#9:17pm

[hyuuukais]

blerrg i should go to bed. i need to figure out what i'm wearing to work tomorrow so though

[xaviergalatis]

Onions on white rice oil and butter

Gx

[dual-plunger-enthusiast]

Okay it's probably eepytime for you in AEST but you have to see this

HE CAN WINKY

this is in the shorts version part 3 by the way

I SAW THIS JUST NOW IN THE ALLIANCE CHAT YEAH . SILLY GUY TBH.

[newforever]

https://ift.tt/VpQvmyz VAYAThai John Bondar & Stan Orso (Tyla Water Remix) John Bondar

[theballadofharkness]

You did what?… With who?

Mason and the Macabre Masterlist

Pairing: Maya Mason x HorrorExec!reader

Summary: A casting crisis ruins date night, but things really fall apart when you find out Maya once hooked up with your boss Matt. Hurt turns to heat, and in the aftermath of a messy conference room blow-up, Maya takes back control, reminding her bratty horror queen exactly who she belongs to.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Explict smut so as always MDNI xo

A/N: I think I’m not the only one who was jump scared at the Maya Matt hookup scenes, which is where this little fic came from ft. Reader being just as shocked as me xo

The clock reads 9:17pm, and the only thing worse than the flickering fluorescent overheads is the fact that you’re still here. Still at Continental. Still in this goddamn conference room.

What was supposed to be dinner and the Boris Karloff Black Sabbath retrospective, one night only, 35mm print, perfect eerie vibes, has instead become stale trail mix, Maya yelling into her phone, and Quinn lying flat on the floor like she’s emotionally decomposing.

The table is a battlefield: headshots, post-it notes, crumpled printouts with studio-approved names scribbled out in Sharpie. Somewhere near the center lies a half-full bottle of Advil and someone’s forgotten vape pen.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes. Mostly because if you open your mouth, you might scream.

Tyler clicks away on his MacBook with the fervor of a man about to quit the industry and go live in a yurt. Matt’s pacing. Sal’s leaning back in a chair that you’ve threatened to destroy three separate times. And Maya, your girlfriend, your beautiful, high-strung, Prada-wrapped, chaos goblin of a girlfriend, is at the head of the table, barking into her AirPods at an agent who’s clearly lying about availability.

“She’s not booked out through Q3, Gary, she’s at Erewhon every morning and she took a Hulu guest star last week, don’t lie to me—”

You look at the clock again. 9:18.

You shift your gaze to Maya, who catches it for a second. Her expression softens just for a moment. There’s guilt there. The kind that says: I’m sorry, I didn’t forget. I wanted to spoil you rotten.

But then she’s back to shouting. “Then give me someone better. We were about to announce. You want me to put out a press release saying our Cannes-contender lead ‘politely bailed due to exhaustion’? Gary, this is not a fucking Benadryl commercial, this is a prestige thriller with blood and teeth and you owe me for that Variety spread!”

Matt slumps into the seat beside you. “He couldn’t wait till after filming to check into rehab?”

Quinn, from the floor: “Mental health is health, Matt.”

You say nothing.

You’re too busy watching Maya. Watching how fast she moves when something goes wrong. How she thrives in chaos. How much you love her, and how much you resent her for being able to switch gears without missing a beat, even when she promised to hold your hand through that haunting Karloff close-up you’ve been dreaming about all week.

You cross your arms and lean back, nails biting into your sleeves. If she notices your silence, she doesn’t show it.

You’re trying to be a team player. You really are.

You get that this is a crisis. You get that losing your lead actor two weeks before announcement is a full-blown, PR-nightmare, press-cycle-imploding catastrophe. You get it.

But also?

You had these tickets for months.

The Karloff screening was one night only. One night. You’d planned it down to the detail, dinner at that weird little vampire-themed French place on Melrose, then the 10:30pm showing at the New Beverly. You had an outfit. You had lipstick named after a fictional vampire. And Maya had said yes. Maya had promised.

And now she’s playing agent chicken in cargo pants while you rot in a swivel chair next to Matt “crisis is my cardio” Remick.

He slumps closer to you again, chip crumbs on his hoodie. “Hey. You okay? You’re, like… very quiet. And your eyes look like you’re planning a murder.”

“I’m great,” you say, voice thin as piano wire.

He squints. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you say, smiling coolly. “I’m mad at the circumstances.”

Matt nods, sagely. “Yeah. Totally. Unforgiving circumstances. You know, I had dinner plans too.”

You blink slowly. “Did you have tickets to a once in a lifetime horror screening and a girlfriend who swore on her Saint Laurent collection that she’d wear a dress with a slit so high it’d make your nosebleed?”

He pauses. “I… did not.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

Matt sits back.

Maya glances up from her phone at the exact wrong moment, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. She tilts her head like she’s trying to catch your eye, checking in, but you’re already looking away, arms crossed, fingers drumming tight against your elbow.

She sighs. Loudly. Then turns back to the group. “Okay, if we’re tossing out anyone with a criminal record or a secret second family, we’re down to, like, four viable leads. This is a mess.”

Tyler says, “I’m putting the narrowed list in the doc now.”

Quinn mumbles, “Can we manifest Andrew Garfield… oh or Anthony Mackie? We helped him by getting rid of that deliriously boring ending to Alphabet City? Maybe he would want to help us?”

And you sit there, jaw clenched, wondering which will happen first: Maya noticing that you’re barely breathing around her, or you finally snapping and telling everyone in this room to go to hell.

Spoiler: it’s going to be the second one.

The door creaks open and Matt’s assistant, that poor trembling twenty-something with crazy eyes and a name you never remember, steps in balancing four greasy brown takeout bags and a drink tray.

“Okay,” she says, voice chipper and doomed. “Dinner run! Um, I’ve got three poké bowls, one salad with no croutons, and one… bacon cheeseburger?”

Everyone barely glances up. Except you.

You sit up straighter. “I didn’t order a bacon cheeseburger.”

The assistant blinks. “You didn’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I ordered the spicy miso ramen. With soft-boiled egg and scallions. And the kombu broth, not tonkotsu. It was very specific.”

“Oh,” she says. “Okay. Right. Um. Yeah, I think they forgot to include that one and I had to sub something in and I thought this would be—”

“It’s not,” you interrupt.

The entire room stills.

Matt chuckles, that awkward little I want us all to have fun chuckle. “Hey, it’s food though, right? Fuel for the chaos. That burger probably tastes great if you close your eyes.”

You swivel your head toward him so slowly it’s cinematic.

