level of aggression she’s only ever seen in one person.

Roman.

The same man who has Robert by the back of his coat, the last thing she sees of her husband being his almost feral expression before he slams the man down onto the ground, jumping on top of him.

It’s all so fast. Too fast, because it takes a good minute for her to recognize what’s happening. To realize her husband is beating the living shit out of Dr. Garcia, clearly blinded by unbridled fury.

She’d like to say that the horror of seeing Roman viciously assault her technical boss was more than enough reason to get her to try to get him off, but it isn't. There’s a delay in her response. Emotion overload? A small part of her believing Robert deserving? She’s not sure. She just knows it takes a minute—or two—for her to say something, and it’s mostly due to the blood she sees starting to imbue itself on Robert’s lab coat.

And Roman’s fist.

“Stop!” She yells, moving over to the men, wincing when she realizes Robert’s face is also caked in blood, his eyes practically swollen shut. “Roman, get off of him!”

It’s like talking to a brick wall, her words in one ear and out the other. A part of her wants to leave it alone. Even saying his name feels off. Wrong, almost. But, she also knows that it’s only a matter of time before people overhear the commotion and call for hospital security. Then, it’s really bound to get ugly, and she can’t have that.

She also recognizes that the longer Roman continues to beat on this man, the higher the likelihood he’ll end up doing something he’ll regret later.

Maybe.

“Roman, you’re going to kill him!” Her shouts seem to be sounded out with every heavy, destructive blow of her husband’s fist onto Robert's face.

“Good,” is all he responds with, completely immersed and controlled by his rage. He only sees red, and that single word is all she needs to hear to know that he has no plans on letting up or letting go.

Not until he’s completed a newfound task.

To kill the man he’s about halfway through beating to death.

Solana moves quickly, recognizing verbalizations aren’t about to prevent a murder from being committed in front of her.

“Roman, that’s enough!” She hisses, going against her better judgment, her wants, and grabbing him by his shoulders. It’s at that touch, touch that also feels wrong, the same type of wrong she feels at even having said his name, that penetrates the armor of rage. Big, heaving shoulders, mouth slightly parted, heavy breaths falling out, eyes partially crazed, partially aware, he's finally looking at her.

But, she can’t sustain the eye contact too long, can’t bear it. She just uses the advantage to steer him off of a now unconscious Robert. Roman backs away, Solana ignoring his burning gaze on her as she crouches down to check for Robert’s pulse.

To make sure there still is one.

“What the fuck was that, Solana?”

It’s the last—and worst—thing for her to hear. Relieved that Robert is still among the living—for now—she stands up, turning around to look at Roman who seems 100% unbothered by his actions and 100% focused on, in his mind, what triggered said actions.

“Excuse me?” She whispers, hoping and praying he’s not asking what she thinks he’s asking. What she deep down knows he’s asking.

But, he is. He absolutely is. Roman angrily gestures to the man behind her. “What the hell were you doing with him?”

Her eyes shut.

Of course.

Solana licks her lips, doing her best to remain calm when she feels anything but. “Are…are you seriously going to stand there and ask me that?”

He also briefly closes his eyes, voice tinged with irritation and something else. Hurt. He sounds hurt. “Nothing happened, Solana. That’s what you don’t seem to unders—”

“Nothing happened?” She interrupts, scoffing, those damn emotions returning for another round. “You’re gonna stand here and tell me nothing happened when I literally saw you with a whole ass woman, dress pulled up, on your lap, and I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“No.” His voice is much lower than she would like, his eyes too soft, his expression too defeated. “You’re supposed to trust me.”

She nods, looking away at the open window of the lounge. “The same way you’re supposed to trust me?”

Silence.

A heavy, devastating silence that’s complicated by a crushing realization that this scene is far too similar. Familiar. History repeating itself.

She remembers the question she posed to him so many years ago. The last time they ever encountered something as serious and damaging as this.

“What kind of marriage can we have if you don’t trust me?”

A question she now has to pose to herself as well.

What kind of marriage can we have if I don’t trust him?

It’s a thought that nearly crushes her. Does, in some ways. The tears return, her voice breaking and paving way for her pain. “Roman, we can’t….we can’t keep doing this.”

Standing before her, he’s never looked so…so lost. “What do you mean?”

“The fighting, the arguing, the…trust—” That feels all but gone at this point. Maybe on both sides. “I—I want us to—to get through the boys’ birthdays next month—”

“Baby—”

“Because it’s not fair to them—”

“What are you saying—”

“Maybe even Lina and Leya’s quinceaneras—”

“Solana.” Desperate. He is desperate in this moment, vulnerable gaze focused on her. “What are you saying?”

It’s a good, valid question. What is she saying? Solana doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what the follow-up of her mammogram results will bring. Doesn’t know how she managed to miss all the signs that her husband was being unfaithful. Doesn’t know she missed the signs that Dr. Garcia was attracted to and flirting with her. Doesn’t know just how she can manage this, all of this, and try to pretend like everything is alright up until the passing of two, or maybe four, of her seven kids upcoming birthdays.

It’s all so confusing, and she knows nothing except, right now, in this moment, she answers as best she can. What she feels is best. Even if saying it breaks her heart in a way she never thought possible.

“I think we need to separate for a while...”

------

so....whose side ya'll on?

we'll see more of the kids' reaction to certain things in part 3, little do you know.

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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angellcvkes · 1 day ago

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𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 - 𝘰𝘵8 ౨ৎ

౨ৎ

pairing : boybsf!ot8 + fem!reader

a/n : these are headcannons of having stray kids as boybestfriends ! these are my first headcannons ! hope you guys enjoy ! :D !

౨ৎ

bang chan

your unofficial therapist

always checks in with “have you eaten?” or “how are you really?”

makes playlists just for you depending on your mood

gives the warmest hugs, the kind that make everything quiet for a second

walks you home no matter how late it is

if anyone messes with you, he won’t even yell—he’ll talk to them, calmly, and somehow that’s scarier

sends you voice memos at 2am like, “yo i had this idea for a song, listen”

lee know (minho)

teases you like it’s his job

but secretly keeps an eye on you at all times

will insult you while handing you your favorite drink

“you look like a mess. here’s your matcha.”

lets you babysit his cats but only after a whole background check

gives surprisingly thoughtful advice when you’re sad

if someone hurts you, he won’t talk—just stares them down until they leave the room

changbin

your gym hype man and your post-breakdown cuddler

texts you “drink water or i’ll fight you” daily

flexes in selfies just to make you laugh

lets you sit on his back while he does pushups for fun

will destroy anyone who insults you, no hesitation

also brings you snacks because “you looked like you needed sugar”

cries with you during emotional k-dramas but denies it every time

hyunjin

dramatic and emotional soulmate

sends you 15 tiktoks in a row at 3am

insists on doing your makeup for fun

calls you “bestie” but holds your hand when you’re anxious

gets angry for you before you even process it yourself

once threatened a stranger with just a raised brow and a perfectly timed hair flip

also insists on taking candid photos of you “because you’re art”

han

literal chaos in a human body

always down for impulsive food runs at midnight

calls you while grocery shopping because he “forgot what humans eat”

turns every serious convo into a joke but will dead-serious fight your demons

wrote you a rap once when you were sad. it was terrible. you cried anyway.

lets you vent for hours and only says “do you want me to beat them up or hug you first?”

felix

the sunshine protector

gives you forehead kisses and warm cookies

always notices when you’re not okay—even if you say you are

lets you wear his hoodies and acts like it’s no big deal

if someone makes you cry, he’ll be so quiet and soft-spoken... until he’s not

you’re the only one he shares his most vulnerable thoughts with

believes in your dreams more than you do sometimes

seungmin

dry humor king, roasts you all day long

but also shows up when no one else does

you could call him at 4am and he’d be like, “ugh... what happened?” but he’d come

helps you study, but bullies you if you get answers wrong

always remembers the small things you say, even when you forget you said them

secretly checks your location just to make sure you got home safe

would knock out anyone who talks down to you, then deny it later

i.n (jeongin)

innocent chaos, but would bite someone for you

acts like he’s your annoying little brother, but gets super protective real fast

sends you memes instead of actual emotional support

gives the best random hugs

asks you for advice on everything, then goes and does the opposite

once tried to threaten someone on your behalf but tripped mid-sentence

still insists it was “intimidating”

౨ৎ

xoxo, elle.

#𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ౨ৎ ⊹₊⟡ ᵎᵎ #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #christopher bang #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin #lee felix #lee minho #seo changbin #skz scenarios #skz smut #skz imagines #skz #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz code

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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On Good Behaviour 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You drag the wet cloth along your cunt. You clean away the residue of the lube that coated the condom and grimace at yourself in the mirror. You shake your head and toss the cloth into the small basket in the corner. You grab a dry one to soak up the moisture between your thighs.

You’re disgusted with yourself. Him as well. You sigh and stand straight.

You drop the cloth and fix your blouse. You rinse off your hands and try to smooth the wrinkles creased into your skirt. It’s only three in the afternoon; not quite the end of the day.

You open the bathroom door and march out. You’re surprised and not to find him still sprawled over the foldout mattress. You grab your phone to confirm the time. Just after three.

“Sir,” you cross your arms and step back to face him. “I recall you have an appointment at four--”

“Cancel it and come back to bed,” he insists.

You stare at him. He runs his hand down his naked torso and hums. You look at the wall.

“You wanted that report done--”

“Am I asking you for it now?” He turns onto his side and his green eyes flare. “You are being defiant.”

“No, sir, I’m doing my job--”

“I told you to come back here,” he taps the mattress.

You stare at him. His coily black hair is messy and tangle around his hand as he holds his head up. He flattens his palm to the thin mattress and rubs it.

“Take all that off and come here,” he demands.

You put your phone down. He’s not much different than the guards or even some of the inmates in prison. It’s a power struggle. Like them, he just wants confirmation that he’s the one with control. The fact that he is who he is, makes it all the more pathetic.

You undress. As you do, your mind strays. It isn’t hard to guess why he’s doing this. Not after meeting his family. He has an inferiority complex which you suspect is attached to his aforementioned brother. You have your own issues; too many siblings, a shitty mom, a steady stream of ‘father figures’. Even so, you can’t relate much to what he’s doing, though you can guess at his flawed reasoning.

As you shove down your skirt, completely exposed, he purrs and strokes himself. You hold back a cringe. You repress a sigh as you approach and grab another condom. He catches your hip as you put your knee on the bed.

“No need to rush,” he assures you.

You stiffen and say nothing. He’s invaded your home, your body, your entire life; you just want him out as soon as possible.

He drags his hand up your side and cups your tit. He sits up as he continues fondling you, watching his thumb as it circles your nipple. He brings his other hand up and moves you closer. You don’t resist.

He pushes your tits together and buries his face in them. He growls and nips at the bulging flesh. He wiggles his head around and kisses along your skin. He drops one hand down to tickle your stomach. You shudder and tighten your fist around the condom.

He urges you closer as he clasps onto your hip. You lift your leg over his and straddle him on your knees. You reach down to pump him as he plays with your chest. It’s all mechanical to you. Just a part of the job. You’re ticking off another box on the list.

You pull back and tear open the condom. You push it onto him and he sits back, his stomach muscles clenching as he watches you sheath him in the rubber. His nails dig into the bed and his hisses out a breath.

You grip him firmly and position yourself over him. You lower yourself gently. You’re thankful for the pre-lubed condom; you’re dry. You grunt as you take all of him. His hands go to your hips and he holds you down.

He groans as his thumbs trace along the top of your pelvis. His eyes scour up and down your body. He squeezes and rocks you against him. You exhale and let him guide your motion.

He’s slow and deliberate. He focuses on the joint of your bodies, watching how you glide up and down his length. He shoves you down suddenly and tilts your pelvis so your clit rubs against him. The spark of delight startles you.

You latch onto his forearms as he keeps your moving. He snarls and leans forward. He nips at your chest again. You stare above his dark hair. He nuzzles and teethes at your tits, teasing you as he drones out.

“Darling,” he slithers. “Mmm, you... are very capable.”

He leans back and twists his arms free of your grasps. He takes your hands and puts them on his chest. He smirks at you as his hands falls down to the bed.

“Go on.”

Your eyes meet for a split second. You lower your lashes and brace his chest. You roll your hips. He croaks and twitches. He tilts his head back.

“Oh, yes,” he taunts. “A woman like you... so naughty.”

You bite your lip to hold back your frustration. ‘A woman like you’... What kind of man does that make him?”

“Hm, you’ve had some practice, haven’t you? Is this how you got through it? Get an extra dessert at meal time--”

You pull your hand back without thinking, jaw locking, and you curl your fingers to a fist. You still, arm cocked, ready to bash his face in. You glare at him and he snickers.

“We both know you won’t,” he reaches and pushes your hand down. Your arm slackens and falls. You deflate. “Remember who and what you are.”

He grabs your sides and hauls you up with him. He puts you on your back as he gets to his knees, staying inside of you as you hit the mattress. He adjusts himself and frames your throat, tightening his grip as he snarls down at you.

He thrusts deep. Your insides constrict and you tense. He does it again. And again. Each time is cruel and sharp. Each time, his hold on you tightens. You gasp for air as he fucks you until the metal frame whines.

You grab his wrists. Your eyes well and your head throb. He slams into you, over and over, his grunts deep and furious. His tempo builds until the whole world seems to quake around you.

He finishes in a flurry. He peels his hands away from your neck and plants them on either side of your head. He holds himself up as he hammers into you. You close your eyes and wait for it to end.

When it does, he collapses onto you, breathless. You throb around him. His sweaty skin sticks to yours and his weight paralyses you. You stare at the ceiling.

You could be mad. You could blame it on a thousand different things. What good would that do? You made yourself a criminal. You made yourself vulnerable.

It will end. He will get bored. That’s how you got by. You waited it out. Bullies always lose interest.

💼

You wait in line at the coffee shop. It’s early. You’re exhausted. Well, you were tired for years. No one sleep good on a prison cot.

You step up and order the usual cortado. Nothing for yourself. As you shuffle along the counter to wait for the coffee, a twinge makes you wince. You hate that you can still feel him. You’re trying to ignore it.

You thank the barista as she slides over the cup. You take a lid for it and set off. You get to the office; it’s unlocked.

You enter and find Mr. Laufeyson say behind your desk. He greets you with a taunting grin. You hoped that yesterday would end it. That once he had his little victory, he’d let you be. You put the coffee down and face him over the desk.

“Sir.”

His cheek dimples. He stares at you. You don’t flinch.

“You’re early,” he drawls.

So is he. That fact isn’t lost on you.

“We’ve time.”

His feet are set wide. He turns the chair slightly and unbuckles his belt. You don’t react.

“Sir, I didn’t get to wrap my work up yesterday--”

“After,” he reaches into his pants. “Just a quick one.”

You blink. What is wrong with him?

He nods to the desk. There’s a condom waiting. You choke back your reticence. You drop your bag and grab it.

You step in front of him as he pulls himself out. You slide the condom on and he sighs. You turn your back to him. You tug up your skirt and push your panties aside.

You reach between your legs as you hover over his lap. He shoves you down by your hips. You grunt and keep a hold of the desk.

“Mm, yes, just as I recall,” he leans back. “Darling, you take me very well.” He runs his hand up and down your back. “And you obey remarkably. I would say you are nearly reformed.”

You rock your hips as you keep a grip on the desk. You use it for leverage as he traces lines up and down the back of your blouse. You tilt faster and faster. He leans forward and wraps his arms around you. He gropes your chest through your blouse and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, darling--”

A sudden knock makes him cough. Shit. He pauses and listens. The knock comes again.

“Hullo, anyone in?” Dina’s voice wafts through the door.

Your eyes snap wide and you elbow Laufeyson off of you. He untangles his arms and stand, the condom coming off inside of you. Shit. You don’t have time.

You pull your skirt down and tidy your blouse. You scurry away from the desk as he stands, his buckle clinking loudly. You go to the door and look at him. He tucks his shirt in and sends you an agitated gaze. He gestures for you to open the door.

You pull it back on the hinges, “oh, Dina, hi.”

“Hello, dear. Checking in. Is Mr. Laufeyson--”

“Good morning,” Mr. Laufeyson crosses the office lithely, “we were only going over opening tasks.” He offers his hand. She shakes it.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Not at all. She is still adjusting, so we are diligent in reviewing,” he explains. You back away from them.

“Oh, yes, sometimes it can be very much work. When they’re locked up, they have routine, but once they’re out...” she clucks. “Well that’s why I’m here.”

“You are very thorough at your job,” he says. “It is early, are you in the mind for a coffee?”

“At that place downstairs? I passed it and thought it smelled wonderful,” she trills.

“My treat,” he insists. “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have about her performance.”

“Oh my, Mr. Laufeyson, thank you,” she preens and tugs at her over-styled ringlets.

“Loki suits me well enough,” he insists. “Let us be off.”

She spins and struts out, a notable sway in her hips. You stand behind the desk. Laufeyson lingers at the door and peeks back at you. His cheek twitches.

“You will wait for me and we will continue going over your tasks for the day,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer as you tap your fingers on the desk.

He nods and leaves, snapping the door shut behind him. You exhale and grimace. You bend your knees and reach between your legs. You pull the condom out of your cunt and flick it into the bin. Ugh, he’s so gross.

You drop into the chair and stare at the black screen. It’s a good thing he got in out of there. She’s got an eye for detail. She’d be able to see the coffee you got him or the fact that you hadn’t even got set up for the day.

You almost think you should just tell her. You’re not stupid. She wouldn’t help you, she would blame you. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to go back to prison. At least there, you know where you belong.

No, because then he wins.

You tap the power button and let the laptop boot. You pull your bag closer and unzip the top. You put your phone beside the mousepad and take out your water bottle.

As you get the inbox open, your cell buzzes. You flinch and snatch it up, turning it to silent. The message waiting for you is from him. You can’t catch a break.

‘Darling, you’ve left me undone.’

You curl your lip. You can’t tell if he’s reprimanding you or trying to be coy. Either way, you’re repulsed.

You don’t respond. How can you? The puke emoji seems fitting but foolish.

Another message brightens the screen before you can put the phone down. ‘I was awake all night. Thinking of you on me.’

You furrow your nose. What the fuck?

‘Did you feel empty without me?’

You snort. You put the phone down and throw your hand up in silent confusion. No. He doesn’t think that you enjoyed it, does he? He doesn’t think this is more than you playing along. He can’t. How could he think that you want him?

The phone lights up once more.

‘I need you badly. It hurts. You will be ready for me upon my return.’

Sure, ready but not wanting.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #marvel #mcu #thor #avengers #on good behaviour

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lovelytsunoda · 2 days ago

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let me go | jake seresin

summary: jake is twenty years old and about to ship off for his first assignment in the us navy. he thinks his girlfriend deserves better, but she's here to tell him just how wrong he is

pairing: jake seresin x childhood sweetheart! reader

warnings: angst, based on the song 'let me go' by christian kane, cliffhanger ending because i'm evil like that, spoiler: accidental pregnancy

author's note: i usually don't listen to country music but i caught a rerun of my favorite 'leverage' episode the other day and remembered this song existed, and the fic wrote itself from there

Jake Seresin's Ford Ranger was parked as close to the edge of the cliff that you could get without being a danger to yourself and others. The view over the grassy cliff and into the turquoise water of the bay around Stacey's Point was to die for, but neither was focused much on the water. The lighthouse stood proud behind them, occasionally swinging around the illuminate their bodies.

The pair had spent many a night at this point, perfect in the late spring and early fall, free of the tourists that flocked to the Point's picturesque shores. In mere weeks the town would be overrun, college boys tripping over each other for lifeguard jobs that would allow them to show off their muscles to any tourist girl in a ten mile radius.

They lay in the back of the truck, Jake's letterman jacket over her shoulders. She was too good for him, he thought to himself as he nuzzled into her neck, gently sucking a hickey. At her quiet moan, he felt a stabbing pain in his heart.

How could he possibly say goodbye? Walk away from the best thing that had ever happened to him? The mere thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Sugar, there's something I need to talk to you about."

She pulled away from him, pulling his ratty old football jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Talk to me, Seresin. What's going on?" She always had been good at reading him, understanding him the way that nobody else could.

Jake sighed, averting his eyes. "I got my marching orders today. They want me in Fort Worth by the end of the month."

There was silence for a long stretch, and then he felt her warm hand engulfing his. "We'll figure it out. Jake, when you first enlisted I told you I was in it for the long haul. That's not going to change."

Jake shook his head. Why couldn't she get it? "You've got another year of college to go, sweetheart. You have a future. You have parents that love you. What do I have? I have a chequing account with ninety-three dollars in it, and this old fucking truck."

YN's face fell. "That doesn't change anything. I've heard Texas is beautiful this time of year. We can go long distance until I'm finished school, and then I can meet you in Fort Worth. Jake, we can make this work."

"No we can't. Haven't you been listening? You've got it good here. Don't throw it away on me, you're just going to get hurt in the end."

Anything could happen to him while he was in the air. Injuries, dismemberment, death.

Whatever happened to him, he couldn't put her through that.

Red-faced and with his head in his hands, Jake got up from the back of the truck and started pacing along the dry grass.

"Why are you so eager to give up on me, Jake? Do you want to know what I think?" She shouted, trying to get him to look at her. "I think you're scared. You're not as strong ad you think you are, and I think you're scared to be in love. I think this is the realest relationship you've ever been in, and you're trying to sabotage it because you don't think you deserve to be happy."

She was right. She was right and they both knew it.

A lot of people had let Jake Seresin down in the long run. Teachers, friends, the adults of Stacey's Point. His own father had wasted no time in telling Jake that he wouldn't be smart enough to get to college on his own, and that he'd need a football scholarship to get there. Low and behold, Jake hadn't been good enough at football either. He'd seen the military as his only chance.

"You deserve better than me, YN. You deserve someone stable, someone who can always be there for you."

He'd thought it through, he kept telling himself. Breaking her heart now would be better for both of them in the long run.

"You're being ridiculous. I want you, Jake." She pleaded, one hand over her stomach through the thin linen of her pinstriped dress. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she could feel the heavy pressure in the back of her throat.

"God knows why." He snorted back a laugh. "I'll only break your heart down the road. You're better off without me."

"Don't fucking say that!" Her voice cracked. "Why can't you see that I love you?"

"I love you too, YN, but I'll never forgive myself if something happens to me while I'm out there, and you get left alone to pick up the pieces." Jake's voice was firm as he sank to his knees in the soggy grass, taking one of her hands in his. There was a wild desperation in his eyes, pleas in his voice. "So please, just let me let you go. It's better that way."

She shook her head, tears beginning to track down her cheeks. She couldn't do that, for more reasons than one "I can't, Jake."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm pregnant."

#jake seresin x reader #the coastal collection 2025 #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun fanfiction #mini fic

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ev3rgreenxtrees · 3 days ago

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Just Like Old Times

-M.S

Synopsis: You never thought you’d see him again. However, there he was, at your sons’ parent-teacher conference.

Pairing: Dom!Matt X Sub!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cussing, unprotected sex, p in v, public sex, mentions of breakups, ext.

“Mom, hurry! We’re gonna be late!” Your son, Tony, grumbles as he tugs on your sleeve.

“I know, baby, i’m hurrying. We have ten minutes to be there, we live four minutes down the road, I assure you we will be fine.” You reassure the child, bending down to give him a kiss on the forehead.

Tony was eleven years old already, and you pride yourself in how you raised him. His father left when he was two, so you raised him by yourself, and you did a great job. Better than that dick would’ve done with you. You hurried out the door, Tony following swiftly behind your footsteps.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the school, as you truthfully did only live four minutes away. As you pulled into the parking spot closest to the door, Tony jumped out, running inside, leaving you to find your own way around. You sighed, knowing he’d do this. He had been excited all day to see his friends, so you know you didn’t have much to look forward to.

Grabbing your purse from the passenger seat of the car, you slowly step out. It’s slightly windy outside, so you hurry inside, as to not mess up your perfectly done hair. As you enter the building, you spot Tony, standing next to a group of kids, seemingly his age. You begin to walk over, when you spot a familiar face. Matthew.

“Tony, time to go. You can hang out with your friends after we speak to your teacher.” You speak softly, trying not to look at the man; who was painfully obviously staring directly at you. He smirked, before standing and speaking.

“Yeah, we better get going too, James.” The man speaks. His voice was a lot different than the last time you spoke to him- to be fair, it was almost fourteen years ago.

The meeting had gone as expected, the teacher simply stating how well-behaved Tony had been, and how he was keeping up with his work as well as doing good on all of the assignments. The meeting only took about five minutes- if even-, so you allowed Tony to hangout with his friends for a bit. However, you were not going to be by them if Matt was.

Just as you had expected, there Matt was, sitting on a bench behind the kids, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. You walked Tony to his friends.

“Alright, bud. I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and then wait out in the car for you.” You say as you pat the child’s shoulder. He nodded in agreement, before placing all of his focus on the group of kids.

You turn to walk away, making your way down the long hallway to the restroom. Just as you were about to make the turn, someone grabbed you by your shoulders, yanking you into the room next to the womens’ restroom.

You quickly turn, as the door is shut.

“Who the fuck-“ You yell, but as the light is turned on, you stop. “Matt? What the fuck!” You whisper, but in an obviously angered tone.

“Hows that husband of yours?” He asks innocently, while he looks your body up and down.

“May I ask why that would matter to you?” You question, raising an eyebrow as you cross your arms. Matt smirks.

“Oh, just curious. Carly— my girlfriend— is no longer in the picture, if you were wondering.” He raises his eyebrows. You know what he’s getting at, and as much as you told yourself never again, you know you cant keep yourself from him.

“He’s gone. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” You shrug, trying to make it seem like you weren’t giving in, but both you and him knew you were. You weren’t fooling anyone.

“Mhm.” Matt nods, kissing his teeth. “Have your eyes set on anyone else?” He asks, solidifying exactly what you had thought. You two are about to fuck, in a janitors office, at your kids school. You shake your head in response.

“Alright, Matt. We both know why we’re in here, so make your move. We don’t got all day.” You hum. Seeing Matt’s demeanor change changed something in you, as well. You could’ve sworn your pants were dry just a few seconds ago.

“So that’s how you want things to go, hm?” Matt teased, inching closer to you. “Remembered how good I treated you, and now you just can’t seem to contain yourself.” He growls, a sultry tone in his voice. As he spoke, your thighs seemed to push themselves closer and closer together, hoping to relieve yourself, at least a little bit.

Matt leaned in, his lips and teeth connecting with your neck. You don’t care about the marks he’s leaving— you never really did. All you cared about was the way it felt to have his hand trailing down your stomach, slipping into your pants. A feeling you yearned for.

You pushed your head back, and unbuckled your jeans, allowing him easier access. He chuckled against your neck.

“Missed me, huh?” He teased. You nodded, keeping silent. His fingers traced your clit through your sopping wet underwear. “God, so wet for me,” He groans, slipping your panties to the side.

You let out a small moan, as his fingers slowly entered you. He felt so much better than you remembered. And that’s just his fingers- imagine how his cock is going to make you feel in a minute. You can’t wait. Even if he’s only been touching you for a little bit, no more than three minutes, you can’t wait. You need to remember how he feels in you.

“Matt, now,” You plea. He chuckled once more, making you whine.

“Can’t wait any longer, sweetheart?” He teases, as he pulls away from your pussy, allowing him to unbuckle his belt, and pull his pants down. He grabs your hand, placing it against his boner that was still restrained in his boxers. You felt the wet spot from his precum, which only made you more needy.

“God, baby. Feel how you made me feel, even after all these years?” He groans, his head falling backwards as you pull his cock out of his boxers. “Fuck,” He growls.

He moves his cock closer to you, slipping it through your wet folds, as he goes back to working on your neck. You whimper, as you push yourself against him, letting him know how badly you need it.

“I know, sweetheart. Hold on for me.” He whispers, as he slowly begins pushing his rock hard cock into your hole. You bite your lip, in order to stifle your moans. He breathes heavily against your neck, as he reaches down to your ass.

He swiftly lifts you up, slamming you down onto his cock. You don’t remember him feeling this good, but you’re not complaining. He notices you struggling to keep quiet, and he places his lips against yours, in order to help out as much as he can.

You let yourself moan into his mouth, as his pace quickens. You feel yourself coming close, and you try to hold it in. You want to last as long as possible, so you can feel him.

“Don’t hold it in, baby. I feel you clenching.” He sighs breathlessly, and you nod in response. As much as you want this to last forever; it shouldn’t. You know that, and after his approval, you do exactly what he told you to.

You let go. Right as you let yourself go, you feel him do the same. His warm cum filling you up. You hate to admit how good it felt, but you can’t lie. It did feel amazing. He slowly slips out of you, as you both catch your breaths.

He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, as he pulls his pants up, then yours.

“Alright, baby. I gotta go. Call me if you need me.” He winks, as he slaps your throbbing pussy in a playful manner. He leaves you in the closet, alone. You take a moment to think to yourself,

‘What the fuck did I just do?”

『 ↳✧･ﾟ Finn yaps❕ ;

Hey..!! It’s been a while! Sorry if this isnt as good as i used to be lmao im working on it. hope u guys enjoy nd send in some requests. i love u guys tysm for reading🤍

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ I do NOT give permission for my work to be published on any other site, nor to be claimed as your own . However , reblogs , likes , and comments are much appreciated ! 🤍

@bernardenjoyer @lovely-calypso @junnniiieee07 @75sturn @tillies33ssss @thenickgirl

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writesvani · 2 days ago

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coming down | 08

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to- enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): sexual tension, body image issues, self-consciousness, crude language, implied sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of past trauma, substance references, toilet humor, illness, physical discomfort, vomiting, food-related discomfort, anxiety, frustration, teasing, manipulation, objectification, inappropriate comments

comment here for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,5k // date: 29th of March 2025

CHAPTER EIGHT — Wicked Games; proceed with caution...

AN: she’s baaaack, yuh yuh yuh. where are my coming down enthusiasts at? y/n, gojo, ren, and the whole chaotic side character crew are back, and i’m pretty sure i’ve missed them more than i’ve missed sleep. this chapter? one of my absolute faves. and oh, just WAIT until next chapter. it’s about to get wild in here, so buckle up.

i'm not doing a note goal for this one, mostly because i have no idea if anyone’s still around, honestly. i’ll just let this chapter set the tone for future note goals. if you liked it, PLEASE comment. i miss the hell out of you guys analyzing coming down. your asks keep me alive. this fic was my debut baby, and when it gets some love, i get all warm and fuzzy inside. help a girl out, please.

Gojo Satoru might be many things—insufferable, unreasonably pretty, allergic to boundaries—but one thing he isn’t is a liar.

And God, how you wish he was.

You wish he’d just been being his usual drama queen self when he dropped the bomb about your parents planning a cozy little family weekend getaway with his. But no. That would’ve been too easy.

Instead, here you are: imprisoned in the backseat of your parents’ car, Ren snoring against your shoulder like it’s his full-time job (drool included, of course), some truly offensive country song groaning through the speakers—not the Taylor Swift kind, the "my truck left me and so did Jesus" kind—and worst of all? No weed. Not even a crumb.

Three full days of pretending to be a model child while your parents pretend they didn’t once threaten to send you to military school.

Ren could’ve driven with his own parents, but with four younger siblings stuffed into their car like a clown show, he chose to suffer in silence beside you instead. His parents are trailing somewhere behind, probably already regretting accepting your parents offer to tag along to this trip.

And behind them? In a white suburban car so pristine it makes you want to commit arson, the Gojo family rides like some kind of godforsaken Hallmark commercial.

And in the backseat of that SUV? You know exactly who's there.

He’s probably reclined like he owns the world, earbuds in, looking like a Pinterest board made of sins and smugness, those glacier blue eyes already locked on the back of your parents’ car like he's psychically manifesting chaos.

You swear you can feel him smirking.

You are not going to think about that.

You have bigger things to worry about—like your dad giving you the side-eye every time you reach for another snack, as if carbs are a federal crime. Like surviving three whole days without a single hit of your precious joint, because your parents finding out about your “ways of life” would absolutely send them into cardiac arrest.

There’s also your mom’s Olympic-level passive aggression when you mention your grades dropped just a little, and of course, maintaining your sanity around Ren’s siblings—because even though you actually like kids, spending an entire weekend mediating tantrums isn’t exactly your idea of peace.

And Gojo Satoru? Yeah. He and his perfectly polite, terrifyingly well-dressed parents—mostly his mom—are just the cherry on top of this absolute disaster cake you're being forced to eat with a plastic spork.

At least you have Ren. Thank God for that.

When the cars finally pull up to the hotel, you're… surprisingly satisfied. It's a solid four-star place—not too fancy, not too run-down. Aesthetic enough to snap a few spicy Instagram pictures when your parents aren’t breathing down your neck. The exterior is minimalist, modern. The kind of place that screams we’re middle class, but we have rich taste.

You mentally give your mom her props—she always had the patience (and obsession) to hunt down places that are both budget-friendly and cute enough to make it seem like life doesn’t suck.

Five minutes later, the Gojo family glides in like they’re the finale of a fashion week runway. His dad steps out first, offering a polite nod and a quick, warm smile to everyone—including you.

You smile back. You've always liked his dad. He’s… real. Grounded. The type who doesn’t look at you like you’re broken glass someone else has to clean up. He never judged you. And that’s rare.

Even your own parents used to judge you. Maybe they still do. Probably.

But whatever. You're here now. You’ll have your room key soon. You have Ren. You can survive this.

Probably.

“I see everyone’s arrived,” Mr. Gojo finally says, voice warm as he leans down to high-five Ren’s little siblings. They giggle and swarm him like he’s Santa in a business-casual jacket. All except Mark, the only teen here, because he's too cool for that. Classic.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Gojo chimes in next, her voice sugary sweet and her smile dazzlingly fake. You watch her eyes sweep the group like she’s mentally organizing everyone by usefulness. Then her gaze lands on you. It flutters for a moment—just long enough for you to notice—before it returns to its tight, polished place on her face.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you say, plastering on your own customer service grin, “long time no see.”

“Long time indeed, sweetheart,” she replies, the endearment curling around her teeth like poison in honey.

“Hello everyone,” Gojo says politely, too politely, and your eyes almost roll out of your skull. He even bows slightly. Who is this man? Certainly not the one who once lit a blunt with the candle on your birthday cake years ago.

His mom nods, positively glowing, pleased with her son's pristine little act—an act she doesn’t even realize is an act. You wonder how smug she’d look if she knew her beloved boy wasn’t a perfect Catholic child but a campus menace with a body count longer than the Bible she swears by.

You and the others exchange quick greetings before making your way into the hotel.

“Kids, don’t touch that!” Ren’s mom cries out, nearly tripping over a suitcase as she tries to wrangle her four hyperactive children. The chaos doesn’t let up until you're finally at the front desk, and the receptionist starts handing out keys.