“Matt,” you say, ice in your voice, “if you say one more thing about this situation being ‘fun’ or ‘quirky’ or anything short of catastrophic, I’m going to take this burger, hurl it through the window, and then I’m going to go home and personally leak to Deadline that you’re considering Armie Hammer for the lead.”

Sal blanches. “Okay, wow. Vivid.”

Tyler is silently typing faster. Quinn has frozen mid-sip. Maya, who had just stepped away to take another call, turns back at the sound of your voice and clocks your expression instantly.

The assistant holds out the bag to you, hands trembling.

You don’t take it.

“Put it down,” you mutter. “And tell them next time, if they can’t handle reading a four-item order, they shouldn’t be in delivery.”

The assistant nods like she’s just been saved from the gallows, barely, and vanishes.

Matt tries again, brave little idiot that he is. “Hey, look, I know tonight sucks, but we’re gonna fix this. We always do.”

You stare at the burger. It’s oozing melted cheese you didn’t ask for onto a paper napkin. Your stomach growls in betrayal.

“I don’t need reassurance,” you say, eyes still on the food. “I need someone to give a shit that this night mattered to me.”

Matt, for once, says nothing.

Maya watches you carefully, lips slightly parted like she wants to say something but knows better than to try right now.

Good.

Because if she tries to talk to you with that soft voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to calm you down ‘baby, come on, it’s not that deep’ you’re going to lose it.

You exhale slowly, blinking down at the offending burger like it personally insulted your family line.

Then you push your chair back, the screech loud and final, and stand.

“I’m going to smoke,” you say.

Across the room, Quinn lifts her head from the couch where she’s now fully horizontal, half a Red Bull can balanced on her chest. “Didn’t you quit?”

You meet her gaze, deadpan. “Yes. I did.”

The room is quiet as you grab your coat off the back of your chair. Not a single person tries to stop you, not Matt, not Sal, not Tyler who definitely pretends to type but is secretly tracking the emotional temperature in the room like it’s a goddamn hurricane warning system.

Maya watches you like she’s deciding whether to follow or give you space. You don’t even look at her as you leave.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And then it’s just the hallway, dim, echoing, empty. You fish through your bag for the emergency pack you swore you threw out three months ago. The lighter’s tucked in your inner coat pocket, because you always keep one on you. Just in case. For moments like this.

Moments where your girlfriend forgets the thing you’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Moments where everyone around you thinks you’re just a work machine who doesn’t need a night off, doesn’t deserve softness or spooky vintage horror or god forbid a meal that tastes like something other than cardboard and stress.

You step out onto the rooftop access balcony, light up, and take a long, furious drag.

The city below sparkles like it doesn’t care you’re having the worst night of your life.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

And you know it’s her.

You don’t turn when you hear the door open. Just flick the ash off the end of your cigarette and keep your eyes on the skyline, all glittering buildings and smog-hazed moonlight. The kind of view people would die for.

You’d trade it for a decent bowl of ramen and thirty uninterrupted minutes in a dark cinema with Maya’s hand in yours.

Her footsteps are soft behind you. Rubber soles on concrete. She’s not in heels today, she never is when shit hits the fan. Maya in crisis mode means sneakers, slicked-back hair, oversized streetwear that still somehow screams money.

“Hey,” she says, soft and casual, leaning against the wall beside you. Not too close. Not yet. “I was wondering where you snuck off to.”

You exhale a slow stream of smoke. “I said I was going to smoke.”

“Yeah, but like… dramatically,” she says with a small grin. “You’ve got that whole ‘tragic noir widow who poisoned her husband’ vibe going.”

You don’t laugh.

Maya shifts her weight, biting at the edge of her thumb. “Okay. So. You’re pissed.”

“Nope,” you reply coolly, eyes still forward. “I’m disappointed. Different thing.”

“Baby…”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, tough, because we are doing this right now. I’m not going back in there to listen to Matt talk about how maybe Timothée Chalamet has ‘genre potential’ without fixing this first.”

You roll your eyes.

She steps closer. “I know I ruined tonight.”

“Do you?”

Maya pauses.

You finally turn your head, flicking the last of your cigarette over the railing. “You promised me, Maya. You said dinner and Black Sabbath. You said you cleared your schedule. I wore my stupid little dress and you—”

“I know.” She sounds guilty now. Not soft. Not smug. Just tired.

“I wanted to go,” she says. “I did. But when this shit hit the fan, I had to—”

“No,” you interrupt. “You chose to. And that’s fine, Maya. That’s your job. I get it. I’m not mad you’re good at your job. I’m mad that I didn’t even register to you tonight.”

Silence.

The only sound is the faint hum of traffic below and your own heart, pounding like it’s trying to crack your ribs.

Maya steps in, finally closing the space between you. Her hand hovers at your wrist.

“You always register,” she says, quiet now. “You’re the only thing that registers. Even when I’m on the phone with Gary the lying agent and Quinn’s comparing headshots like she’s swiping Tinder for psychopaths… I’m still thinking about how pissed you are. About how I let you down. I know I did.”

You stare at her.

“And I’ll make it up to you,” she adds, more confidently now. “I’ll find another screening. Or I’ll buy out the fucking New Beverly and force them to show it again. Just us. You can wear your little dress and I’ll wear heels and lipstick and no bra. I’ll make it right.”

Your mouth twitches. “You’re such a manipulative bitch,” you murmur.

She grins. “Takes one to love one.”

And finally you let her reach for you, her hands settling at your hips, her body warm and familiar against yours as the city glows below and the disaster inside fades, for just a second, into something survivable.

Maya’s hands slip around your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips like she’s trying to anchor you. You hate how good it feels. How easy it is to melt into her, even when you’re mad. Especially when you’re mad.

“Still want to be mad at me?” she murmurs, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw.

You huff. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she says, dipping her head lower, mouthing at your neck. “Want to do it while I’m kissing you?”

You don’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, you grab her collar and pull her in hard, kissing her like you mean to punish her for every moment she made you feel invisible tonight. It’s angry, all teeth and open mouths and smudged lipstick. Her rings dig into your back as she pushes you gently against the wall, one leg between yours, her tongue slipping past your lips like she owns you. (She does. You hate it… you love it really.)

Your fingers tangle in the back of her shirt. Her hand cups your jaw, possessive and greedy, like she’d crawl inside you if you let her.

You’re still furious.

But you’re also starving for her, for closeness, for the night that got stolen from you.

She kisses you like she’s trying to give it back.

You’re breathless when you finally pull away, her forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting like you’ve just run a mile.