You’re satisfied with your roommate for the weekend—Ren. His parents look way too pleased about that, flashing each other hopeful glances like they still think there’s a shot of you two ending up together. It’s sweet, in an oblivious kind of way. Ren’s not comfortable talking about his sexuality with them yet. He once told you he probably never will be. And that’s okay.

Still, you’re beyond relieved you don’t have to spend three days trapped in a room with your parents. So, Ren it is.

His parents and siblings are piling into one of those family-style suites—like the ones that look suspiciously like apartments, what’s the name for that again? Your brain short-circuits at pulling the right term, as usual.

Your parents are tucked away in their own room, of course. And the Gojos? Also in their own little suite. Naturally.

Gojo Satoru, golden boy deluxe, gets a room all to himself. Because apparently, sharing a room with you and Ren is beneath him. Or maybe that’s just his mom’s rule. Not like she’d ever let her precious son share space—let alone four walls—with the girl who once turned his life into something similar to a PR nightmare.

Not after everything.

You’re thankful for that, though. So, so thankful.

“Jesus, why do I feel like Gojo’s mother shot disapproval down our spines the second she spotted us?” Ren sighs, shutting the hotel room door behind him and dropping his suspiciously large suitcase with a loud thud.

You flop onto the bed, one brow raised. “Because she totally did. She hates us—well, mostly me. You’re just collateral damage.”

“True. I’m only hated by association. Otherwise, I’m just too damn perfect.”

“You are, bestie. Did you see Gojo’s little bow? I almost shit myself from how fake it was.”

“YEAH. But also—Gojo’s always been polite to elders. Not even surprised, honestly.”

“Hey. Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m literally just stating facts.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” You wave him off. “Anyway, when’s dinner? I haven’t eaten since this morning. My mom said the food here is, like, divine or whatever."

“Seven. Sharp. My dad spammed me with messages about it—apparently I’m too likely to forget.”

“So, an hour?”

“Mhm.”

“Bro, I’m going to starve.”

“Suck it up, pretty. Food’s coming soon.”

You nod, dramatically collapsing onto the bed with a groan, arms spread wide like you’ve been through war.

Ren, ever the neat freak in disguise, is already unpacking both your suitcase and his, folding your clothes into perfect little rectangles.

“Why are you unpacking us for a two-day trip?” you mumble, watching him from the bed. “We can just dig through the suitcase like normal people.”

“Because,” he says, holding up a pair of your red lacey thongs, “Wait—why did you bring these to a trip with your parents?”

“You never know. Maybe I’ll meet a cutie and finally get laid.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

He sighs, still folding. “Anyway, I’m doing this because it calms me down. I’m nervous about the whole thing.”

“This thing?”

“This trip, bestie. I can already feel how awkward it’s going to be.”

“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know why Gojo’s parents even accepted the invite.”

“You mean his mom?”

“Obviously. She is the devil reincarnated.”

Ren chuckles, holding up one of your shirts. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me…”

“Oh? Spilling tea already?”

“You know how my mom gossips like it’s a full-time job, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, apparently your dad and Gojo’s dad started some kind of business thing together. They’ve been hanging out more.”

“I knew about that. Still doesn’t explain this cursed reunion.”

“Patience, drama queen.” He sighs, folding your thong with way too much care. “Word is, Mrs. Gojo was so against it.”

“Could’ve never guessed,” you deadpan.

“She even made a whole ass scene. Said he was mixing the firm with your ‘deranged’ family—just like her precious son got mixed up with you.”

You blink. Then smirk.

“Me. The deranged daughter. Honestly? Poetic.”

“Yeah, and your dad was pissed,” Ren says, tossing a hoodie into the drawer. “He almost backed out because of it. But Mr. Gojo? He needs your dad for this deal. So he ended up apologizing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Gojo apologized?”

“Yup. And then your dad went off about how you’ve changed, how you regret what happened, how it physically and mentally hurts him when someone bashes his daughter’s name.”

You blink. “Damn. Didn’t know my dad was dramatic like that.”

Ren smirks. “Yeah, you probably got it from him.”

“Rude.”

“So Mr. Gojo made his wife apologize to your dad.”

“Okay, but Ren—that still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“Stop interrupting me, then.” He folds another shirt, clearly enjoying the drama. “Anyway. Turns out this trip was already planned by your parents and mine. Like, a while ago. Some family bonding thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your stomach. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Ren leans in like he’s about to drop nuclear gossip. “Mrs. Gojo accidentally let the whole fight with your dad slip to my mom during brunch. And you know my mom. She called yours instantly. So your mom spilled the rest of the tea.”

“I literally can’t even keep up anymore.”

“Honey,” Ren says, flopping beside you, “we’re trapped in a high-stakes episode of Real Housewives: Family Feud Edition.”

You snort. “With better outfits.”

“And worse intentions, anyway,” Ren continues, “your mom was still bitter about the whole thing. She told my mom to invite the Gojos and something like, ‘If she’s really sorry, she’ll accept the invite. Let her see for herself how much my daughter has changed.’ So, my mom invited the Gojos—and, well, the rest is history.”

You scoff. “There’s no way that woman is sorry.”

“Obviously not. She’s probably here just to witness your downfall.”

“Right? Like, I still can’t believe she called me and my whole family deranged. Okay, maybe I am—but my parents? Please. They’re all perfect smiles and pristine public image. 10 out of 10.”

“It’s just because they defended you back then. That’s what pissed her off.”

“Yeah, well, what’d she expect them to do? Side with her? Sure, I was fucking Satoru and snorting coke, but I was still their daughter.”

Ren chokes on air, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ—never thought I’d hear ‘daughter,’ ‘fucking,’ and ‘snorting’ in the same sentence.”

You grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Ren and you spend the rest of the hour just chilling—him folding clothes like it’s a religion, you sprawled out across the mattress, shoving your phone in his face every two minutes with some cursed TikTok. He complains you’re distracting him, but laughs every time. So, who’s the real clown?

Eventually, you both freshen up for dinner and head downstairs, stomachs rumbling. But the second you step into the hotel restaurant, the situation becomes very clear.

There’s a parents’ table—all polished smiles and subtle judgment—and then there’s your table. Or more accurately, the kids’ table. Gojo, that smug little fucker, is already there, looking completely at home. He’s sitting with Ren’s younger siblings like he belongs there, entertaining them with whatever golden garbage is coming out of his mouth.

Next to them: two empty seats. Perfectly positioned. Reserved for you and Ren, obviously.

You wave toward the grown-ups’ table, and they all wave back. Even Mrs. Gojo gives you one of those creepy royal family waves—wrist twist and all—that makes your skin crawl.

Ren slides into the seat beside Gojo with a resigned sigh. You follow, flopping down next to him.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Ren’s 10-year-old sister Ivy chirps, practically bouncing in her seat.

You immediately grin and squish her cheeks. “Hi, love. What are you eating?”

“Pizza! It’s so good. Wanna try?”

“Absolutely, hand it over.”

“Ivy, sweetheart,” Gojo cuts in, voice dripping with fake concern, “I’m not sure you want her lips on your food.”

You whip your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. Seriously? In front of children?

Ivy looks confused. “Why? I don’t mind sharing my food. What are you saying, Sato?”

Gojo leans back, fake-smiling like the menace he is. “Just saying you should be mindful about who you share with.”

“Well,” Ivy says with the confidence of a child raised by wolves and angels, “I’d rather share with Y/N than you. She’s way cooler. You act like a boomer.”

You nearly choke laughing. Ren full-on wheezes. Gojo’s smile twitches.

God, you love this kid.

“That’s so true,” Ren’s little brother, Mark, finally looks up from his phone, smirking like he’s about to drop some wisdom on everyone. He’s 13, at that age where he’s convinced he’s the smartest person in the room. “You’re literally one of those guys who refuses to download TikTok and just watches Instagram Reels.”

Gojo scoffs like he’s offended. “TikTok is a disease. You’ll see when you get older,” he says, attempting some kind of lecture.

Mark just flips him off, unbothered. You can practically hear Gojo’s ego deflating.

“Markie, Mom said that finger is bad,” Marie, one of the youngest ones pipes up from her seat, twin brother in tow.

Her brother, sensing an opportunity to team up, nods seriously, clearly siding with his sister. You watch with amusement as their little pact forms.

You lean over to Marie and whisper conspiratorially, “Middle finger’s only okay if you show it to Satoru, okay?”

Marie’s eyes light up like she’s just been handed the keys to the kingdom. Without missing a beat, she raises her hand, dramatically exaggerating the gesture like she’s in some kind of spy movie. Her twin brother quickly shields her from the parents’ table, then, with all the confidence in the world, Marie flips Gojo off.

You catch the corner of Gojo’s eye from your side, and he glares daggers in your direction. Oh, he looks pissed. Cute.

Ivy mutters under her breath, panic creeping into her voice, “Put it down, Mom will see you.”

But Marie, completely unfazed, smirks. “Damn, Marie, what the hell did I do to you?” Gojo’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“Nothing,” she says sweetly, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just fun.”

You almost choke on your water, Ren laughing next to you. Honestly, you’re not sure which is more entertaining—the kids or the way Gojo’s about to combust.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Gojo mutters, aggressively shaking salt onto his fries. You lean back in your chair, casually taking a bite of your burger. Honestly, you love how your mom always orders for you when you're on vacation. It's like a mini vacation from decision-making. But, as always, in the back of your mind, old habits creep up—you can’t help but wonder how many calories are in this thing. It’s like a reflex you wish you could shake.

“Right, and your mom seems to agree,” you say, casually leaning back even more. You can practically hear the gears grinding in Gojo’s head. His expression shifts, his jaw tightening, and his grip on his sparkling water turns borderline aggressive.

“I’m not my mother.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed,” you smirk. “But you’re on track to become her one day.”

Ren, who has been silently shoveling fries into his mouth this whole time, glances back and forth between you two, clearly enjoying the show. Nobody else at the table is really paying attention to you and Gojo. Marie and Chris are too busy discussing the finer points of their 6-year-old drama. Ivy’s lost in a YouTube video, and Mark is texting his girlfriend like he’s in some secret love affair.

“You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” Gojo mutters through gritted teeth.

“Am I succeeding?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“No, you’re just getting more ridiculous with every word.”

“Ah, classic defense mechanism. Takes one to know one.” You flash him a grin, leaning back even further as if you're lounging on a beach.

Gojo looks like he might explode. Ren's just trying to finish his meal in peace, but you can practically hear him snickering under his breath. At least one of you is enjoying this.

Gojo glares at you, but you can see the twitch in his jaw as he tries to keep his cool. You’ve got him just where you want him—irritated but unable to show it too much. It's almost too easy.

You smirk, taking another bite of your burger, but your thoughts stray for a moment to the old, familiar spiral about calories. You shake it off, chewing slowly, focusing on the conversation instead of your own head. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife, but it's a weird kind of comforting. You've known Gojo long enough that this playful banter has become the norm. Still, you can feel how different this interaction is compared to years ago, and not in the good way.

Ren, sensing the growing tension, clears his throat. “Maybe we should just let it go, yeah?” he says casually, but the amusement in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to resist whatever retort he wants to shoot your way. "You're just full of shit, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Says the guy who can’t stop talking."

“Touché,” Gojo mutters, but there's a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Ren snorts quietly, clearly trying to keep his composure. “At least it’s entertaining.”

You look over at the kids, who are still blissfully unaware of the subtle war happening between you and Satoru.

You lean back further, making sure Gojo knows you’re not backing down from this. "I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll become your mom whether you like it or not. It’s in your blood."

Gojo’s eyes narrow, but he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

"Means," you pause dramatically, "that you’re a little too much like her already. Pretentious, overly controlling, and maybe—just maybe— a little lonely."

Ren coughs awkwardly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalates. "Alright, alright. Can we just eat in peace, please?"

Gojo turns his glare on Ren, but it’s not as fiery as before. “You’re one to talk,” he says, eyes flicking back to you. “You’re both just as bad as each other.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

At that, Gojo just sighs, letting the conversation fall silent. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel a little smug. Sometimes you don’t need to win an argument to win, you just need to get under his skin. And it looks like you did just that.

You don’t expect what comes after dinner.

The original plan was simple: after a long day of forced family interaction, you and Ren would crash early. No more chit-chat, no more smiling politely. Just sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But then you overheard your parents gushing about the hotel amenities—a jacuzzi, a sauna, a whole pool area “designed for relaxation.” And like the menaces you are, the plan shifted. Operation: Late-Night Spa was born.

Except fate had other plans.

“Ren?” you call out, knocking gently on the bathroom door, where he’s been holed up for the past twenty minutes.

“I’m dying,” his voice comes out muffled and despairing. “I can’t stop shitting. It’s like a crime scene in here.”

You blink. “Okay. First of all—why the hell would you describe it like that?”

“Because you asked how I was doing!” he yells, voice strained. “You don’t get to complain when I answer honestly.”

You sit outside the bathroom like an abandoned child, knees pulled to your chest, dramatically sighing. “This is not how I imagined our spa night.”

“Neither did I!” Ren cries. “Every time I travel and eat hotel food—every goddamn time. My intestines turn against me. They betray me like an ex who suddenly discovers therapy and self-worth.”

“I mean… maybe it’s food poisoning?”

“If it was, you’d be on this toilet, too. This is personal. This is targeted.”

You wince as the sound of a flush echoes through the room, followed by the telltale rustle of clothes. You brace yourself—and you were right to do so. The bathroom door creaks open, and with it, a scent of death wafts into the room.

“Close it!” you yell, scrambling to your feet like your life depends on it.

Ren groans and slams the door shut again. When he finally emerges—for real this time—he looks like a shell of a man. His skin is pale, hair damp with sweat, steps uneven as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s survived a war.

“Babe,” he croaks, collapsing onto the mattress, “why does this happen to me?”

“I don’t know,” you say gently, flopping down beside him. “Maybe it’s psychological. Like... a gut-level rebellion.”

“It’s very much physical too,” he grunts. “I’m literally hollow.”

You snort. “Well, at least you’re emotionally consistent.”

He throws an arm over his eyes. “This vacation sucks.”

“Give it one night. You’ll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever happened, and I’ll be dragging you out of the sauna before you melt into the floor.”

Ren lets out a pitiful whimper. “Tell my future husband I loved him.”

“Sure. Do you want me to deliver that message before or after I pour bleach on that bathroom floor?”

He weakly flips you off, and despite everything, you both laugh.

“Wait,” Ren croaks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why aren’t you getting ready for the spa?”

You glance over at him, sprawled across the bed like a Victorian maiden struck down by consumption. “Because you’re sick. I’m not going if you’re not going.”

Ren jerks up with a sudden burst of energy, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’re skipping a free spa night because I have diarrhea? Do you hear how absurd that sounds?”

You frown, folding your arms. “What am I supposed to do there without you? Soak in lavender-scented loneliness?”

“Exactly! You'll relax. Channel your inner peace. Get into your Zen or whatever it is normal people do when they aren’t shitting their souls out.”

“But I can’t just leave you alone here like this.”

“I’m not sick sick,” he insists, waving his hand dismissively. “Think of it like… a mild allergic reaction to overpriced hotel food.”

“If this is mild, I’d hate to see what severe looks like.”

“You don’t want to know,” he says with a haunted look. “Once, in Spain, I—”

“Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence.”

He chuckles weakly, eyes closing again as his head flops back onto the pillow. “Look. You staying won’t magically cure me. No offense, babe, but your presence isn’t made of Imodium.”

You blink at him. “So you’re just… throwing me out?”

“No,” he groans. “I’m lovingly shoving you toward a steamy, eucalyptus-scented escape while I suffer in peace. There’s a difference.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” he whines, dramatically. “Don’t make my diarrhea worse by staying here and making me feel guilty.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But if I drown in that jacuzzi from sheer sadness, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he mutters, already half-asleep. “Just don’t haunt me.”

You hover for a second longer, chewing your lip, guilt gnawing at your insides. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not about the spa at all. Maybe it’s about not wanting to be alone right now. Not after dinner.

But you don’t say that. You just grab your stuff and head for the door.

“Oh, and if you see any hotties,” Ren calls out, “text me. I need to be emotionally prepared for tomorrow.”

You turn, arching a brow. “Ren, babe, you quite literally can’t stop shitting.”

“That just means I’ll be sparkling clean and ready for action if the universe decides to bless me,” he says, eyes glinting mischievously under his blanket cocoon.

“You’re the only person I know who can connect explosive diarrhea to sex.”

“It’s because I’m gifted. A prophet, even.” He fans himself dramatically. “Now go. Shoo. Get your ass in that spa. Stop prolonging your inevitable rebirth in a sauna.”

You hesitate in the doorway, watching him nest deeper into the pillows, color slowly returning to his cheeks. “You sure?”

Ren’s voice softens just a bit. “Yeah. I’m fine. Go live your best life. Just don’t come back with stories unless they involve hot people and bad decisions.”

You smile faintly, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll bring you gossip. Maybe even a name or two.”

“Godspeed, my love!” he yells after you, already pulling the covers over his head. “And don’t let anyone ugly flirt with you—I refuse to live vicariously through bad taste.”

The spa cabins are stunning, admittedly. Too clean. Too perfect. The kind of place that makes you feel like you’re already failing at relaxation the moment you step in. The walls are pearly white, soft lilac vines curling at the corners like some fairytale you don’t believe in. The hotel name is etched on the door in cursive, trying a little too hard to be elegant.

You peel off your clothes and slip into your most flattering bikini—the one that says I tried without looking like you did. Family friendly, just in case. You toss your clothes into the locker and twist the key into your backpack. The lock clicks, even though you know no one’s desperate enough to steal anything here. No one’s hungry. Everyone’s too full of money, wine, or disappointment to want anything you have.

The pool is the first stop. It’s massive, quiet, glowing faintly under soft lights. Pale blue tiles, water warm enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe. It’s almost romantic. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You dive in.

At first, it’s a release. Your limbs stretch out, your body finally feels like it belongs somewhere. You do a few laps, chest rising and falling, muscles burning with that old, aching nostalgia. You remember what it felt like to be strong. To not think twice before diving. To breathe deep and stay under water just for the thrill of it.

But your lungs don’t agree anymore. Years of not training. Years of cigarettes and weed.

Years of saying I’ll quit soon.

Now you can’t even hold your breath long enough to stay under. Your strokes lose strength halfway through. Your body floats, but not from peace. From weakness.

The tension leaves your muscles—but frustration takes its place.

Heavy, bitter frustration.

You don’t want to feel weak here.

Not in this pretty place.

Not tonight.

You wipe the water from your eyes, jaw clenched. No more swimming. No more pretending.

Jacuzzi it is.

You walk toward it, dripping and quiet. Because what else are you supposed to do—keep swimming in the disappointment?

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe never again.

The jacuzzi is hidden from the pool by a wall, the kind that doesn’t quite touch the floor, leaving a gap where you know someone could easily peer through. Not that you would ever do that. The two spaces are separated enough that the pool’s quiet hum doesn’t invade the jacuzzi’s warm embrace. There’s a barrier, but it’s a shallow one. A suggestion of privacy.

You didn’t expect to see him here. Of all the places, of all the times.

Gojo Satoru is reclining in the jacuzzi, arms draped lazily over the sides, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s a god surveying his kingdom. His eyes, a pale blue that matches the water swirling around him, seem to glow against the soft lighting of the room. You’re not sure if it’s the water illuminating his eyes or the other way around. Either way, it’s mesmerizing. Unsettling.

He’s too perfect. Too effortless. Too him.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze in the doorway. For a moment, you think about retreating, slipping back into the pool. It’d be safer, less there, less him. But the thought of him winning that little battle is enough to make your chest tighten.

So you do what you always do when faced with him: you power through.

You step in and sit at the opposite end of the jacuzzi, a little too loudly, plopping down like you didn’t just have a mini existential crisis about sitting in a hot tub. The water is hot, soothing, and the bubbles feel good against your back. You lean your head back, trying to ignore the fact that he’s right there—smug, annoying, and totally at ease.

“Well, well…” He says, voice dripping with that teasing edge that always gets under your skin. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Same goes for you,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the water, pretending to focus on the swirl of bubbles around you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his tone light and amused, “You’re here because you knew I’d be here.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see. “You’re delusional.”

“Let me guess,” he leans back further, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe you were too bored at the sauna. Nah, you wouldn’t go to the sauna alone. The massage finally over? Nah, you’d look more relaxed if you had a massage. Or, or, or… maaaaaybe you realized you can’t swim as well as you used to.”

You snap, the last thread of your patience wearing thin. “Can you shut the fuck up for once? I literally didn’t ask you anything.”

Gojo’s grin widens, that infuriating smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. “So that’s a yes, baby. Knew it.”

“If you knew it, baby, you didn’t have to speak,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with the kind of sass you only reserve for him.

But he’s not fazed. Of course he isn’t.

“You used to like me all mouthy like that,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, teasing but with a hint of something else. A pull you can’t quite place.

“Key word: used to,” you respond quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. The water hums around you, the air heavy with something unsaid. Gojo’s gaze drifts over to you, but you don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s slipping, and you’re both trying so hard to pretend nothing ever happened between you two.

But Gojo’s never been one to let things stay quiet for long. And you��re both too far gone to ever turn back.

“Nice tits,” he says with a smirk, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “That bikini suits you.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes, surprised by his boldness.

“I’m just saying, it looks great on you. You got your tits done or something?” He raises an eyebrow playfully.

“First of all, no. Second of all, maybe you should keep your compliments to yourself,” you respond, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He chuckles. “I’m not trying to offend you. Just think you look good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

He leans back, not missing a beat. “Where’s the fun in that? I think it’s nice to tell people when they or their assets look good.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He grins like he’s won some silent game between you two. “I bet you’re feeling all flushed now. It’s probably the heat of the water.”

You give him a look, trying to dismiss his words. “Not even close.”

He leans closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I could think of a few ways to make this moment even more... interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not sure you could pull that off.”

He smiles, a little too smug. “Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” you say, a challenge in your tone.

He leans back with a devilish grin, clearly enjoying himself. “Game on, then.”

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @4thansstuff

@crankyarchives @mrswanggae @blobbyblogsdraws @saoirses-things @linaaeatsfamilies @momoewn @hellish4ever @emneedshelp @gojoscumslut

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

Text

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 11 - Where Do We Go From Here

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: mentions of past tourture, PTSD, mental health, discriptions of injuries.

Previous parts - masterlist- next

AO3

You wake to the first rays of sun coming through the window. When you shuffle you wake Johnny just squeezes you tighter to him. You groan, stretching your aching body. Johnny wakes and you peal from his arms swinging your legs out the bed.

“Shepherd would have a field day if he caught us doing this.” You say sitting down on the chair to pull your boots on.

Johnny chuckles, “Yeah. Did you ever find out what was happening with Price?” You look up at him frowning.

“What do you mean?” He props himself up on his elbow pressing his lips together.

“He was suspended.” Johnny says, frowning.

“Yeah. But he helped with the hostage transfer. He’s not suspended anymore.” You say, shaking your head. Johnny doesn’t say anything, he just raises an eyebrow. You feel yourself panic standing up out of the chair.

“What do you know Johnny?” You ask for gripping the bed guard. He lets out a breath, you grip the guard waiting for him to talk.

“Simon told me he didn’t get permission from Shepherd to help with the transfer.” He says, you feel your stomach drop.

“No, there’s no way.” You scoff. “There were like 3 Generals there, they would have stopped him.”

“He knows a lot of Generals.” Johnny says, lowering his gaze.

You’re already leaving the room. You hear Johnny call after you but you don’t care. You have no idea where he could be but you assume the admin building. You know John’s office is on the second floor. Maybe there or maybe they're in some random room.

“Hey!” You call out to the first person you see. He’s carrying a pile of paperwork.

“Where’s General Shepherd?” You snap.

“Second office to the left.” He says, nodding down the hall. You let his arm go rushing in that direction.

“Wait!” He calls, you stop in your tracks. “He’s in a meeting in the conference room.” You don’t respond, turning to go down a different hall. You throw yourself through the door.

“Sergeant!” Shepherd calls standing up. You look around the room, John is sat on the other side of the table. Kate is here too.

“General. You can’t fire John.” You say. You’re not thinking as you walk towards him.

“Sergeant” He puts his hand out, you don’t care you’re going to protect John, he doesn’t deserve this.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, sir. I will vouch for him his, help during the hostage transfer was insurmountable.” You say. Shepard scoffs, it makes you mad.

“You should not have even been there.” He snaps at you. Now you’re seeing red.

“I should never have been kidnapped!” You snap back.

“No, and who’s fault is that?” Shepherd asks.

“You tell me it was the Americans who had the intel. We were supposed to be on a plane to Urzikstan instead, you insisted we do the convoy.” You say.

“Sergeant” You feel John’s hand on your shoulder. You try to shove it off but he keeps a firm grip. Shepherd sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The door to the room crashes open again and everyone but you looks over. You keep your eyes on Shepherd as you watch him let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. Lieutenant, take her outside please.” Shepherd says. You hear a familiar sigh. It’s Simon, you’re not leaving until you know John’s job is safe.

“No. I’m not leaving.” You say digging your heels into the floor as Simon grabs your shoulders. Shepherd sighs again bracing himself on the tables.

“Captain Price is not getting fired.” He says after a second of silence. You relax. “He is however halfway through a disciplinary for disobeying orders. I can add failure to control subordinates to that list if you would like Sergeant.” You look over at Laswell, who’s been typing this whole time, you turn around to look at John. You can’t tell if he looks disappointed or not, his expression is neutral.

You turn looking back at Shepherd cleaning your throat.

“For the record. I am sorry for acting extremely unprofessional. Sir.” He nods, you turn heading out the room with Simon following behind you. Shit, you could have ruined everything.

“You trying to get him fired?” He asks as you walk to the building exit.

“I thought he was getting fired.” You say.

“You shouldn't listen to Johnny.” Simon scoffs. “He hit his head during exfil.” It makes you chuckle.

“Whats going to happen to John?” You ask as you make it out into the hot desert air.

“Nothing hopefully. Probably just a warning which never looks good on paper but he’ll be fine.” Simon sighs.

“Sorry I almost made it worse.”

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t have been the first.” You frown looking up at him, he looks back at you quickly you can see he has an eyebrow raised.

“Kyle?” You ask, he looks away, not Kyle.

“Christ.” You chuckle as you make it to the med bay. “Is Ghost getting soft under there?” You tease, nudging him. He sighs, crossing his arms. You smile looking over at the line of medical vehicles parked outside the entrance.

“What time will it be finished?” You ask.

“Couple of hours I would bet.” You nod, tapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go get my hands dirty. Keep myself out of trouble so I don’t get any of you fired.” You say heading into the medbay.

…

It’s late evening when you finally get the opportunity to clock off. You’ve been enjoying this weird structure, sort of clocking in and out when you feel like it. By the time you make it back to Johnny’s room though it’s empty. You frown looking around, it’s already been cleaned and prepped for the next person.

You back out of the room and grab one of the nurses.

“Patient in room 3 where’s he gone?” You ask.

“Discharged a couple of hours ago.” She says shrugging and getting back to her work. Great now you’re going to have to wander around the base looking for him. You try the mess first. It’s busy most of the shift changes happen around now. You try to spot any of them but all it does it make you hungry.

You head to the rec rooms next. The whole place is busy with soldiers lounging around. You hate this place, usually taken up by new soldiers, first tour babies who all look either shit scared or ready for a fight. You don’t know why you bothered checking here, no one in their right minds hangs out here unless you’re new or want access to aircon.

You ignore the string of wolf whistles you get as you leave heading over to the tents. John has a room in the admin building, although honestly it’s Simon who uses it the most. John’s happy to sleep wherever whenever, when you make it into the tent you see Kyle laid out on his bead with a book in his hand.

“Hey.” You say, going over to him. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Psych I reckon.” He replies, swinging his legs out the bed and sitting up. “You look like shit.”

“Long day.” You say going over to your bed and pulling out clean clothes, you’re sick of being stuck in scrubs.

“Heard what went down with John.” He says, you sigh, pulling your shirt off. You hear Kyle come over to you, his hands land on your waist and he presses a kiss into your neck.

“How did it go with him?”

“Fine, he got a warning, Shepherd is grumpy. I'm pretty sure John’s already talking with another general to get it scrubbed from his record.” You chuckle. You want to change but Kyle’s lips are so soft pressing kisses into your neck or on your shoulders.

You turn in his arms, his hands running up and down your side. You lean up and kiss him, it’s slow and soft, his tongue presses against yours and you moan into his mouth. Christ, you’ve missed them, all of them, you can’t wait to get home.

The door to the tent opens and you both break from the kiss but Kyle doesn’t move his hands.

“Fratansation and shouting at your superiors all in one day.” Johnny says as he walks in followed by Simon. You tut rolling your eyes and turning out Kyle’s arms to pull a clean shirt on.

“How did it go with the shrink?” You ask, pulling your boots off and looking up at him.

“Privileged information Sergeant.” Johnny says winking at you.

“You know I have access to your medical records.” You say. He laughs.

“What flavour of PTSD did you get?” He asks coming over to you as you pull fresh trousers on.

“The; ‘we need to do more tests’ kind.” You say pulling your belt on as he hands you his paper.

“I got the classic; ‘start therapy now so it’s not a problem later.’” He chuckles, you sigh looking at the words on the page.

“How long?” You ask looking back up at him.

“3 months at least. Then a physical.” He says, you can hear the sadness in his voice. You know he’s going to hate this more then all of you. You look up at him and smile handing him the paper back.

“You’re going to be bored out your mind with 3 months leave Tav.” Kyle says coming over to slap his shoulder.

“I’m looking forward to the 3 months of peace and quiet.” SImon says.

“Ah, you’ll miss me. Mark my words, you'll be begging me to come back in a week.” Johnny says, turning to look at Simon, who crosses his arms.

“Price wanted to see you.” He says looking over at you. You nod and pull your boots back on picking up the dirty scrubs, you'll throw them in the wash basket on the way over to his office. You walk past them out the tent, the sun is starting to set, you can see trucks leaving out the main entrance most likely heading out to the capital before it gets dark.

You’ve been on this base for the past month you’re looking forward to getting away from this place, away from this country, at the same time, you know once things start to slow down that’s when the worst will come. The nightmares and the flashbacks, the uneasy thoughts that will plague your day to day life.

You look down at your nail beds as you walk through the medbay. It’s a constant reminder of what happened, you have other scars too, the one on your neck and your head. Everytime you look in the mirror it’s a reminder of what happened. You could have died, they could have killed you, then what would 141 have done? Moved on without you probably, continued their hunt for Jamal and Khaled then move on to the next threat.

You throw the shrubs in the laundry room and walk out the building to the admin offices. When you make it to the door you hesitate swallowing the lump in your throat. He probably just wants to talk about Johnny. You tell yourself as you knock on the door.

“Come in!” He calls and you walk in closing the door behind you. He stands up from his desk and comes around to the otherside stopping in front of you. His hands grip your shoulders while he looks over your face. You don’t know what he’s looking for, you just stand there still for him. Eventually he sighs and leans down to kiss you. Your hands grip his waist as his hands come up to your face.

His thumbs brush your cheeks, his kiss is needy, sloppy. Too much teeth and tongue but you don’t care, you’ll kiss him like this forever if that's what he needs. Or maybe it’s what you need your fingers digging into his waist to pull him closer to you.

He breaks from the kiss first but doesn’t let go of your face. “I’ve been wanting to do that since we rescued you.” He says, you smile up at him.

“Is that all you needed to see me for?” You ask. He sighs again this time dropping his hands from your face and walking over to his desk picking up two pieces of paper.

“John’s going to be on medical leave for the next 4 months.”

“Bastard.” You whisper. “He said it was only 3 months.”

“Well, he has to have some kind of corrective surgery back in the UK. It's the minimum time required.” He says, you frown, you’ll check his notes later.

“I have two options. It’s recommended you take some leave to recover and get some mental health help, therapy and what-not.” He sighs holding up the other piece of paper. “However, it’s only a recommendation, as long as you’re deemed physically and mentally fit for duty there’s no need for you to take any time off.”

You’re not sure what to say. You don’t want to take any time off, but it could make things worse down the line.

“I can sign you off for a month, you can stay with Johnny and then we can reassess.” He says, it seems like he wants you to take that offer.

“What about the rest of you?”

“If we’re lucky we'll can get stationed somewhere in the UK for a few months. We’re basically starting from scratch hunting for Jamal, Khaled and Sayyid. It could take us months to pick up their trail again.” John explains.

“If you’re just going to be stuck on a base, I don’t need leave.”

“That's if we’re lucky. If we’re not we could be shipped out somewhere else for a couple of months, things are getting dicey in Iraq from what I’ve heard.” He says. He puts the papers down, his hand comes to land on your shoulder.

“Think about it tonight. I don’t need an answer till tomorrow. Talk to the others about it if you want. I think it would be good for you though. You need a rest after everything you’ve been though.” He squeezes your shoulder and you look back down at your missing nails.

“I scared if I slow down it gets worse.” You admit. His other hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him.

“It probably will, but you’ll be safe you’ll have Johnny and we’ll be close by.” He says.

“If you’re lucky.” You scoff. He smiles and plants a quick kiss on your lips.

“I think we’ll be lucky.” He says, you nod and smile at him. He picks the papers back up and hands them both to you pressing one last kiss on your forehead. You look down at them in your hand as you leave the room. You don’t want to leave but maybe it’s for the best, you don’t want to get into a position where people get hurt because of you.

You love them and they only want what's best for you, even if that's the opposite of what you want. You close your eyes leaning back against John's door. What's the worst that could happen if you take a month off with Johnny, you end up playing nursemaid? At least it will give you something to do.

Whatever you pick it’s going to be what's best for them, because thats what you do for the people you love, and the people who saved you.

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v88sy · 3 days ago

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Lmao but for real. Idk if it's bts drama with Ryan or something but it's getting more and more obvious. Bobby, his captain just died and the guy is just over there offering a cookie to Ravi in these trying times like an extra on set with a blank expression on his face.

I refuse to feel bad for enjoying this situation. Bvddie shippers have made their own bed. I don't like Ryan at all, but even I can admit there's only so much toxicity an actor can take. Buck was at least allowed to exist in his own right in their eyes even if they couldn't stand him canonically dating a man (so much for being LGBT warriors and caring for representation!). But the way they're obsessed with Eddie and try to bring every plot he has back to him being "gay" is exhausting and weird as fuck.

Imagine being an actor and being excited for the storyline your character is getting that season and your fans are just like "we don't care, when are Buck and Eddie going to fuck on screen tho?" Not saying Eddie's plots have always been exciting at all, lord knows they've done some stupid shit with the character, but still. Eddie arguably had the most interesting SL in years while trying to mend his relationship with Chris and they could not have cared less because it meant he was in Texas and not bending over for Buck. I wouldn't blame Ryan if he wants out, if his acting in this ep is any indication, his heart just isn't in it anymore.