You blink up at her. Then pout. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I have nothing to eat.”

Maya sighs dramatically, hand still on your waist. “Okay. Do you want me to go downstairs, threaten that assistant into running to Little Dom’s, and bring you back a real meal while I blackball every poké place in LA?”

You pause, considering it. “…Yes.”

She kisses your nose, grinning. “That’s my terrifying little goblin.”

You swat her ass as she turns to leave.

She blows you a kiss over her shoulder. “Stay mad. I’m gonna fix it.”

And for the first time all night, you believe her.

When you walk back into the conference room, it’s like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing.

Quinn raises one eyebrow but wisely says nothing. Matt offers you a sheepish chip. You ignore him. Tyler avoids eye contact like you’re a wild animal that bites.

And Maya? She’s back at the head of the table, arms crossed, glaring at a printout of an actor’s IMDB credits like she can will charisma into his face. The moment she sees you, her expression softens just enough for you to catch it.

Without a word, you cross the room, slide into her chair, and settle into her lap like it’s your rightful throne.

She doesn’t blink. Just wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, her fingers tracing circles at your hip like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re not both high-ranking executives in a Hollywood studio actively clinging to each other in the middle of a very serious emergency meeting.

You grab the stack of casting options Quinn’s compiled and start flipping through them, sharp-eyed and fully engaged for the first time tonight.

Maya’s chin rests on your shoulder. “Do we like him?” she murmurs, nodding at a headshot.

You snort. “He looks like the kind of guy who’d get cast in a remake of something and say in the press tour that he’s ‘not really a horror fan.’”

Maya hums. “Death penalty.”

Matt clears his throat. “Are we just… are we doing this? Like, are you… are you just sitting—”

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” Quinn says without looking up.

Sal mutters something about needing therapy.

You sigh, flipping another page. “Okay. We need someone with heat, with depth, and with a name that won’t make Variety think we’ve lost the plot. Who actually wants to do genre. Not prestige posturing. Not some Marvel rebound gig.”

Maya squeezes your waist proudly. “She’s back, baby.”

You glance at her. “Don’t push it.”

She bites back a grin.

And just like that, the meeting resets. The energy shifts. You’re still hungry. Still annoyed. But you’ve got Maya’s warmth beneath you, your hand sorting through the chaos like you’re building an altar out of headshots and spite. It’s not the night you wanted. But it’s yours.

It’s a full-on war room now.

Papers litter the table like battlefield debris. Someone’s ordered more coffee. Quinn’s abandoned the floor and is pacing in socks, muttering actor names like she’s summoning demons. Matt has one AirPod in and two phones on speaker. Tyler’s got six windows open on his laptop and keeps saying things like, “If we shift the press embargo window to Thursday, we could still meet the media lead-in without violating the NDA.” Sal’s in the corner on the phone with someone, you don’t know who, and frankly, you don’t want to know.

And you?

You’re still on Maya’s lap, her arms looped lazily around your waist as the two of you scroll IMDb Pro like it owes you money.

“We’re running out of options,” she mutters, chin on your shoulder.

“No,” you say, flipping through headshots. “We’re running out of good options. We’ve got plenty of bad ones left.”

You scroll past a mid-tier heartthrob and grimace. “He thinks ‘The Babadook’ is a slur.”

Maya snorts.

You feel the vibration of her phone before you hear the ding. She shifts under you, grabbing it from the table, scrolling a few beats, then—

“Wait,” she says, and her voice changes. It sharpens.

You lean back slightly to see the screen.

A photo. A name.

You blink. “Him?”

“He’s free,” she says. “Just left that three-film deal with Netflix, so he’s loose. And he wants awards again. Said it in his GQ interview last month.”

“He hasn’t done a thriller since that Swedish noir remake thing,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Her eyes are gleaming. “He’s overdue. He wants something gritty, something sexy and smart. We give him this, with you as exec producer, me running the campaign, he eats. He feasts.”

You glance at the name again. A-list. Oscar nominee. Under 40. Still hot enough that the trades would sell it as a comeback. Your gut twists.

“That’s a real star,” you say quietly.

Maya grins. “Then let’s fucking go.”

~ Twenty minutes later ~

The room is silent. Breathless. Tyler’s phone is on speaker.

A female voice says clearly: “He’s in. He loves the script. He’s asking for a quick polish on act three, but he’s in if you’re in.”

Tyler mouths ‘holy shit’.

You and Maya look at each other. She’s grinning like a woman who just closed a million-dollar deal. Because she did.

“Tell him we’ll have a new draft by Monday,” Maya says. “And that we’ll build the whole campaign around him. Fall festivals. Viral drops. Let him play serious again. Full resurrection treatment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice says.

The call ends.

The room explodes.

Quinn is dancing around the table, chanting, “WE DID IT! WE FUCKING DID IT!” while holding her Red Bull like a trophy. Tyler’s fully teared up, muttering something about “professional peak” as he rapid-types a new press release draft. Matt’s hugging people he normally avoids. Sal opens his personal stash of whiskey from the bottom cabinet man’s behind to gulp it down in celebration.

And you, you’re just sitting there, dazed, still on Maya’s lap, the adrenaline hitting you in waves as you both watch your team lose their minds in the best way. You feel her hand stroke your back, grounding you.

You turn and face her, and her smile softens.

You’re both exhausted. You’re both glowing.

You kiss her.

Right there in front of everyone, without thinking, just full-on lips crashing together, the kind of kiss that says we did it, that says I love you, that says we’re a fucking empire, you and me.

She kisses you back with a little groan like she’s been dying for it all night.

When you pull away, she tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Fuck me I’m good.”

You smirk. “Baby you know I’m the bottom here.”

She rolls her eyes, but you feel her squeeze your thigh under the table.

Someone cranks music, something loud and celebratory and wildly inappropriate for a work setting, and suddenly Quinn’s tossing around casting sheets like confetti, Tyler’s laughing, and Matt’s on his second glass of Dom Perignon.

Then…

“I’m just saying,” Sal calls over the chaos, already tipsy, “I’m so glad Maya and Matt aren’t fucking anymore because a fucking win like this would’ve ended in one of those weird celebratory makeouts with, like, tongue and teeth and that whole… thing.”

Record scratch.

Everything stops.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. The music is still playing but it sounds underwater now. Distant. Wrong. Because your body just froze around one word: fucking.

Your brain does the math. And the math is bad.

You were not aware that Maya and Matt had ever…

Your gaze snaps to her before you can stop yourself.