I didn't mind Eddie at first, I really didn't. But, it kind of feels like after Shannon died, the writers just...didn't know what to do with him. His entire existence became about grief without any real action to address it or deal with it. I get it, grief never really goes away, but you can't just Fight Club your way out of it either.

I often wonder if the writers intended to write him as insufferable and selfish as they have. He says things to hurt others and never reflects or takes accountability. It's been talked about ad nauseum here, but his friendship with Buck is incredibly one sided. Again, I don't know what's more scary...to think this was all by design...or that it wasn't.

And, since we're just going for it here, Ryandrew Tateman absolutely hasn't done himself any favors here. I know what he did. You know he did. And I wish I could say that was the only thing, or even the most recent.

On a personal note, I've worked in healthcare for 20 years, including the height of covid, so being an anti vaxx/anti covid vaxx is an instant 'fuck off' from me.

And the memes he's been sharing about Pete/Bobby? Salty edgelord.

You make excellent points about anything and everything being boiled down to Gay Eddie™ in some people's minds. Not even bi or demi, or any other shade of queer. It has to be gay, and Buck has to serve as the trad wife self insert surrogate. Which, really makes me question their motives, because it ain't representation. We already got that, and have since day one. Not that they'd ever know.

Look, it's very clear by now that I'm not his biggest fan by a long shot, but it's absolutely disgusting that people want to disregard his body autonomy by saying things like "it doesn't matter what he wants, they're gonna force him to do bddie anyways because it's what the people want".

No, they don't, and honestly, that makes me wonder about your views on consent. The role would involve, at the very least, kissing Oliver, (not that I'd mind myself, but that's another topic for another day) so...yes. It absolutely is his choice, as it should always be when engaging in contact with someone, acting job or not.

And yeah, I'll give it to you that he's probably tired as fuck about being reduced to nothing more than "the guy who absolutely must be gay because *insert harmful stereotype here.*"

And that's in addition to having every. single. interview. harp on the ship that he has said repeatedly that he doesn't want to do, for actually valid reasons, assuming those are the real reasons and he's not just blowing smoke up our ass.

So, yeah, I don't blame him for wanting an out, but I also don't think we should be blamed for wanting to be able to enjoy our show and the fandom as a whole once again.

All that being said...are you trying to put me in jail, katey 😂

#holy shit that got long #some of my anon answers are longer than some of my fics #jeeezuz #um #bucktommy #not tagging him nope #anon ask #thanks lovely

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theshiniestgemstone · 2 days ago

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What if Y/n and Gideon were dating when he was in Hollywood (like she was a C list actress) then broke up because she thought what he was planning on doing to his father was immoral.

Then, years pass and she is shooting a movie in the same city as where the Gemstones live and they reconnect and sparks go a flyin?

The room was silent as you stared at Gideon across the tiny table of your shared apartment. The lightbulb above you buzzed, casting a harsh white light over the takeout containers in front of you, the abandoned crab salad pushed off to the side. He had that soft smile on his lips and the starry look in his eyes made your heart melt. He’d only looked like this a few times. When you said yes to being his girlfriend. The day he asked you to move in and then he sheepishly admitted that he didn’t think you’d say yes, but he’d make you a copy of the key first thing in the morning.

“Gideon,” you started. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you didn’t understand what he was asking. “I know Scotty keeps talking about us going to Thailand as brothers or whatever, but I want you to come with us. His tone was casual, his fingers drumming on the table. “At least at first and flights are like 20 hours, but they won’t be that bad if you stay with me between seasons so you’d only have to do the flight twice a year.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he was saying. You searched his face for any hint of a joke, a tell that he was being dramatic or impulsive, the way he sometimes got after two beers and a sentimental movie. But there wasn’t a trace of humor in his expression. Just wide, earnest eyes. Hopeful. A little scared. It wasn’t glamorous, your job. You landed a recurring role on some teen drama full of teen pregnancy and gossip, the kind that no one wanted to willingly admit to watching. Your character was neck-deep in scandalous plotlines about cheating boyfriends and surprise pregnancies. It wasn’t your dream role, but it paid the bills, kept you afloat, and it felt like yours. Like something you had earned.

“Will you come with me?”

“With your family money?” you asked, more bitterly than you intended. You hated yourself the moment you said it. He’d told you the entire plan twice. The first time was a few weeks ago and you could have sworn he was joking. Now, he told you the second time, more finality in his tone.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t get defensive. He just nodded. "Yeah," he said, like it was obvious. Like it was no big deal to him to bankroll your entire life with stolen money because, in his mind, you belonged with him. Simple as that.

You fought the tears, vision blurry as you scrambled for your purse and keys. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to hold yourself together, your keys digging into your palm. "I thought you were different," you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

“What do you mean by that?” Gideon asked, his voice low and tight, following you into the living room. His bare feet padded against the hardwood floor, desperate to keep pace with you.

You whipped around to face him, your chest heaving. “Hollywood is full of greedy people who do nothing but lie and cheat and steal to get what they want.” Your body trembled as you looked him up and down, feeling the fight drain from you even as your heart broke anew. “Your family may be drenched in hypocrisy, Gideon, but at least they can be honest with themselves. They don't pretend they’re doing it for someone else.”

He furrowed his brows. “I-”

“I never thought you’d be so stupid enough to follow someone. Especially someone as stupid as Scotty. He doesn’t care about you. He’s taking you to Thailand out of pity because it’s your last name attached to the money.”

He stood there, blinking at you like you had just struck him. His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something.

“My stuff will be out of here tomorrow," you said, voice breaking despite your best efforts to sound cold, decisive. "I don’t want anything to do with any of this."

You turned away from him, your vision swimming. The apartment you had made a home together blurred into vague, painful shapes. Your hand landed on the doorknob with a loud, final click just as a choked sob escaped you, messy, ugly, uncontrollable.

+++

Amber sighed, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “I thought your father would be home sooner. Gideon, say grace, please. He can join us when he gets home.”

Gideon nodded silently, folding his hands together. He looked... different. Calmer, somehow. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. He seemed a a little slower, a little heavier. Four days home from Haiti, and he was still shaking the dust out of his bones. The climate here was easier on him, but the ache in his body hadn’t quite left. It pulsed dully beneath his skin, a constant, invisible reminder of what he’d been through.

Around the table, the family bowed their heads. Gideon took a breath, letting the familiar rhythm of home steady him.

"Lord," he started, voice low and rough, "thank you for bringing us together tonight. Thank you for the food we're about to eat, for the roof over our heads, and for the people who love us. Watch over those who can't be here, and bring them home safe. Amen."

A quiet chorus of "Amen" followed. The clink of silverware picked up again, the conversation slow to restart.

Abraham picked up the slack, chattering about school. He rambled on some science project he was excited about, a field trip coming up. His voice bounced through the dining room, high and eager. Pontious, by contrast, grumbled out short, half-hearted answers when Amber asked him questions, stabbing at his food like it had personally offended him.

"Pontious," Amber warned, giving him a pointed look over her wine glass.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'm eating, ain't I?"

"Behave," she said sharply, but with the kind of tiredness that only came from years of trying to wrangle boys who didn’t want to be wrangled.

Gideon watched it all play out like a movie he'd seen a hundred times. Pontious, with his attitude and an afternoon full of detentions; Abraham, trying too hard to be the good one; Amber, caught between scolding and surrendering.

It was normal. Too normal, maybe.

Gideon stayed quiet, pushing his food around on his plate, listening more than he spoke. The hum of home should’ve been comforting, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn’t quite fit into the rhythm anymore.

"My wonderful family, I’m home!" Jesse hollered, his voice carrying easily through the house. Heavy footsteps thudded toward the dining room before he dropped into his seat at the head of the table with all the grace of a man who thought the world owed him something.

"Motherfuckers shut down the street right outside the church for some movie. Had to take the long way," he grumbled, grabbing for the nearest serving dish like he'd been starved all day.

Amber raised an eyebrow, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "I didn’t know they were filming in Charleston."

Jesse huffed, shoveling food onto his plate. "Something called Devil's Hollow or Hollow Devil or some shit. I don't know. Some 'indie passion project' from some Hollywood big shot.”

Gideon swallowed. “Who?”

“Well, Mr. Hollywood, I would have assumed you’d know everything about it already,” Jesse chuckled. “Had lights and shit all over the place.”

Abraham perked up, finally looking away from his phone. “I think I heard about it. Some big-deal director wanted it to feel ‘authentic.’” He made air quotes, rolling his eyes like the word itself was offensive.

Jesse leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Authentic? Ain’t nothing authentic about a bunch of Hollywood weirdos coming down here, playing dress-up."

Amber shushed him lightly, but Jesse laughed. "They oughta leave Charleston alone. Last thing we need is a bunch of California freaks sniffin’ around."

Gideon kept his head down, chewing slowly, but he could feel his stomach knotting. The name of the movie tugged at something in the back of his mind, a memory he hadn’t wanted to touch. He toyed with the edge of his napkin, trying to keep his breathing even.

After dinner, Gideon grabbed his phone and looked up the movie.

Devil’s Hollow begins filming in Charleston this week. If you’re a fan of Evergreen High, you’ll be happy to see a few familiar faces including Noah Stevenson and Y/N Y/L/N.

Gideon stared at the glowing screen, the words blurring together. Your name was right there, bold as anything, like it hadn’t shattered his entire world once already.

He tossed the phone onto the nightstand with a clatter and rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face. His chest ached in a way he hadn’t felt since Haiti, a deep, gnawing ache that sleep wouldn’t fix.

You were here. In his town. Breathing the same air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, like that might somehow stop the flood of memories: the way you used to laugh against his mouth, the way you’d tangled your hands in his hair, the way you’d looked at him like he was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He still didn’t understand where it all went wrong. One minute you were his, and the next you were crying in the doorway, clutching your keys like they were a weapon against him.

He hadn’t even fought you. He should have. God, he should’ve said something.

Instead, he let you go.

Gideon sat up suddenly, the room tilting a little as he moved too fast. His heart thudded against his ribs, reckless and wild. He grabbed his phone again. It was muscle memory at this point. Scrolling nearly to the bottom of his messages to find your conversations. The last text from you had been a farewell one, that your items had been moved and the key was on the counter. Before that they longer messages. Hours of messages traded back and forth. Photos and videos were shared. He looked at them pretty often. He couldn’t stop hismelf from sending the message.

Gideon: I wish you would have told me you were in Charleston. I’d like to see you sometime.

He sighed, staring at the little blue bar across the top of the screen. The little woosh that it had been sent made his heart jump. In the second it took for the little ‘delivered’ to pop up below the text, he couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down beside him, face down like that might help him resist the urge to stare at it. Like that might stop him from obsessively checking if the bubble would appear, those three little dots that would tell him you were there, reading it, thinking about him.

He could feel the phone, taunting him from the nightstand. He flipped onto his side, punching the pillow into a better shape. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to breathe. To wait.

Then, just when he thought maybe he should give up, maybe you had changed your number or blocked him or worse. Maybe you’d moved on. Maybe you’d curse him out.

Ping.

His eyes snapped open. He fumbled for the phone, hands clumsy with adrenaline. Your name was lighting up his screen.

Y/N: I’d love to :) Have you had dinner? I was about to go find somewhere to eat

Gideon swallowed.

Gideon: I have, but I can go with you. I can pick you up in a bit?

Y/N: Sure! I’m staying at the Marriott on Elm(?) There’s a giant fountain

Gideon stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary, his heart hammering so hard he thought he could hear it echoing in the room.

Gideon: Give me 15 minutes.

Your typing bubbles popped up almost immediately.

Y/N: I’ll be outside :)

He shot up from the bed, scrambling for his shoes, suddenly too jittery to think straight. He glanced in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his shirt. Don’t look like you’re trying too hard, don’t look like you’ve been losing sleep over her. He grabbed his keys from the dresser.

By the time he was pulling out of the compound, his palms were sweaty against the steering wheel. The streets blurred past, headlights and neon signs blending into a haze he could barely register.

When he turned onto Elm Street, the fountain was impossible to miss, lit up by soft golden lights. And there you were standing just off to the side, arms folded loosely over your chest, your hair catching the glow from the fountain. You looked…

God, you looked beautiful. Different, but the same. A little more guarded maybe. A little more grown.

He pulled up to the curb, rolling the window down. You smiled warmly at him.

“Took you long enough,” you teased. “Go park. I got impatient and ordered doordash.”

So, over soggy fries and smushed burgers that dripped with grease, and flat sodas, you caught up with one another. Gideon, between bites of fries, filled you in.

“He’s dead?” You asked, setting your drink down. “Like… dead-dead?”

Gideon nodded. “Yep.”

“Holy shit!”

“That’s what I said!” Gideon paused, reeling himself back in as he caught the man at the front desk watching them before turning away. “I spent a few months in Haiti trying to… make it right.”

You looked at him. “Like… doing what?”

“Mission work. It was a clean water project.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes.

You leaned in a little, propping your chin on your hand. "That's... really good, Gid."

He gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh, popping another fry into his mouth to avoid responding right away. You didn't push him. It was strange, sitting here again, like no time had passed and yet everything had.

You picked at your burger, trying to wrap your mind around it all. Jesse Gemstone's kid out in Haiti, digging wells and building water systems like some kind of penance. Gideon cleared his throat.

"What about you? I mean, Devil’s Hollow? That's huge, right?"

You smiled a little, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah. It's a lot. Kind of surreal sometimes. Honestly, I thought after Evergreen High I'd be stuck doing toothpaste commercials forever."

He chuckled, that old soft laugh that used to make your chest ache. "Nah. You were always gonna be a star."

The compliment caught you off guard, warming your chest, and for a second you let yourself believe that you were still that girl, and he was still that boy, and somehow, against all odds, you could pick up right where you left off.

“I’m sorry for calling you stupid,” you mumbled.

Gideon shook his head. “I am. It was.. God, I don’t even know how to describe it in one word.”

“Crazy. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Bonk-”

Gideon barked out a laugh, a real, chest-deep, head-tossed-back kind of laugh, the kind you hadn’t heard since before everything went wrong. The conversation lulled, not awkward, but easy, like a favorite old song coming to an end. The only sounds were the rustling of greasy napkins and the sad gurgle of empty paper cups when you tried to sip the last bit of soda through crushed ice.

“Can we try again?” you asked softly, the words trembling just a little. “I mean, unless you have another scheme up your sleeve.”

“God, no,” he said immediately, putting his hands up in surrender, his face animated and sincere. “I was thinking of getting back into stunt work.”

You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in months. “We need someone for something next week. Do you want me to put your name in?”

“If that means we get to hang out more, I’d do anything.” His voice was steady, but there was a vulnerability underneath it that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. “You are going to regret saying that.”

His face dropped into mock horror. “Please tell me it’s not bugs.”

“Then it’s not bugs.”

He narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt to hope a little.

#gideon gemstone #answered asks #skyler gisondo #gideon gemstone x you #gideon gemstone x reader #the righteous gemstone #gideon gemstone x fem reader #gideon gemstone fanfic #the righteous gemstones #fanfic

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deathblacksmoke · 2 days ago

Note

I have a very detailed and elaborate idea for a blurb. I hope it’s not too specific:

subby!folio

a beloved topic of mine!! of course 💖

pairing: folio x f!reader

cw: 18+ only nsfw! oral sex (f receiving), hair pulling, pet names (good boy, pup), obviously subby folio

send asks!

You’ve learned to read the signs, know the difference in his sighs, the subtle changes in his body language when he needs you.

He’ll come home from a long day at the studio, quietly toe his shoes off at the door, and sigh a deep and almost agonized sound as he leans against the wall.

You’re in tune with him by now — looking up from your book to see Nick, exhausted and dreary eyed, propped up by the door.

“Long day, baby?” you ask. He knows you’re looking, so he doesn’t need to speak. He nods, chewing on the skin of his thumb, sinking a little further against the wall. You know what he needs — it’s at this point unspoken. “Come here, pup.”

It depends on the day, whether he’s ready at the start or has to work up to it. Some days he’s eager, other days a slog from the door to where you’re sitting. Today it’s the latter, and judging from that, you know exactly what’s coming before he does it. You place the bookmark in your page and place your book on the arm of the sofa just in time for him for him to sink down to his knees at your feet.

He doesn’t want to waste any time, needs to get out of his head and needs it now. Needs to be told exactly what to do and made to do it. His head rests on your knee and he looks up at you, pleading, with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

You run your fingers through his hair and his eyes flutter closed. He scoots subtly closer.

“You need out of your head, huh?” you ask. He’s quick to nod, the classic Folio eagerness creeping back in because he knows what that means for him. He’s already pawing at the waistband of your shorts. “Go ahead, my love.”

He slips your shorts and panties down over your legs, dives in immediately without being told. He feels better in his head when he only has to focus on you, he’s told you as much. All the dread in his brain quiets when his only job is making you feel good, something he’s always confident he can accomplish properly.

It’s the same process every time, and you doubt you’ll ever tire of it, the way he licks a thick stripe between your folds before he really goes for it. He buries his face in your center, his nose pressing insistently against your clit.

You bury your fingers in his hair again, give it a gentle tug because you know what it gets you — a groan that goose pimples your skin. The harsh yank you follow it with gives you what you really want — a deep groan that comes from his chest, travels through your entire body.

He looks up at you for approval. You nod. His brow furrows and you smile at him, love when he gets needy, needs more.

“You’re doing well, pup,” you tell him. His pretty brown eyes practically sparkle. “My good boy.”

He seems to get lost down there for a while, just enjoying the feeling of your hands in his hair, your thighs on his shoulders, your taste on his tongue.

It seems to drag on for so long that you don’t notice your orgasm creeping up on you, not until he slides two curved fingers inside of you and closes his mouth around your clit and suddenly you’re right there.

He knows, always, how long to drag it out, how to make it the best for you. He’s mindless, you can tell, by the time you finish on his tongue and his fingers. The only thought in his head is getting you there.

*****

Like always, he rejects your offer to return the favor.

The only thing he wants when you’re done is to crawl close to you, rest his head in his lap and have your fingers remain in his hair, grounding him.

“Do I need to call and yell at Noah?” you ask as he gazes up at you, much calmer than when he walked in.

It’s an empty offer, you know. The stress when he gets home is always par for the course.

“No,” he responds, giggling. You love see the joy back on his face. “You could yell at Matt, though.”

#nick folio fic #nick folio blurb #bad omens fic #bad omens blurb #moi writes #smoke’s blurbs

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brainrotcharacters · 1 day ago

Text

First Snow Day

After a fantastic session last night, Gavin's favorite part of the following morning was spooning Freelancer once more into his body. Relishing in the gentle, warm way their body curled into his own took all of one minute before he felt them go rigid.

"Is that snow?" Freelancer was blinking at the window―at the flakes of white sticking to the glass pane and softly falling from the sky. Winter was in full swing.

So were Freelancer's legs, arcing up from the blankets before Gavin could brace himself for the sudden movement. His partner winced only once at the soreness that the motion caused, but quickly put on a robe and some slippers.

"What's the rush?" He chuckled, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"I wanna know what it's like!" Freelancer brushed their hair out of the robe's neckline. "This is my first winter!"

A number of memories tugged at his mind. They had conversations about the seasons here, and since Freelancer always got nightmares whenever they felt hot, the idea of winter made them adorably happy. Gavin only ever said it was nothing to write home about, but Freelancer had lived every day since in perpetual optimism for the first snow they'd experience.

They were down the stairs and out the door before Gavin managed to extract himself from bed, laughing to himself. It didn't take long for the sound of sneezing and sniffing to reach him as he strolled in the same direction.

"Having fun, deviant?" He opened the door. Freelancer had one hand over their nose and mouth, the other upraised to the fluttering snowflakes. They watch as it melts into their skin, and then failed to resist the urge to sneeze.

Gavin opened the door wider. "Darling, come back inside. Warm yourself up first."

"But this is so weird and pretty!" Freelancer poked a snowflake. They stared at the pad of their forefinger before lightly licking it.

"Your snot is gonna freeze onto your nose, and your tongue is going to stick to your finger. Change into warmer clothes. Please." Gavin said, smiling fondly as Freelancer rushed back inside, passing him. "Honestly, why am I the voice of reason between us?"

Fifteen minutes later, wearing a complete winter appropriate clothing, Freelancer waded through the rising span of snow and twisted their body. Diving backwards, they were all smiles and giggles as they made a snow angel.

Gavin stood at their periphery, tilting his head. "A prodigy of all things magic, and here you are, delighted by snow. You're a marvel."

"Magic! Right," Freelancer adjusted, and then put both gloved hands to the snow. A moment passed before the snow around their body flared red and instantaneously melted, causing Freelancer's entire body to sink to the grass below.

Taken by surprise, Gavin could only bark a laugh. "You alright there, deviant?"

A raised hand with a burnt mitten was Freelancer's response.

When Gavin spent another second giggling to himself, Freelancer said, "Help me, you stupid bitch! I can hear you laughing!"

"Oh, okay." He grabbed Freelancer's forearm, hoisting them back up to their feet. He wiped off the snow on their beanie and clothes. "What next, hmm? Your first snow day needs to be special. We can't stop now."

That beloved bright-eyed smile was enough to keep Gavin warmed against the winter morning breeze that tousled his hair. "I don't know! It's not a school day. Maybe a snowball fight? Or we could make snowmen?"

"Good choices, good choices." He grasped Freelancer's hand as they returned the way they came. "I hear that and I raise you: we could stay in. And cuddle. I'm yet to receive my affirmations for a night well spent, after all."

Freelancer mockingly made a face. "Oh, you clingy little fiend! You know you did a good job."

"I know, I know."

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted

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melancholy-of-nadia · 1 day ago

Text

heart on the window #5 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: BigTunaMan invites PrincessPeach69 to help him with his cam room! This is detailing a few of the many events (light bdsm, hanging with the boys, a rainy day at home, anything with Seokjin pretty much..) that happens within 6 months after taking up Seokjin's challenge to be his camgirl partner. What was once a chilhood rivalry between you too now leaves you two on the cusp of being friends and being something more as time goes on living with him... ? what will you do when a moment outside of filming for the cam room occurs between you and him? note: surprise! an hour earlier!! i'm sorry for disappearing for awhile since my last update. i had to get life-saving emergency surgery and spent my birthday month recovering then being 3/4 recovered i went to go see hobi and then i had to go back to work... not fun... but i managed to finish the whole fic so i will be uploading ch 5, 6, and 7 in the next few weeks leading up to jin's 2nd album release! crazy to think i released ch 1 when his first album dropped. i hope you enjoy this until the end! warnings: mini month timeskips, FEATURES THE OTHER BTS MEMBERS!, mild language, camboy! seokjin, protected s*x, blindfolds, cheesy low budget p*rno roleplay, femdom, cam "couple" in disguise, ASMR sounds, light bdsm, choking, riding, code word, grinding, orgasm denial, n*pple play, breast play, multiple org*sm, straddling, pet names, body worship, voyeurism, dirty talk, implied adult content streaming (camming), brat! reader, brat tamer! seokjin, aftercare drop date: May 3rd, 11:00pm pst word count: 7.1k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 4 | chapter 6 -> - -

Three weeks have passed since you started camming with Jin, and by now, your initial shyness has started to fade.

You still hide your face during streams (alternating between a mask, a blindfold, or the oversized sunglasses you finally bought), but you're definitely more confident in your body and presence than you were on that nerve-wracking first night. A rhythm has started to settle in between the two of you.

During the day, you apply for jobs or go on interviews when you’re lucky enough to land one. Jin, on the other hand, leaves early for his corporate job and returns in the evening, usually with takeout or groceries in hand. Most nights you eat dinner together while catching up on your respective days. Sometimes he streams games on Twitch, and on Thursdays or Fridays, your designated camming nights, you both prepare for your evening show.

It’s become a strange but comfortable little domestic situation.

And it’s within this new domestic life that you’ve started to learn more about Jin. Not just what he likes to eat or how he folds his laundry (like an obsessive neat freak), but the way he quietly observes you, the kind of music he listens to when he thinks you’re not around, and… specifically, his kink.

It all starts on a random Thursday night. You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling on your phone while Jin’s fully immersed in the latest season of Invincible. Everything is peaceful…until you remember your carrot cake.

The slice you were saving. The tiny indulgence you bought for yourself after surviving two brutal interviews earlier in the week. It was supposed to be waiting for you in the fridge. But when you go to get it, there’s only an empty container and Jin’s dumb little sticky note that says: Sorry! :)

“Are you serious!?” you shout from the kitchen.

“I thought you forgot about it!” Jin yells back, not even taking his eyes off the TV. “It was the smallest piece of cake!”

“That was MINE, Seokjin! It was in the back of the fridge, hidden behind your sad spinach banchan!”

You stomp back into the living room, and the next thing you know, you’re tackling him onto the couch in a whirlwind of fake rage and flailing limbs. He laughs as you straddle him and jokingly try to pin his arms down with all your strength.

But then, right in the middle of your amateur wrestling match, he says, a little too casually, “You know what! This is nice!I like things like this.”

You freeze. “Wait. Are you being serious?”

Jin blinks up at you, lips curled in amusement. “Yeah. Why? You into it too?”

You open your mouth, then shut it again. You’re not exactly sure how to answer that, but something about the way he said it—like it was the most natural thing in the world—does something to you. Flicks a switch you didn’t even know was there.

“You like... choking? BDSM-type stuff?”

“Mmhm.” He shrugs. “Topping, bottoming, control games… I'm open. I figured you’d caught on by now.”

“I…I would’ve never assumed this of my CHILDHOOD friend!”

You just stare at him for a moment, perched on his lap, trying to decide if he’s joking. But no, his expression is open and relaxed, and that little flutter in your stomach is not going away.

And it is Thursday night. Which means...

“...How do you feel about trying something tonight? On cam?”

Jin’s eyes brighten immediately. “You want to?”

“Maybe. It’s make great content from the vanilla stuff we’ve been sticking to. I could be in control this time.”

“You’re seriously a freak,” he says with a teasing grin.

“Hey! You’re one to talk, Mister ‘Nice, I like this’ mid-chokehold,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes as you climb off him.

The clock ticks past 12AM, and the city beyond the windows has gone still, blanketed in the hush of a weekday night. Jin signs off from his long Twitch stream with Kian84, their chaotic Getting Over It speedrun wrapping up after a cascade of laughter and Jin's usual exaggerated groaning at every misstep. “Thanks for watching, ya masochists!,” he grins into the webcam, and then the screen fades to black.

He exhales, stretching as he pushes back from the desk. “Okay,” he says with a sly glance at you from across the living room. “Time for the other show.”

The energy shifts.

You help him drag out the camming equipment—tripods, lighting, his DSLR, and the mic. Normally, you two shoot in his bedroom, but tonight, there's something new in the air. You suggested the living room earlier, citing the extra space. Jin agreed without hesitation, and now the whole room is undergoing a transformation. The couch is cleared and fluffed. Lighting is adjusted for that soft, glowy evening look. The rug is vacuumed, and the camera sits steady on the tripod, perfectly angled toward the plush gray cushions that will soon become the set.

“You okay?” he asks you, low and curious, as he adjusts the focus ring on the lens.

You nod, biting your bottom lip. “Just thinking.”

“You’re planning something, huh?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

You disappear to your room, heart thudding as you peel off your lounge clothes and open your closet. From the very back, you pull out the outfit: a white collared button-up shirt, crisp and fitted, one you used to wear when you still had morning commutes and clients to present to. The top clings to your figure now, breasts practically spilling out of the top button you deliberately leave undone. A black blazer slides over your arms like muscle memory. You pair it with a black mini skirt, short enough to show off your thighs, the hem grazing just past the top of your stockings. Finally, the finishing touch: dark aviator sunglasses, glossy and oversized, giving you the kind of anonymity that still manages to scream control.

You catch yourself in the mirror. You don’t just look good—you look dangerous.

When you re-enter the living room, Jin’s crouched in front of the camera, checking the mic input, humming under his breath. The moment he turns and sees you, he lets out a low whistle, then immediately bursts into laughter.

“Oh my God. You look like a typical star of one of those low budget pornos.”

“Oh shut up,” you pout, adjusting your shades. “You're gonna regret saying that.”

He grins, standing to his full height and crossing his arms. “Am I? You look like you’re about to fire me and ruin my life.”

“That’s the point.”

“Did you actually wear that to work?!” he teases as he walks past you toward his bedroom to change. “Kinda hot, not gonna lie,”

“You wish you were my coworker,” you mutter under your breath, knowing he heard it.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns. The outfit he’s chosen mirrors yours, clearly putting in the same level of dramatic flair—he’s in a light blue button-up, loosely tucked into slacks, his hair slightly mussed in that infuriatingly effortless way, a dark blazer thrown over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Ready to destroy me?”

“Always.”

You take charge, directing him to the couch with a tone that makes even you pause—it’s smoother, sharper than your usual voice. Something about this character feels easy to slip into. You’re in control now.

“Sit,” you say simply.

He obeys.

“Blindfold,” you remind him, and he pulls the black silk fabric from the table, tying it over his eyes. The moment it’s on, he relaxes into the couch, letting out a long breath, as if already anticipating what’s to come.

You press record.

Then go live.

You clear your throat softly and speak first, your voice low and commanding.

“Good evening ladies and gentlement,” you begin, addressing the camera with your lips curled in a slow smirk. “It’s your Princess Peach here to start it off. Tonight, I have a very unproductive employee by the name of BigTunaMan who’s been skipping meetings and turning in sloppy work. You know what we do to those, right?”

Your tone is honeyed with sarcasm and heat, and already, the chat is lighting up. Jin shifts slightly on the couch, arms resting at his sides, but his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

You walk over and click your heels on the floor dramatically, each step a promise. You slide onto the couch beside him and trail your nails down his chest, slow and deliberate.

“I think a little discipline is in order.”

He makes a small sound in his throat, barely audible, but it sends a shiver down your spine. With the camera rolling, the lights warm and golden, and Jin blindfolded, the world has narrowed into this one intoxicating moment.

And for once, you’re not the nervous one.

You’re the one in charge.

You’re the one calling the shots.

And Jin?

He’s more than happy to submit to you.

Your hand drifts lower, fingertips gliding over the fine fabric of Jin’s slacks, watching the way his body reacts even under the blindfold. He can’t see you, but he feels everything—your presence, your breath near his jaw, the pressure of your palm teasing down his thigh.

“You’ve been slacking lately,” you murmur, letting your fingers graze the obvious bulge pressing against his pants. “So I’m going to remind you how to be obedient.”

Jin exhales sharply, chest rising with the effort to keep still. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—just tilts his head slightly toward your voice.

You lean in, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Code word?” you whisper.

“Echo,” he replies immediately, voice low and already laced with heat.

You smile, fingers moving more deliberately now. You cup him through the fabric, the pressure making him shift slightly in his seat. His jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, and you feel his cock twitch under your palm, already hardening as you palm him through his slacks.

“Good boy,” you purr, loosening the belt and sliding down his zipper slowly, like unwrapping a gift you’ve been waiting for. You reach into his briefs, wrapping your hand around him, warm and already thick in your palm. His hips jerk just slightly.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Impatient little pervert,” you scold gently, squeezing his cock just enough to make him groan. Your hand starts to move, slow and steady at first, working him up deliberately, thumb gliding over the head, gathering his arousal and spreading it down his shaft.

The chat is losing its mind. Comments flood in, heart emojis, praise, shocked exclamations at the sudden shift in dynamic. You barely register any of it. Your focus is all on Jin: on the way his mouth falls open slightly, the way his chest heaves when your hand twists and pumps in a firmer rhythm, your pace building.

His body is a live wire under your touch.

“You like being used, don’t you?” you murmur, watching the way his thighs tense beneath you.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck—I mean, yes, Miss.”

You chuckle, leaning back just enough to give the camera a better view of your hand working him, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet living room, the only light a white haze casting you both in a soft, intimate glow for the camera.

You press your legs together, your own arousal thrumming, but tonight isn’t about you this time.

It’s about him.

Making him come completely undone for you. For your power. For the version of you he’s never seen before now: confident, in charge, teasing with just enough cruelty to make him squirm.

You speed up slightly, the rhythm just on the edge of cruel, your thumb teasing that sensitive spot beneath the head. He’s gasping now, lips parted, barely able to speak.

“Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please let me come…”

You smile. “Not yet.”

And you slow down, just enough to make him whimper.

You let his cock slip from your hand with a slow squeeze, and he lets out a helpless whimper, hips twitching upward like he's already aching for more.

“Getting all desperate on me already?” you murmur, standing only long enough to slip off your blazer and sink slowly to your knees between his spread legs.

He can’t see you, but he knows. You can tell by the way his breath catches, the way his hands fist at his sides, resisting the urge to touch you—he knows the rules.

You ghost your lips along the inside of his thigh, just barely grazing, soft and teasing. “Keep your hands where they are,” you command, and he nods quickly.

“Yes, Miss.”

You smirk to yourself, then take your time. Your tongue trails up the length of his cock, just one slow stroke, gathering the taste of his arousal on your tongue before you wrap your lips around the head. He groans deep and shaky.

You suck him in slowly, wet and warm, letting him slide deeper into your mouth as your hand works the base. The slurping sounds echo in the room, lewd and messy, just how you know he likes it. His thighs tense on either side of you, trying to stay still, his fingers curling into the cushions as he fights to behave.

You moan around him, eyes locked on his face. His head tilts back, lips parted as if in prayer, and that blindfold just makes everything more erotic—he’s at your mercy.

You suck harder now, bobbing your head, tongue swirling, spit dripping as you take him deeper. You make it wet, obscene, the perfect combination of control and indulgence. He’s groaning your camgirl stage name now, desperate, undone.

“Please, please, Princess—fuck, you’re too good at this, I’m gonna—”

You pull off with a loud pop, spit stringing from your lips to his cock as you stroke him a few more times.

“Not yet,” you say again, standing slowly. “I said you don’t get to come until I say so.”

He’s panting now, fully at your mercy, desperate and flushed.

You lift one leg and straddle him, lifting your skirt to show the lacy black panties already soaked through. “I’ve been wet for you since this stupid idea you had earlier,” you say, voice low and dangerous. “And now you’re going to be useful and fuck me like I deserve.”

He shudders beneath you. “Yes. Please, yes—” The usual next step to this would be a condom, however you gone back to using birth control just for the sake of being able to experiment and do more fun stuff with Seokjin for these cam sessions. A shout out to him for buying you birth control in this economy.

Thus, you line yourself up and sink down onto him slowly, gasping as he stretches you open inch by inch. You grip his shoulders to keep steady, watching the way his head tips back, lips parted in a silent groan. The blindfold stays on (for obvious privacy reasons), but he also doesn’t need to see you to feel just how deep you take him, how tight you clench around him.