And Maya? She’s pale. Like someone just slapped her across the face. Her arms loosen around you just slightly. Like she wants to speak but can’t figure out which version of the truth to start with.

Maya stiffens beneath you. “Sal.”

“What?” Sal blinks, clearly not reading the room. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing not to end a big win with that weird forehead-touching, neck-biting, sweaty thing you two used to do. Like, get a room—”

“SAL.” Maya snaps.

Matt chuckles, a little too defensively. “Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn says from the couch, voice deadpan but gleeful. “Wait. Wait. You and Matt actually—”

You slide off Maya’s lap slowly. Mechanically.

No one speaks.

Not even Sal, who finally realizes far too late that he just opened a black hole in the center of the room.

You look at Maya, but this time, you don’t see her in her triumph, or her glory, or the way she kissed you like she’d won a million dollars. You see someone who never told you something big. You see a betrayal you didn’t even know you had to look for. And Maya? She looks like she’d give anything to take the moment back.

“No no no no no,” you say, waving your hand like you can physically clear the words from the air. “This isn’t real. Tell me this isn’t real.”

Matt’s hands go up, palms-out. “Hey, okay, it was a long time ago! Pre-pandemic! Practically a different era. We were hot!”

“No you weren’t,” Tyler mutters.

“Thank you,” Sal says.

“I mean, I didn’t think it was important,” Matt tries, shrugging. “We’re adults. It’s ancient history.”

You round on Maya, who looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

“You fucked Matt?” you whisper. “Matt? My boss?”

Maya’s hands go up in surrender. “I swear to god, it was barely a thing. Like three times. Maybe four and some make outs—”

“Four?!”

“And we agreed it was a mistake! That it was weird and a boundary issue and we were never doing it again!”

“Oh my god,” you say, stepping back. Your face is hot. Your ears are ringing. You genuinely think you might pass out.

Maya stands, panic rising in her voice. “It was before you, okay? It didn’t mean anything—”

“It means something now!” you snap. “You’ve been in meetings with him, pitching with him, touching me in front of him, and never thought maybe, just maybe, I should know this?!”

“Babe,” she says, pleading. “It wasn’t—”

But you’re already walking. Past Quinn, who mouths holy shit. Past Tyler, who looks like he’s about to throw up. Past Matt, who mutters, “I mean, it wasn’t bad,” and Maya, who yells, “Matt, shut the fuck up!”

You don’t look back. Not even when Maya calls your name, urgent and anxious behind you. Because if you do, you’ll cry. And you won’t give her that. Not in front of all of them.

You don’t make it to the elevator.

You barely make it past the hall.

You stumble into the nearest quiet corridor off the main floor, press your back to the wall, and slide down until you’re crouched in the shadows beside the fire extinguisher, hidden from the party you used to be part of ten minutes ago.

Your hands are shaking.

Not in a poetic, trembling-lip way, no you’re shaking like your body’s short-circuiting. You can’t get a full breath in, like your lungs are folding in on themselves. Your fingers fumble for your phone, but it slips once before you catch it again, screen lighting up far too bright in the dark.

You open the Uber app.

It takes three tries to type your address.

You don’t even look at the price. You hit Confirm pickup, then curl your arms around your knees like you’re holding yourself together with sheer force of will.

A car in six minutes.

Six minutes, and you can be out of here. Away from the conference room. Away from the memory of Maya’s arms around you while she neglected to mention her little HR-certified hookup history with your literal boss.

Away from Quinn’s face going no fucking way, from Sal being… well, Sal, from Matt trying to laugh it off like you’re all just characters in one of his shitty improv sketches.

You stare at the blinking dot on your phone.

It says your driver is named Eli.

You’re going to climb into Eli’s Honda and pretend you’re not the idiot whose girlfriend used to fuck the head of the studio you work for.

You wipe at your eyes angrily. No tears. Not yet.

You’ve got to get home, take off your makeup, wash this night off your body like it didn’t happen. Get three hours of sleep, if that. And then come back here tomorrow to the same office, the same glass-walled rooms, and the same people who all know exactly how humiliated you were.

You’ll have to walk into that conference room and look Matt in the face. And worse you’ll have to look at her.

You grip your phone tighter. Try not to scream.

Four minutes now.

Just four more minutes.

You close your eyes.

You do not fall apart in the hallway.

Not yet.

Back in the conference room, the mood has absolutely tanked.

The music’s still playing, some obnoxious party track with a synth drop no one asked for, but now it just feels cruel. Tyler quietly lowers the volume without asking.

Maya’s standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. She hasn’t said a word since you left.

Then she lets go. “Okay. What the fuck was that?!”

Everyone freezes.

Sal, still halfway through pouring another whiskey: “That was not on me.”

“Really?” Maya snaps, eyes blazing. “Because you’re the one who decided to resurrect the ancient, cursed Matt-and-Maya-era like it was relevant.”

Sal shrugs. “Didn’t realize it was classified.”

“Oh my god,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Do you just say things to hear yourself speak or was tonight special?”

Quinn’s still staring like she just watched a plane crash. “You two actually had sex?”

Maya paces now, agitated, unspooling in front of them. “I didn’t tell her because it didn’t matter. It was a blip. It was so long ago, and it was awkward and messy and I thought… it just never came up, okay?!”

Matt nods too fast. “Yeah. And I supported that! I supported not bringing it up! Because I thought it would be weird to tell her!”

“We were stupid. It was sloppy!” Maya barks. “It was during the Blue Fox merger, I had bronchitis and a PR embargo hanging over my head!”

“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers. “Was there tongue?”

Maya throws her hands up. “Yes, okay?! There was tongue. There was stress. There was bad lighting. It was a low point for everyone involved.”

Matt winces. “Okay that’s kinda harsh, I think it was kind of beautiful…”

“Matt,” Sal says, “shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Quinn mutters, more to herself than anyone.

Maya turns, sharp. “Why would I?! So she could, what? Laugh? Pity me? Set fire to her retinas with the image of me and him in a West Hollywood bar bathroom while Luther Vandross played in the background?”

Quinn blinks. “…it was to Luther Vandross?”

“Of course it was Luther Vandross! I have taste, Quinn!”

The room falls quiet again.

Maya deflates a little. She’s still furious. Still too raw to know what to do with herself. “I didn’t tell her,” she says, quieter now. “Because it was nothing. It was a blip. It was before. Before her. Before I even knew what it felt like to want to come home to someone.”

“She looked at me like I was someone else,” she says quietly. “Like I’d lied about everything. Like I’d humiliated her.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sal says, uncharacteristically soft.

That’s what makes Maya go still.

Sal shrugs. “I’m just saying. If I found out my girlfriend used to bone the guy who signs her paycheck, and she didn’t tell me? I’d be halfway to my dealers for medical grade coke by now.”

“Well it’s not technically me who signs them.. that would be Lucille from accounting…” Matt interjects

Maya’s jaw clenches. “Not helpful Matt.”

~

You slam the door behind you.

Hard.

The keys hit the floor. Your bag drops somewhere near the entryway. You don’t even bother turning the lights on, you just march straight into the kitchen like a storm in heels, throw the fridge open, and stare inside like something in there’s going to fix this. Spoiler: there’s nothing but a bottle of white wine, a leftover oat latte, and a Tupperware of pad thai that’s three days past edible.

You grab the wine. Twist the cap off with shaking fingers and drink straight from the bottle.

The second the first gulp hits your throat, you pace back and forth, back and forth, bare feet slapping hardwood like you’re wearing a hole into the foundation.

“Matt,” you hiss, to no one. “Matt fucking Remnick?”

You laugh. It’s ugly. “Of course. Of fucking course.”

You fling yourself down on the couch and dig your nails into the throw pillow like it personally betrayed you.

So let’s just tally it up, right?

The guy who pays you, the guy who nods along during your pitch meetings like he’s just smart enough to track the plot but not smart enough to understand why it works, that guy? That doughy, beige suit wearing, oat milk-drinking, workaholic dipshit?

He fucked your girlfriend.

Your Maya.

The Maya who kisses your throat when you’re reading in bed. The Maya who calls you her “creepy little horror wife” in meetings like a badge of honor. That Maya?

Fucked. Matt. Remnick.

You press your hands into your eyes. Oh, and the best part? Sal knew. Sal. Fucking Sal, who you’ve sat next to in a hundred meetings, who’s texted you bad memes at midnight, who’s thrown shade at every actor you’ve ever cast.

He knew.

How many people knew? How many people sat across from you in conference rooms, watched you and Maya flirt and smolder, and thought, Wow. Hope she told her she used to hook up with the boss?

You drag your hands down your face and make a sound that’s somewhere between a scream and a sob. You feel sick. Like the butt of a joke you didn’t know was being told.

Your phone buzzes from your bag across the room.

You don’t even look.

If it’s Maya, she can wait.

~

You wake up face-down on the couch, blanket halfway off, one leg tangled in your throw, and a wine bottle dangerously close to rolling off the coffee table.

Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry. It’s 5 a.m. and you feel like someone took your rage, poured it through a filter of grief, and blended it with three hours of half-sleep and one unfinished nightmare about Matt Remnick in a hot tub.

You groan. Sit up. Immediately regret it.

Then you see your phone.

18 texts.

4 voice notes.

1 missed call.

All from Maya.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before thumbing open the thread.

The first one hit around 12:23 a.m.

<Maya: ok so i’ve been lying in bed for two hours staring at the ceiling like the little match girl but instead of cold i’m dying of shame>

<Maya: just fyi tho the matt era was VERY short-lived and powered entirely by alcohol and bad decisions and i got bronchitis right after. draw your own conclusions.>

<Maya: I should’ve told you. I didn’t because i thought it was irrelevant and then i convinced myself it was embarrassing and then it turned into a weird shame snowball and then sal threw a grenade and now we’re here>

<Maya voice note: Hey. Um. I don’t know what I’m doing. You know I’m shit at this. I just… fuck, you looked at me like you didn’t know me and I’ve never wanted to crawl into a Bottega clutch and die more. Just… please tell me you’re okay?>

<Maya: i’m gonna go to sleep before i drive to your place in a hoodie and crocs and throw pebbles at your window like a fuckin Lana song but specifically for lesbians>

<Maya: unless that would work??>

~

Your alarm didn’t go off.

Actually, no, your alarm did go off. You just threw your phone across the room sometime around 6:30 a.m. after rereading Maya’s latest text for the fifth time and muttering “fuck off” into your pillow.

So now it’s 9:12 a.m.

And the Continental morning meeting starts at 9.

You bolt out of bed with a groan, mouth dry, head pounding, last night’s wine and rage still thick behind your eyes. You shower in record time, slap on concealer, mascara, a black turtleneck, and sunglasses that scream do not speak to me I will kill you where you stand.

No breakfast. Just coffee in a to-go cup that tastes like cardboard and regret.

Traffic’s hell. You scream once in your car just to get it out. You park like a menace, don’t even check the mirror, and stomp across the lot toward the building with your bag half open and your badge clipped to your sleeve.

When you push through the glass doors and into the marble lobby of Continental Studios, you’re ten minutes late and vibrating with fury.

Matt spots you immediately from the hallway. He’s holding a protein bar and his big dumb reusable water bottle and smiling like it’s casual Friday.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging to keep pace beside you. “You’re late for the morning slate check-in.”

You don’t even look at him. Instead you snarl, voice low and venomous, “bite me, Remnick.”

He freezes mid-step.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s fair. You’re mad. Totally valid. Just… don’t bite me in the meeting, okay? Bite Sal. He can take it.”

You don’t respond.

You just keep walking. Because the only thing worse than seeing Matt today… is knowing she’s already in the conference room.

And you have to sit through the morning meeting like none of this happened. Like your entire sense of stability didn’t just crack open in front of half the fucking team.

The door swings open.

You step inside the conference room with that perfect blend of silence and menace, black silk shirt, razor-sharp tailored blazer, sunglasses pushed up into your hair like a crown. You’ve got your coffee in one hand, your notes in the other, and the kind of expression that says I dare you.

Tyler starts the meeting like he doesn’t smell the emotional blood in the air. “Okay, so first things first—our guy’s officially confirmed, and the trades are prepped. We’re greenlit to announce end of week if we can finalize rollout assets.”

“Cool,” you say crisply, flipping open the folder. “We’re not announcing Friday.”

Everyone looks up.

Matt blinks. “We’re not?”

“No. It’s too crowded. Dune: Part Three has an early stills drop Friday morning and Searchlight’s doing an ‘Anatomy of a Fall’ deep-dive with the New Yorker that afternoon. We’ll get buried. We push to Monday and own the morning cycle.”

Maya opens her mouth to speak, and you don’t even look up. “Unless you’d like to announce our Oscar-bait thriller between a sandworm and a French woman falling down the stairs.”

Silence.

Then Quinn mutters, “God, you’re scary when you’re on.”