You ride him slowly at first, letting him feel every shift of your hips, every squeeze of your walls around him. His hands stay obediently at his sides, trembling from restraint. Your fingers dig into his chest, your lips brushing his jaw.

“Code word?” you whisper, even though you can feel he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Echo…Fucking echo.”

You start to bounce on him faster, harder, taking everything he gives you and more. His name spills from your lips in breathy moans, and he’s groaning right back, desperate, praising, begging all at once.

And then, you pause for just a breathless second, your hand sliding up his chest and curling gently around his throat. You hover there, locked onto his bodily reactions.

“I want to try it,” you whisper. “Can you guide me?”

There's a sharp inhale. His hands tightening around your hips instinctively as he nods, slow but firm. “Yeah. I’ll tell you when. Just… eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, throat dry but heart racing. You resume your rhythm, rolling your hips and grinding down on him deeper this time. He’s already close. You can feel it in the way his grip falters, his voice rising.

“Now,” he rasps. “Just a little.”

You apply pressure—tentatively at first, until he groans in approval. His head tips back, his mouth slack, lashes fluttering like he’s sinking into something he’s craved too long. It’s intoxicating, the way his body responds to you… but it's his voice that keeps you grounded. The way he whispers praise through every gasp, every twitch of his hips under yours. “That’s it… fuck, baby. Just like that.”

There’s a shift—an unmistakable shift. His voice takes on a different tone. Still needy, still submissive, but laced now with authority, with control, as he murmurs exactly how much pressure, exactly when to let go. His power doesn’t challenge yours—it folds into it, guides it. And you follow. Willingly. Entranced.

You press a little harder, feeling his pulse thrum beneath your fingers, his mouth falling open in a moan that hits you right in the gut.

“I’m—please—I need to—” he gasps, and you let go just in time, letting him breathe again, watching him unravel completely beneath you.

“Then beg.”

“Please let me come inside you, please—I’ve been so good, you’re so perfect—fuck, I need you—”

You slam your hips down harder, grinding, your hands tangled in his hair now as your bodies meet in frenzied rhythm. His control shatters completely when you press your lips to his and whisper, “Come for me, baby.”

And he does.

With a low, broken groan, he thrusts up into you, pulsing deep inside as your own climax follows, walls fluttering around him while you moan against his mouth, soaking him as he fills you. Your fingers grip his jaw, keeping him grounded as you both ride out the high, body to body, messy and panting.

You stay on top of him, his cock still buried inside you, breathless and flushed. He’s dazed, the blindfold still on, and you kiss his forehead softly before reaching up to remove it.

His eyes blink open slowly, glassy and adoring.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, grinning up at you like you just changed his life.

“See?” you smirk, leaning in to kiss him. “Told you you’d regret teasing me about the outfit.”

Two hours later, the camera light finally blinks off.

The room is dim now, save for the warm golden glow from the lamp in the corner. You and Jin are a flushed, disheveled mess. Clothes half-on, makeup smudged, hair wild. A sheen of sweat glistens on both your bodies, and your inner thighs still tremble faintly from all the exertion.

He flops back against the couch with a groan, eyes shut as he tries to catch his breath. “That was… that was insane.”

You toss a throw blanket over both your laps and lean against his shoulder, just as blissed out. “Good insane?”

“Good?” he laughs, turning to look at you, eyes wide and still dazed. “You… how the fuck did you learn all of that?”

You grin, a little smug but mostly shy. “I… well. I’ve read my fair share of erotica.”

He stares at you for a beat, and then lets out a wheezy laugh. “Okay, no, because you didn’t just read erotica. That was like—years of field research packed into one night.”

You giggle, hiding your face in your hands. “Shut up! I didn’t want to half-ass it, especially since I knew you were into that stuff. I figured… if I was going to dominate you, I wanted to do it right. So i prayed all the shit I’ve read would come back to me in that moment.”

Jin’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, and he exhales, still not fully recovered. “You didn’t just do it right. You wrecked me. I mean, I think you broke time. I blacked out somewhere around the tie-and-denial part.”

You smirk and nudge his leg with your knee. “Told you not to tease me about the outfit.”

He lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You win. You’re terrifying. Beautiful and terrifying.”

You rest your head on his shoulder again, quieter now, as the adrenaline starts to settle into something softer. Jin lets his hand slide over yours, squeezing gently.

“You really enjoyed it?” you ask, voice lower, more vulnerable this time.

He turns to you again, this time more serious. “More than anything. Not just the kink stuff, but you. Being with you like this. Doing this together. I didn’t think I’d ever get close to you like this.”

Your heart flutters.

“Same,” you admit. “It’s something I never thought, let alone reunite with you.”

He looks at your eyes, rather lovingly, but you convince yourself he’s just completely blissed out. “Let’s get some sleep, Seokjin.”

It is insane how close you and Seokjin start becoming after this. Living with him felt like walking on eggshells at first—between the awkwardness of your past and the very unique way your current relationship started—but over time, it’s become shockingly natural. Domestic, even. You’ve slipped into his world like you were always meant to be there.

You’re in the kitchen, rinsing out a few dishes from lunch and humming to yourself when you hear Jin’s voice rise from the living room. He’s in the middle of filming some chaotic “Lose and You Win!” Mario Party content, screaming into the mic with Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung, all of them laughing, cursing, and accusing each other of cheating. You glance up once in a while, smiling at the banter. It's hard to believe that this—this apartment, this man, this life—is where you ended up. And you’re not mad about it.

Around 8 p.m., you hear the game’s final jingle play and the stream go offline. The guys groan and stretch, the energy in the room softening now that they’re off-camera. You hear Taehyung pipe up, “Alright, wings? I’m craving pain-level buffalo.”

Jungkook adds, “Buffalo Wild Wings, let’s goooo.”

Jimin chimes in, nudging Jin from the side. “Come on, hyung. We haven’t hung out in person in weeks. Let’s grab dinner.”

Jin laughs but waves them off. “Can’t. I’ve got other plans tonight.”

The guys groan and boo dramatically.

Then suddenly, their eyes shift to you. Jimin leans over the couch to grin at you. “What about you, noona? You down to come with us? We’ll treat you! Wings, drinks, or anything else you want to do?”

“Noona—?” you laugh, setting down a cup. You’re not a noona, to these men, surely. But you’ll go with it. Getting out of the house with a group of charismatic, chaotic men sounds like a fun distraction. You open your mouth to say sure, already drying your hands—

But Jin cuts in smoothly from the couch without even looking at you. “She’s coming with me.”

The room goes quiet for half a second. You blink.

Taehyung raises a brow. “Oh?”

You look at Jin, arms crossed, voice flat. “I am?”

Jin finally looks at you now and smiles—not smug exactly, but knowing. “Yup. She is.”

And just like that, ten minutes later, you’re sliding into the passenger seat of his car.

You glance at him sideways as he drives. “You know, you didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go with you.”

He shrugs, smirking. “I didn’t want to lose you to fried chicken and beer. Besides…” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “We’re going somewhere better.”

And that’s how you end up at Quarters KBBQ, a small, lowkey spot tucked in a quiet corner of K-Town. No frills, no signs. The kind of place only locals know about. Inside, it’s dimly lit, the air rich with the smell of grilled meat and soju. Jin nods to the ahjumma behind the counter, who recognizes him immediately and leads you both to a corner table where you find 3 other men. You weren’t expecting a full table when you walk in, but there they are. Namjoon already seated with Yoongi, nursing what looks like a soju bottle. And beside him, someone you haven’t met before. His smile is warm as the grills before him, and he immediately waves when he sees you two approach. “Happy birthday, Namjoon!” Jin says loudly and proudly as he approaches the table and gives the birthday boy a hug. “Hyung!” The man unknown to you calls out to Jin, his face brightening. His eyes shift to you beside him, and curiosity flickers in his expression. “You came–Ohhh, wait is she the mystery roommate-slash-partner-in-crime. Y/N?”

You raise a brow, amused. “Hello! Uh, mystery?” “Y/N, that’s Hoseok.”

Hoseok grins and offers a warm handshake. “Hi! Jin always talks about you in fragments—‘my roommate made this,’ ‘she said that,’ but never a full picture. I was starting to think you were part of his delulu storyline.”

You laugh, instantly liking him. “Sounds like Jin.”

Jin only shrugs, clearly unbothered as he guides you into the booth. Namjoon gives you a little wave and a fond, “Hey stranger, long time,” while Yoongi smirks and says, “Finally meeting you in person after too damn long.”

“Right, Jin’s been the one passing over my hellos to you like a game of telephone,” you reply, slipping into the seat beside Jin as he reaches for the soju bottle.

He pours you a glass first, then his own. “You weren’t missing out much,” he says, lips twitching. “Trust me.”

"Well anyways, welcome to the table,” Hoseok says, lifting his glass. “You’re stuck with us now.”

The table is already cluttered with side dishes, sauces, and raw meat sizzling over the grill. Jin clinks his glass to yours.

The sizzling sound of pork belly crackles on the grill as Yoongi expertly flips the pieces, tongs in one hand, drink in the other. Hoseok leans back in his seat, stretching his arms with a content sigh while Namjoon starts a debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.

It’s easy to get swept into the rhythm—teasing, laughing, the casual way the guys lean into each other’s space like brothers who’ve known each other for years. But at some point, Jin goes quiet beside you.

You glance at him. “You okay?”

He nods, then clears his throat. “Just thinking. I haven’t brought anyone to a hang like this in a long time.”

The others catch that, and Namjoon smiles around the rim of his glass. “Yeah, that’s actually wild. You’re usually honja solo, hyung.”

Yoongi smirks. “Last time he brought someone was like... what? Two birthday dinners ago? And it was his older brother.”

“And W–” Hoseok is about to say until Yoongi and Jin elbow him, “Ow!!”

Jin rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

You look at him, slightly teasing. “So this is a big deal?”

He looks at you steadily, his voice a little softer than before. “I guess it is. Feels different this time.”

Your chest warms a little at that.

Namjoon watches the two of you, then leans in toward you. “It’s been cool watching you settle into his place, by the way. Jin told us you've still been focused on job hunting and interviewing. That shit’s not easy.”

You blink, surprised. “He told you about that?”

“He did,” Yoongi says, passing you a lettuce wrap. “And for what it’s worth, you’ve got guts. Not everyone would handle it the way you’re handling it after a relationship fall out and job layoff.”

There’s a moment of quiet pride that hums through you. You didn’t realize Jin had even mentioned those parts of your life to his friends. It feels a little awkward, but more so makes you feel seen.

Hoseok nudges Jin with his elbow. “Hyung’s been different lately too. A little more… grounded.”

“Grounded?” Jin scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re not acting like a feral bichon 24/7,” Hoseok says with a grin.

Namjoon laughs. “He means you’re… softer. In a good way.”

You glance at Jin just as he glances at you.

And for a second, the noise of the table fades.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. But the look says enough: I see you. I’ve got you.

And just like that, the table bursts into laughter again—Yoongi making a dry joke about Jin’s “new personality” like a bug patch in a game. Namjoon pretending to take notes like a therapist, Hoseok mimicking Jin’s dramatic voice.

And you? You just smile, lean closer to the boy who’s slowly, surely becoming your safe place, and take another sip of soju. After hanging out with his friends once, you ask Jin if you could tag along again to see them again for another hang out, which he happily agrees to.

It’s been four months since you started camming with Jin, and the erotic streams have only gotten more creative, more intimate. What started as an experiment—something daring and purely transactional—has shifted into something strange and deeply emotional, quietly addictive. You both know how easily you’ve slipped into this lifestyle. And how naturally you’ve slipped into each other.

This afternoon, though, feels like a pause. A thunderstorm has rolled over, drowning the city in a wash of gray. Everything is wet, fogged, and slow. Jin had planned to work today, but after a tense few weeks with his team’s latest gaming project, he called in and stayed home instead. Burnt out, he said. Fried.

You didn’t argue. You weren’t in the mood either—not with the string of job application rejections piling up in your inbox. At this point, the cover letters all blur together. You hadn’t even gotten a callback in weeks.

So, wrapped up in shared blankets and layers of lazy comfort, the two of you spend the afternoon on the couch. Jin's sitting at the far end, curled around his Switch, locked into Fire Emblem. You’re in the opposite corner with your knees tucked up, reading a tattered paperback, something vaguely romantic and atmospheric. It's peaceful. Quiet. The kind of silence that only happens between people completely comfortable with each other. It took a lot to get here.

“Hey,” Jin says eventually, not looking away from his game. “Can you read it to me?”

You glance over, a brow raised. “You want me to read this out loud?”

He shrugs. “I just… like your voice. Makes it easier to relax.”

You smile faintly. “Since when are you shy about asking for that?”

“I’m not,” he says, grinning. “I’m being polite. Now read.”

You start. At first, it’s casual—your voice soft as the storm continues outside. Jin eventually puts the Switch down entirely, arms behind his head, eyes closed. Just listening.

Then he interrupts.

“You know,” he murmurs, “this could be a good ASMR unlockable. For the long-term subs. Just you. Reading. Whispering. Maybe some light teasing…”

You snort. “You’re so unserious.”

“I’m extremely serious,” he says, sitting up a little. “Think about it. Soft voice. Close mic. Add in a little roleplay… Touch. Whispered praise. Maybe I whimper a little.”

You stare at him. “You’re not even pretending you’re not into it, you pervert!”

“I stopped pretending around month one,” he shoots back easily. “Come here. Let’s try it.”

You hesitate, but the way he says it, low, teasing, like an invitation and a dare all at once, makes your skin tingle. You shift toward him, and he helps guide you into his lap. Your thighs straddle his, and your chest presses lightly against his hoodie. He’s warm beneath you, looking up with curious eyes and parted lips.

“Just whisper,” he says. “Let’s see how it feels.”

So you do. You lean in close to his ear and speak softly, slowly.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur. “So obedient today. You want me to praise you more, don’t you?”

Jin exhales sharply. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you tighter against him. You’re still fully clothed, but the friction is unmistakable. Deliberate. He rocks his hips gently, testing, and you feel the rush of it right through you.

You keep going, praise melting into teasing, your breath hot against his neck. His hands slide up your back, then under your t-shirt, skimming your waist. When they reach your chest, he pauses, eyes flicking up to you.

You nod once. Barely.

And then his thumbs begin to circle, slow and unhurried, coaxing soft sighs out of you. You’re grinding into each other now, layers of fabric doing nothing to dull the want building between your legs. Your fingers grip his shoulders, your lips brush his jaw between whispers. Every word is another spark, every movement edging closer to something you both desperately want—but don’t quite reach.

It stays there. Right on the edge.

Until you both pull back, chests heaving, laughing breathlessly against each other’s skin.

“Jesus,” Jin mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “We can’t be doing this without a game plan.”

“You started it,” you whisper back, brushing his hair with your fingers.

“I didn’t think we’d get that close to—” he pauses, then laughs again. “Holy shit.”

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. “We almost did it. On your streaming mic.”

“I mean…” He pulls back and looks at you seriously. “If we did start pushing the boundaries a bit… would you be okay with that?”

You hesitate, then smile. A little crooked. A little dangerous.

“Maybe… but definitely there’s more to that though,”

And the rain keeps falling outside, steady and soft, while your hearts thrum with something new. Something thrilling. Because you both know you're already on the edge of something bigger. Something you're not ready to name yet, but neither of you is trying to stop.

Six months pass since you first agreed to help Jin with his hobby. Six months since you stepped into his world of late-night cam streams, where the two of you put on a show for an audience that grows larger every week. Six months since you decided to throw caution to the wind and join him in front of the camera, not because you needed the money, but because you couldn’t resist the challenge. Because it was Jin—your childhood rival, your now-roommate, the man who somehow always manages to pull you into his orbit, whether you like it or not.

And it’s been nearly six months since you moved into his apartment, a decision born out of necessity after losing your job. Back then, you told yourself it would be temporary. Just until you got back on your feet. But here you are, half a year later, still sharing a space with him, still waking up to the smell of his amazing cooking, still laughing at his terrible dad jokes that he insists are comedy gold.

Still pretending that the way he casually brushes past you in the kitchen or leans over your shoulder to peek at your laptop screen doesn’t send a jolt of electricity through you.

You’ve become… comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe.

The kind of comfort that blurs lines and makes you forget where the act ends and reality begins.

Outside of the camera’s gaze, the two of you have settled into a rhythm that feels almost domestic. Jin walks around the apartment in nothing but sweatpants, his hair a mess, and you don’t even blink anymore. You’ve caught him staring at you more than once, his gaze lingering a little too long, but neither of you say anything. It’s easier to pretend it doesn’t mean anything, to chalk it up to the strange intimacy of living together and the even stranger intimacy of what you do together on camera.

But sometimes, when he’s sitting too close on the couch, his thigh pressed against yours as you both scroll through your phones, or when he playfully tugs at your sleeve to get your attention, you wonder if it’s all just in your head.

If you’re reading too much into the way he looks at you, the way he touches you—casual, effortless, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You haven’t talked about it. Not once. Not about the way your hands linger when you pass each other things, not about the way he sometimes rests his chin on your shoulder while you’re cooking, not about the way your heart races when he flashes you that stupidly handsome grin of his. It’s like there’s an unspoken agreement between you: Don’t ruin this. Don’t make it weird. In the meantime, life goes on. You’ve been applying for jobs, sending out resumes, going to interviews. Some of them have gone well—really well, even—but nothing’s panned out yet. Jin keeps telling you not to stress, that something will come along eventually, but you can’t help feeling the pressure. You don’t want to overstay your welcome, even though Jin insists you’re not. “You’re not a guest,” he said once, when you brought it up. “You live here. This is your home too.”