You still don’t look at Maya. But you feel her eyes burning into you.

Matt clears his throat. “Okay, Monday. We can make that work. Uh… Maya, what do you need for assets?”

~

The rest of the meeting trudges forward like it’s wearing lead boots.

You don’t speak unless you have to. Every sentence that comes out of your mouth is clean, clear, and lethal. Maya keeps glancing your way like she’s trying to find an opening, a soft edge, a tell, anything.

But there’s nothing.

You give her nothing.

No warmth. No flicker of forgiveness. Not even a look.

Just silence and strategy.

“If we’re shifting, talent needs their glam appointments moved up. We’ll need rep confirmation before lunch.” No snark. No emotion. Just fact.

Maya nods slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

Still, you don’t look at her.

Even Sal picks up on it now. He’s not cracking jokes. Matt fumbles through the updated calendar notes. Quinn adds a few scheduling tweaks. Tyler asks something about embargo coordination, which you answer with the kind of precision that makes Sal mouth “yikes” into his coffee.

Eventually, the meeting wraps.

Chairs scrape back. Laptops close. No one says much.

And Maya? She stands. Lingers behind her chair, one hand resting on the back of it like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. You don’t look up. You’re reviewing the press deck. You are calm. You are composed. You are the queen of horror at Continental fucking Studios. And right now? She doesn’t get to have you.

You gather your papers in silence. Neat. Controlled. No sign of the volcano beneath the surface. You slide them into your folder, close it with precision, and stand.

You don’t look at Maya. You’re halfway to the door when you hear her.

“C’mon, wait.” Her voice is low. Urgent.

You pause just enough to let the tension snap taut, but not enough to look back. “I have work to do,” you say coolly.

She scoffs. “Oh come on. You can’t get mad at me for having a past, fucking hell.”

Your spine stiffens.

“I’m nearly double your age,” she continues, stepping forward now, voice rising just slightly. “I’ve fucked people. Like, sorry? Grow up.”

That’s when you freeze.

Turn.

Your voice shakes, not with weakness, but fury. “Yeah. I’m fucking aware, Maya.”

She blinks. Like maybe she thought you wouldn’t bite back.

“But this isn’t just anyone,” you hiss, stepping closer now. “This isn’t some ex from New York or a personal assistant you ghosted after Sundance. This is my boss. This is the man who signs my paychecks. Who I have to pitch to, smile at, navigate. And you didn’t think I deserved to know that you two had history?!”

“It was barely history…” she starts

“It doesn’t matter!” you snap. “It matters to me! And you didn’t tell me because what? You thought I’d be jealous? Uncool? That I’d what, throw a tantrum? Guess what, I’m throwing one now!”

Everyone else outside the glass conference room is simultaneously edging closer and pretending not to exist. You can still feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they’re all pretending they aren’t. Sal suddenly finds the far wall very interesting. Quinn’s fake AirPods are basically a theater curtain. Matt’s holding a water bottle like he might use it as a shield.

Maya runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Look, I know I should’ve told you.”

You cut her off. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I was embarrassed, okay?” she blurts. “It was a shitty, messy mistake and I didn’t want to bring that into us. I didn’t want to give it weight. You matter. He never did,” she says, too fast now, words spiraling. “You know how this studio works. Half the people in that room have fucked each other. And yeah, I messed up not tell you, but you can’t just crucify me because I have a past you didn’t pre-approve.”

You laugh, cold and wounded. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

She sighs hard. “Then what the fuck is it about?”

“It’s about respect, Maya!”

Now you’re really in it. Eyes burning. Breath ragged.

“It’s about the fact that I was the last to know. That Sal knew. That Tyler didn’t blink. That you let me sit next to Matt in meetings like it was nothing. Like I was some clueless intern with a clipboard and not your…” You stop. Swallow. “Not someone you say you care about.”

Maya’s face crumbles for real now.

“I do care about you,” she says, stepping forward, eyes desperate. “You think I don’t? You think I haven’t been losing my fucking mind since last night? I’ve sent you like sixty texts, I drafted a notes app apology, I didn’t even put on moisturizer this morning, do you understand how deranged I am right now?”

You blink. “That’s your barometer for grief? Moisturizer?”

“It was Dr. Barbara Sturm, you psychopath!” she snaps. “That shit is eighty-five dollars a pump!”

There’s a beat.

And despite yourself you almost laugh. Instead, you just shake your head, trying to calm your own heart, your own hands, your own instinct to forgive her too fast.

She’s watching you. Chest rising and falling. Waiting for you to say something. Anything.

And the room?

The room is silent.

She’s watching you. Breathing hard. Jaw tight. But her eyes? They’re tracking every inch of you like she’s trying to memorize your silhouette before you vanish.

Then she moves.

She closes the distance with one sharp step, and before you can stop her, her hands are at your waist. Light at first. Testing.

You flinch. “Don’t.”

But she doesn’t back off. Instead, she leans in, mouth grazing your jaw, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear.

“Baby, come on,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands slide lower, fingers curling at your hips like she’s staking a claim. She presses in close, intimate, entirely inappropriate with your coworkers still very much looking through the glass conference walls into the room and brushes her lips just beneath your ear.

“You’re pissed. I get it. Be pissed,” she breathes. “Yell at me later. Call me names. Tell me I’m a stupid, emotionally constipated corporate nightmare.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

She nips lightly at your neck. “But don’t leave me.”

Her fingers tighten, sliding up under the edge of your blazer, thumbs brushing your sides, mouth now trailing lower like she can seduce the forgiveness out of you.

“I love you,” she says again, lower now, desperate. “I was a coward. I fucked up. Let me fix it. Please.”

You should push her away.

You don’t. You don’t because she knows exactly where to touch you and she’s touching you there now, hands firm on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft spot just beneath your ribs like she’s trying to hold you together before you shatter again.

And then she kisses you.

Hard. No warning. No room to think. Just mouth on yours, hot and hungry and completely insane given the fact that you are very much not alone.

Your folder hits the floor.

Maya walks you back a step, her hands tangled in your blazer, mouth moving over yours like she needs it more than breath. There’s no gentle easing into it, it’s immediate, consuming, and deep. She kisses you like she’s trying to rewrite the memory of Matt fucking Remnick out of your bloodstream.

You pull back hard, breath heaving, mouth swollen from her kiss, mascara smudged, and Maya’s staring at you like you just gave her a second chance at life.

She reaches for you again.

You stop her with a single raised eyebrow and one lethal line, “…Matt? Really?”

The room goes dead silent again.

“Matt Remnick?” you repeat, voice dripping with horror. “You were into that?”

Sal audibly snorts and pretends to choke on his drink. Quinn lets out a wheeze and turns fully to the wall like she’s entering witness protection.

Maya groans. Loud. Embarrassed. Absolutely desperate. “Oh my god,” she mutters, eyes wide as she grabs your face and kisses you again.

Hard. This time it’s needy. Almost angry.

“I’m into you,” she growls against your mouth. “I’m into this. Not him.”

You’re still breathless when she pulls back.

You look at Maya.

She’s flushed. Wrecked. Entirely yours. And completely aware she’s still on thin ice.

You smooth your blazer. Pick your folder up off the floor. And say, as calmly as if you’re discussing box office projections: “We’re still having this conversation later. Somewhere private. Somewhere where I’m less inclined to claw your eyes out and let you fuck me against a filing cabinet.”

Maya exhales shakily. “Copy that,” she whispers.

Sal gives you a little golf clap. Quinn doesn’t look up, but says, “I hope we never stop working here.”

And without a word, you turn and walk. Down the hallway. Past the open offices. Through the glass doors.

Maya follows like a shadow. You swipe your badge and push open the door to your office, stepping inside with controlled hurt still radiating off your skin.

Maya barely gets the door shut behind her before you’re on her again.

You grab her jacket lapels and slam your mouth to hers, no buildup, no words, just heat. She groans into it, hands going immediately to your waist, pulling you in like she can’t stand to be apart from you another second.

This kiss is filthier. Sloppier. More desperate. You bite her lower lip and she gasps, nails digging into your hips as you press her back against the door.

“You drive me fucking insane,” you whisper against her mouth.

“Yeah?” she pants, licking her lips. “Well you’re fucking infuriating and I love you.”

Her hands roam over your back, up your spine, under your blazer. She tugs it off your shoulders like it’s offended her.

She laughs into your neck, breath hot as she whispers, “Is this… our version of conflict resolution?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing her down into the couch with one hand on her chest.

You climb into her lap and kiss her again, harder this time, her fingers slipping under your shirt like they know exactly what kind of damage they caused and exactly how to earn forgiveness.

You grind your hips against hers and she groans, low in her throat. “You’re still mad at me.”

You pull back just enough to look her dead in the eye. “Yes I am.”

She smiles. “Liar.”

And then you’re kissing again like you want to ruin her, like she’s the only one who could ever deserve to be ruined by you. You’re breathless in her lap, lips swollen from kissing her too hard, your blazer long forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of her shirt, your eyes hot, your body humming.

You’re still upset. Still bruised with betrayal. But god, her hands feel good on you. You pull back, panting, trying to steel yourself, to glare at her.

But your voice comes out shaky. “I’m still mad,” you whisper.

Her hands slide from your waist to your thighs, spreading you just slightly over her lap. “Good.”

And then she moves.

Suddenly you’re on your back on the couch, gasping as she pins you there, her body over yours, her mouth hovering just above your throat.

She’s looking at you differently now, like she’s done pretending you’re in control.

You shiver. “Maya?”

She kisses you. Slow. Possessive. Deep enough to make your stomach flip. When she pulls back, she speaks low against your mouth. “You’re being a little brat.”

Your thighs twitch.

Her hand slips between your legs, pressing over your panties, hot, firm, and unrelenting.

“Still think you’re mad at me?”

You whimper, arching into her hand.

She grins. “Thought so.”

She pulls your underwear aside, slides her fingers over you, slick, slow, maddening. You gasp, hips twitching. Her mouth is at your neck now, sucking lightly, just enough to make you writhe.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, smug. “Say you need me.”

You shake your head, breath trembling. “No.”

She presses two fingers in, deep and smooth, and you whine.

“Say it.”

You grip her shoulders like you might fall through the floor.

“I need you,” you breathe. “I need you, I need… fuck—”

“Good girl,” she says softly.

And then she fucks you. Harder now, fingers working you open, her body flush against yours, her mouth at your ear whispering things that make you gasp her name like a prayer.

“You gonna be good for me now?” she whispers.

“Yes! Yes, I promise… please don’t stop…”

You’re shaking beneath her, legs spreading wider, body losing every ounce of control you fought to hold. She’s everywhere, her voice, her hands, her breath, her mouth, and she doesn’t let up until you’re begging.

You come with a sharp cry, arching into her, body going taut, her name spilling from your lips like you were made for her.

She holds you through it, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back, whispering, “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

When the shaking slows, you cling to her, flushed and fucked-out, heart pounding. You nuzzle into her neck, voice tiny. “I’m not mad.”

She smiles against your hair. “I know.”

The room is quiet now.

Your body is warm and shaking gently, curled half on top of Maya on the couch. Her shirt is unbuttoned, your blouse’s somewhere on the floor, and your legs are tangled like you never plan on moving again.

She’s holding you. One hand stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades. The other resting lazily on your thigh, grounding you.

You’re breathing against her chest, face buried in the crook of her neck, eyelids fluttering. Safe. Fuzzy. Boneless.

Maya kisses your hair. “You alive down there?” she whispers.

You nod, slow. Muffled. “Mhm.”

She smiles, running her fingers through your hair now, kissing your temple.

You nuzzle closer, arms tightening around her waist.

Then, softly, voice quiet and thick with exhaustion, you apologise. “Sorry I was so dramatic.”

She blinks. Pulls back just enough to look at you. “Babe.”

You shrug against her. “I know I was bratting out. I just…” You sigh. “It’s Matt.”

There’s a beat.

Then Maya snorts.

You lift your head to glare at her, but she’s already laughing quietly, shakily, that signature Maya Mason chuckle that sounds like she can’t believe her life.

“I know it’s Matt,” she wheezes. “Believe me. I have to live with that fact every day.”

You flop your head back onto her chest. “God. Well I guess that’s punishment enough.”

Her arms tighten around you, still laughing as she presses kisses into your hair.

“You’re insane,” you murmur.

“I love you,” she says instantly.

You’re quiet for a moment. Then you whisper, “I love you too.”

She stills. Then lets out a soft little exhale, like the air just came back into her body.

You both lie there like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Outside your office, the day goes on. Inside? It’s just you and her.