His words stuck with you, more than you’d like to admit. Because the truth is, it does feel like home. More than any place has in a long time. And maybe that’s the scariest part of all.

Tonight, like most nights, you’re sitting on the couch with Jin, the TV playing some random drama neither of you is really paying attention to. He’s sprawled out, his head resting on the armrest, his feet nudging your thigh. You’re half-heartedly scrolling through job listings on Linkedin on your laptop, but your mind keeps wandering. Jin’s been quiet for a while, which is unusual for him.

You glance over and find him watching you, his expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“You,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Uh, what about me?"

"How stressed you look applying to these jobs?"

You close your laptop and set it aside, turning your body slightly to face him. “Well, yeah. Kind of comes with this whole process of unemployment, doesn’t it? I’m trying to not be jobless forever, you know.”

Jin sits up slightly, propping himself on one elbow. His messy hair falls into his eyes, and he brushes it back with a hand, looking far too attractive for someone who hasn’t left the apartment all day. “You’re not going to be unemployed forever,” he says firmly, his tone soft but resolute. “You’re good at what you do. The right job’s gonna come along, you’ll see.” You roll your eyes, leaning back against the couch. “You say that like it’s easy. Like I just need to snap my fingers, and poof, dream job.”

“It’s not about snapping your fingers,” he counters, his lips quirking into that signature smirk of his—the one that always makes your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “It’s about realizing you’re a catch. Any company would be lucky to have you.”

His words hit you harder than they should. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice or the way his gaze lingers on you just a moment too long, like he’s daring you to believe him. You swallow, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed.

“Well,” you say, forcing a casual shrug, “if all else fails, at least I have my… side gig.”

At that, Jin’s smirk widens into a full grin, and he sits up completely, crossing his legs beneath him. “Side gig? Princess, what we’re doing is more than just a gig. We’re providing art.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Art? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Absolutely,” he says with mock seriousness, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “I’ve got the lighting, the angles, the choreography—it’s practically cinema. And you—well, you’re the star. The muse. My creative partner.”

“Okay, now you’re pushing it,” you tease, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Jin has a way of making you laugh, even when you don’t want to. It’s infuriating and endearing all at once.

He leans closer, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and his chin in his hand, studying you. “But seriously,” he says, his tone dropping back to that rare sincerity, “you’re doing great. Not just with the streams, but... everything. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still here, still pushing forward. I’m proud of you.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Your throat tightens, and you quickly look away, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Thanks,” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

Jin doesn’t push you to say more, and you’re grateful for that. The silence that settles between you is surprisingly comfortable, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

But, of course, Jin can’t let the moment stay too serious for long.

“So,” he says, his smirk returning, “about tonight’s stream…”

You groan, throwing your head back against the couch. “God, do you ever take a break?” “Not when I’ve got content to plan,” he says, winking at you. “I was thinking we could try something new. Maybe a little bdsm roleplay? Or–oh, I know—a themed night! Like anime cosplaying.”

“Cosplaying?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at him. “What kind of cosplaying?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know. Something fun. Something the fans would love. You could be Sailor Moon, or a Nami from One Piece, or—”

“Stop right there,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “I am not dressing up as some cliché sexy anime character.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But you can’t deny it’d be hot.”

You roll your eyes, though you can feel your cheeks heating up. “You’re impossible, Seokjin, you know that?”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he points out, flashing you that devastating grin. “So what does that say about you?”

It says more than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself. But instead of answering, you reach for your laptop, opening it back up and pretending to focus on the screen. Jin watches you for a moment longer, then leans back with a satisfied hum, stretching out on the couch like a cat.

You don’t know how long you can keep walking this line with him. This strange, delicate balance between friendship and… whatever this is. But for now, you’ll let it be. You’ll let yourself enjoy the banter, the laughter, the way he makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not so lost after all. - -

a/n: again SO SORRY that updating this fic took some time. I appreciate everyone who waited and is still sticking around until the very end!! I've extended this fic to 7 total chapters for the sake of fleshing things out as much as I could while keeping this fic short, so you have a lot to look forward too heheheheheheheh

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

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mustlovelou · 2 days ago

Note

19 from the 😘 prompt list if you like it?

Hi, nonnie! Thank you for the ask! Hope you like this! 🧡

19. …for luck.

Tommy absentmindedly scratches his belly as he leans against the counter, waiting for the coffee maker to do its job. A thump coming from the bedroom pulls his attention away from the appliance.

“Everything ok?” Tommy asks loudly, worried.

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” Evan replies.

Sighing, Tommy returns to staring intently at the coffee maker. They need a new one; it shouldn’t take this long.

Just as the coffee maker finishes brewing, Evan bursts into the room in a whirlwind of motion.

“I’m going to be so late… what time even is right now?” Evan asks in a frenzy.

Tommy carefully pours the coffee into a travel mug and replies, “You’re fine. Unless there’s more traffic than usual, you should be able to arrive on time.”

“Shit!” Evan exclaims. “I don’t want to arrive on time, I want to arrive early.”

Evan rushes over and plants a clumsy kiss on Tommy’s temple, nearly causing him to spill the coffee all over the floor. “Talk to you later! Have a good day! Love you!”

Between a blink and the next, Evan is out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” Tommy calls out as he quickly sets the carafe on the counter and puts the lid on the travel mug.

He runs to the entrance and finds Evan slipping on his shoes. Tommy takes a few seconds to observe him and he immediately notices how nervous he is about today. It’s in the way his entire body seems to be vibrating and how he keeps alternating between licking and biting his lips. There’s also a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Here, baby. Take this before you leave,” Tommy tells him softly.

“What?” Evan asks, confused, until he sees the travel mug in Tommy’s hands. “Oh…” he sighs. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No problem,” Tommy replies. “And try to calm down, yeah? You will do amazing!”

Evan takes the travel mug and, in an almost whisper, asks, “You really think so?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, nodding. “You will make a great captain! Bobby and Hen are going to be so proud of you!”

“I hope so,” Evan breathes out, still sounding unsure but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I have no doubts,” Tommy reassures him. “Now, go! You’ll be late.”

Evan’s eyes open wide. “Fuck!”

Tommy chuckles and shakes his head as he sees him bolt out the door.

“Captain Kinard!” He calls out, running after him. “You forgot something!”

“I did?” Evan asks, with one leg already inside his truck.

“Yeah.” Tommy walks up to him, cups his cheeks and kisses him softly. “A kiss for good luck on your first day!”

“Thank you,” Evan says with a loving smile.

“My pleasure,” Tommy laughs. “Ok, now off you go.”

“Right, right.” Evan shakes his head but then he lurches forward and gives him a short but sweet kiss. “Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Tommy watches him drive away and only goes back inside when he can no longer see his truck.

Once inside, Tommy hurries up to the bedroom to change. There’s no time to waste; he needs to go pick up the cake and the bouquet of flowers he especially ordered. He can't be late today. After all, he has a surprise in store for a certain new captain.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #kinley #my writing

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yrenesbrainrotss · 1 day ago

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I hope this one doesn't sound challenging or too difficult but mayhaps yandere Hungover Ena x reader? I would love to see your interpretation with this but of course you don't have to if you feel uncomfortable with this one

Thanks! And keep going! 💜

A/N hyaaa!! I think Yandere! ENA is literally the most requested thing on here but idm i really love obssesive characters 🥳🥳🥳 I rlly hope its not too ooc since i tried to imagine how she would act when she’s more human.

p.s. : this is the fic i accidentally deleted and rlly hope i didnt make any major writing mistakes bc im tired asf and i wanted to finish it now.

Enjoyyyy💞💞

•summary: Yan!Humanoid!ENA x reader

• warnings: dark,obsessive behavior ahead!!

•reader pronouns :female

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

After running errands all day long for whatever odd creatures you encountered and after trying your best to find as much information as possible about the place called ‘Bathroom’ ENA’s appearance shifted significantly. When she returned from a so called ‘purge event’ her usual polygonal self was replaced with another, more human-like form. Her sharp edges and floating shapes were replaced with a human body, and her red split almost disappeared completely, except from her left arm and leg and,how odd—she only had one personality. Her abdomen also had a weird neon orange hole, but not for too long because it immediately dissolved and was replaced with a soft, organic one.

Your girlfriend explained that her polygonal body couldn’t process the digestion at the illegal party she attended and now it became this. Her current body was too weak to handle all the errands she used to do so you took it upon yourself to help her recover, she accepted as long as she could still pick up a few jobs—she had a business to mentain afterall.

And so it became more of a pleasant bonding routine for you, to draw her baths and help her scrub the dirt from her new soft body, to cook her energizing meals and all kinds of protein filled smoothies, to keep her in a warm blanket cocoon when she slept in your embrace. ENA however hated this, she appreciated your tenderness but she couldn’t help but feel useless and weak.

Late at night, when you were off to dreamland, her eyes would stare at the dark void in your shared room and the cursed thoughts raced through her mind. She wasn’t even blinking as the worst possible scenarios were talking place right there before her eyes. You—gathering your bags and leaving, her begging for you to stay only to be met with the loud thud of the front door shutting. ‘Oh GØD, what if she leaves? I’m too weak to do anything right.. A sharp pang hit her chest, twisting into something unbearable. She tried to suppress it, but the thought lingered. ‘ I can’t even blame her she’s perfect maybe she would be better off— NO! I won’t let her get away.. she’s mine.. I can’t..’ Then, something clicks in her mind.. maybe if she proves herself to you, you will see how well she can take care of you! Yes-! That’s it! Tomorrow is going to be her chance!

ENA’s acting really strange—or so you thought. The other entities saw her as her usual sketchy self that tries to sell all kinds of scams and weirdly proportionated deals—albeit a bit more on edge than usual. In the past you saw that ENA knew her limits, not taking too many job listings in a day or making a lot of excessive efforts for her tasks, nonetheless now it seemed as if she was about to pass out from exhaustion. You reached out to her and told her to take it slow, that tomorrow is another day and she could postpone the tasks until then. ‘W-what? No- I can’t! I need to finish these! I need to prove.. I- I said that it’s bad for business—yes!

You offer to help and—although surprised—she accepts, maybe this could be a moment of bonding for you both, something to bring you closer, to see her efforts at providing for you. Talking to other entities and helping them with jobs was pretty fun you thought, sometimes you would receive a rather good bonus for being so nice and kind with them, but you didn’t care much about it—you were just happy to help anyone, and help ENA finish her shifts faster. Your girlfriend didn’t like it one bit—you were too naive to see, but she did. Those lingering gazes and touches you missed—she saw them.

From the corner of her sharp eye she saw you talking to a quite unusually friendly snake woman—she saw how her eyes would trace over your form, up and down and then there it was, your laugh—your laugh directed at someone who isn’t her.

Her heart froze.

She didn’t know her — never seen her before, but the way she leaned closer, how you smiled back at her like that, as if you’d forgotten about the world… the sharp sting of jealousy pierced her chest.

ENA should’ve known. You’ve always been like this — so friendly. So kind. Too kind. Too easy to smile at strangers.

A sick feeling twisted in her stomach.

ENA’s eye twitched and before you could even reply to the entity in front of you she stormed up right before your eyes.

‘’Who the fuck do you think you are? Talking to her like that— like you know her for years.’’

The mysterious woman blinks, confused ‘’We were just talking-‘’

‘You have some nerve lusting over her like that, I’m her girlfriend you know?!’

You reach for her shoulder, her back turned to you acting as a shield. ‘‘ENA,wait it’s not like that-‘‘You tried to step in but your efforts were ignored. ‘’Oh, it’s not like that’’ the brunette repeated, her voice dropping into something colder. She stepped forward, leaning in close to your ear, lowering her voice so only the strange woman could hear. “You don’t think I’ll mind, do you? You don’t think I’ll let anyone get too close to you, do you?”

ENA’s hand brushed against her girlfriend’s arm, and then, without warning, she turned her icy gaze toward the entity.

ENA leans closer to the woman in front of her whispering something you can’t quite understand ‘’If i see you talking to her again or even as much as look in her direction, I’ll make you regret it.’’ she said sweetly. Too sweet.

The snake leaves mumbling something, visibly shaking and on the brink of tears. She hurriedly distances herself and doesn’t take one look back.

You take a look at your girlfriend, stunned. ‘’What the hell was that all about, ENA?’’ Her agitated demeanor shifts and she cups your cheeks with a worried smile plastered on her pale bluish face. ‘’She was flirting with you! I-I saw it.. The way she looked at you! What if something bad would have happened?’’

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

Later that night, in the busy casino, filled to the brim with all kinds of people, she was sitting in her bathroom— to clear her head as she told Froggy. The polished marble floors glistened under the warm lights, a mocking gesture at her disheveled state.

Leaned with her arms against the edge of her sink she wished that she could punch herself for her stupidity. You were surely drifting away from her clutch—she could feel it— you were preparing her for the final blow, the one dreadful scenario that has plagued her mind for some time now.

The mirror in front of her fogged up with her heavy breaths and the sink squeaked against her inhumane grip on it, knuckles white and bloody from all the dirty work she did that day.

The raven haired woman blinked at her reflection, eyes wide and bloodshot and cheeks stained with mascara and dry as well as fresh tears. The scenario between you and that stranger replaying in front of her eyes. ‘She’s drifting away from me’ she muttered. Her voice was soft, almost curious. ‘ Laughing with that stupid snake woman—who does she think she is anyway?’

She let out a shaky exhale, then gripped the edge of the sink harder.

‘’No-it’s not true she’s not leaving.. she promised! That wasn’t her back there..it wasn’t!’’

ENA lifts her hand to touch her tired eyes and the scratch on her cheekbone, wincing a bit as she does so— that’s going to leave a mark.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft, slanted shadows across the room. It was a quiet morning, too quiet.

The soft hum from the outside came rushing to ENA’s ears, stretching her legs and arms as she reached over to your side. A sudden flash of fear pierced her chest, your side was empty—cold. She sat up and called your name—no answer. The brunette checked the bathroom,the guest room, every corner of your shared house but there was no sign of your presence, just scattered laundry across the bathroom tiles and your keys were missing.

Her mind was racing. She tried to calm herself, but every passing minute felt like an eternity, an eternity of silence and rushing scenarios of you. You left her—you’re gone. The one moment she dreaded was now upon her cursed self, destined to be despised by everyone around her.

A sharp pang hit her chest, twisting into something unbearable. She tried to suppress it, but the insupportable thought lingered.

‘What if you met someone else? What if you found someone more normal, someone who wouldn’t be so… clingy? What if… you ran away with that woman…’

⸻

ENA stood up abruptly, pacing, breathing shallow and quick, chest heaving and spiraling thoughts flooding her mind. Trembling hands tangled in dark locks of hair, nails digging into her scalp, tugging and dragging across her wide eyed face.

A weak tremble escaped her dry throat, tears forming in her tired sleepless eyes, threatening to overflow the whole apartment— the one you used to share, now deafeningly empty.

‘She left me. She’s out there, and she’s not coming back.’

Her heart raced, faster and faster, the darkness creeping in. She couldn’t stop it. She needed to make it stop.

After moments of pacing around the room her arms lean on the edge of a coffee table table in the center of the room, her sharp nails dig into the polished wood, leaving deep semilunar marks on it. Then, without warning, she shoves it—harshly. It slams against the wall, a loud crack splitting the silence.

Her breathing was erratic, panicked, almost frantic as she stumbled back. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. The mess on the floor didn’t matter, the broken vase didn’t matter, none of it did.

She’s going to find someone better. She doesn’t need me.

Another cry — this one louder, more desperate — torn from her soul. She swung her arm, knocking over a stack of magazines, watching as they scattered across the floor like confetti.

The apartment was a mess now, just like her mind. Her chest was tight surrounded by sharp thorns, encasing her frantic heart, her thoughts tumbling over one another. She had to make it stop.

But she couldn’t. The tears came faster, more uncontrollable now. She sank to the floor, knees pressed against the cold floor, face buried in her hands.

⸻

The sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment, a soft click followed by footsteps. ENA’s head snapped up, eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest.

You stepped inside, a shopping bag in your hand, your eyes immediately scanning the chaos in the room.

“What the…?”You froze in place, confusion flashing across your face, before your gaze softened. “Hey..hey… What happened?”

You stood frozen for a moment, clearly shaken by the sight of your girlfriend’s breakdown. You gently stroked her hair, your voice soft, but there was still a hint of unease. ‘‘Love… no. No, I’m not going anywhere. I was just out running errands. I wanted to surprise you but I’m here now.’’

But the brunette girl didn’t let go. She buried her face in your shoulder, her tears soaking into your clothes.

Your girlfriend scrambled to her feet, her expression crumbling into something desperate. She rushed forward, throwing herself into your girlfriend’s arms, tackling you to the ground. Her voice was broken, barely a whisper. “I thought… I thought you left me. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your arms tightened around her, clinging to her like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. ‘‘You’re not going to leave me. Are you?’’ A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. ‘‘For no one, or for someone less—‘’

Her voice dropped to a whisper, bitter and hollow. “Less crazy.”

She took a breath, then clutched her head like she could physically hold her thoughts together.

Her eyes snapped back up — wild now, desperate. “So you won’t. Right?” She forced a smile, lips twitching. “Say you’re not leaving. Say you still love me. Right now. Please. Please.”

And so you did ‘I love you ENA, I’m never leaving. Ever.’

#ena dream bbq #x reader #ena x reader #ena joel g #writers on tumblr #rambles #small blog #writeblr

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