[currrentfixations]

the cut that always bleeds 2 — park hu-min

pairing: park hu-min (baku) x gohyuntaksister!reader

genre: just fluff tbh, they deserved a happy ending.

word count: 2.1k words

note: friendship?? they love each other, your honour. also thank you so much for all the love on my first fic it means a lot 😭🫶, hope you guys enjoy this one as well!

part 1!

masterlist!

you were woken from your slumber by your phone buzzing next to you.

hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ flashing on your phone screen, before the screen went black again.

you had fallen asleep slumped against the door. your eyes swollen from crying, and your body stiff and sore from the rigid position it had been frozen in for the last couple hours. slowly getting up, you reached for your phone.

your head was throbbing, like someone had struck it with a hammer. tapping your phone, you checked the time. 11pm — you had been out for almost 2 hours. under the time, you noticed all notifications you had missed.

4 missed calls from hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ 1 voicemail from hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ 6 messages from hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ 2 messages from seo jun-tae 🙇‍♂️

nothing from hu-min. you never deleted his number. the last time you messaged him was the day of hyun-tak's accident, wondering if he'd seen or heard from hyun-tak. he never replied.

pushing the thoughts about hu-min aside, you opened up jun-tae's messages first.

seo jun-tae 🙇‍♂️ [9:42pm]: hey, it's jun-tae! seo jun-tae 🙇‍♂️ [9:43pm]: hyun-tak was worried bc you're not answering, call me or him when you get this 😊 delivered — read at 11:03pm

you loved jun-tae — he was a recent addition to your brothers friend group. he was absolutely adorable, and had won you over with his polite and respectful nature. tapping on his contact, you hit the call button. the phone rang 6 times before it went into voicemail.

with no response from jun-tae, you decided to check your brothers messages.

hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [9:17pm]: hey idiot hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [9:18pm]: sorry i haven't messaged or called, just got caught up with friends hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [9:18pm]: call me when you get this hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [9:36pm]: hey don't purposely ignore me hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [9:36pm]: i know for a fact you're stuck to your phone 24/7 hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ [10:59pm]: ok did something happen, call me when you get this delivered — read at 11:06pm

wow only 6 messages, that was a new record for hyun-tak. better than the time he had messaged you a single word at a time causing your inbox to inflate with 248 messages. you clicked on his contact, checking what time you had missed his calls.

hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ — 2 missed calls at 9:20pm hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ — missed call at 9:38pm hyun-takie ⛹️‍♂️ — missed call at 11:00pm

you giggled, it was just like him to call you 2 minutes after messaging because you didn't immediately answer. tapping on the voicemail, you gave it a listen.

"hey baby sis, are you okay? i'm worried that little miss glued to her phone isn't answering. anyways whenever you get this, call me back. also don't be mad, i'm at the hospital."

were you really related? your brother was a dumbass. instead of assuming you were asleep, the first thing he thinks is that something is wrong.

wait. hospital. what?

you shot up, panic flooding in. running into your room, you grabbed a small bag, shoving your phone, wallet, keys and headphones inside.

running back out to the entrance, you forced shoes onto your feet. as soon as your shoes were on, you sprinted outside to grab a taxi. the drive to the hospital felt endless. you were beyond scared, imagining all different types of scenarios.

thanking the taxi driver, you rushed inside the hospital and upon entering you heard hyun-tak's voice.

"man, you crybaby. did you cry again?"

and hu-min's voice.

"i didn't."

"si-eun, don't worry he cries all the time." — "i didn't cry, jerk."

hyun-tak sounded completely fine. speeding up a little, you reached the group of boys. seeing hyun-tak with no injuries, you wrapped your hands around him, a sense of relief washing over you. he's okay — your brother was okay.

wait, you were supposed to be angry.

pulling out of his grip, you smacked hyun-tak on the shoulder. "owww, what the hell was that for?" he whined.

"what the hell was that for!?" you said, your eyes bulging. you smacked him again.

"you're an asshole, do you know how worried i was? why on earth would you end the voicemail with 'i'm in the hospital' when you're perfectly fine! you scared me!".

you wanted to smack him more but your body betrayed you, wrapping your arms around him once more.

"i'm sorryyyy —" hyun-tak said, smiling and gently patting your head. "the voicemail ended before i could say anything else. i was going to include that i was in the hospital to see si-eun".

"i'll deal with you at home." you huffed, pulling away from him. forcing a smile, you turned around.

"hi jun-tae, long time no see!" you said to the boy who stood to the right of you, giving him a side-hug.

"hi si-eun, i hope you're okay. nothing serious right?" you asked, giving him a polite wave. si-eun wasn't much of a hugger or talker, especially with those he didn't know well. but he knew he could trust you, you were like a mini hyun-tak.

"i'm okay, just a minor accident. only a few scratches here and there" si-eun replied, smiling softly.

"i'm glad" you responded, mirroring si-eun's smile.

"hey ___". you were surprised hu-min was talking to you, considering he hadn't acknowledged what you had said to him while he was leaving.

you almost didn't want to respond to him, but feeling the eyes of your brother and his friends on you, you settled for a simple 'hi'.

you stared at hu-min in silence, waiting for him to say something. but instead juntae cleared his throat, "i'm going to drop si-eun back to his room. let's go si-eun." — "i'm gonna go with them" hyun-tak added.

they hadn't left because they weren't uncomfortable. they'd left to make you feel comfortable, to give you the privacy you needed. hyun-tak had told them about your past with hu-min, how you had been harbouring feelings for each other, both afraid to do anything about said feelings. how his accident was the tipping point for you.

watching their silhouettes disappear, you felt a hand grab your wrist. you looked up at hu-min with a confusion expression that translated to 'what are you doing?'.

holding onto you, hu-min led you outside. the cold wind hitting your face as you exited the hospital. "what do you think you're doing?" you asked him. "i need to talk to you. sit." you slowly lowered yourself onto the wooden bench.

the frosty air settled on your skin making you realise that you'd forgotten a jacket. out of the corner of your eye, you saw hu-min removing his hoodie and before you could refuse, it is in front of your face.

"i'm fine, it's fine."

"just take it, you're shivering like crazy" he exhaled, placing the zip-up over your shoulders. you, unconsciously, pulled his hoodie closer to you, feeling his lingering warmth in the fabric.

"what did you wanna talk about hu-min?" the cold weather was making you impatient causing the words coming out sharper than intended.

taking a deep breath, hu-min gathered his courage. fighting with other boys, easy. talking to the girl he likes, no thanks. he'd rather fight a 100 boys than feel the emotions he was feeling right now, ever again.

"your brother forgave me, why can't you?" he whispered. he was right. hyun-tak had forgiven hu-min — technically he had never blamed hu-min to begin with. so what about you, what was holding you back for forgiving him?

a heavy silence settled between you. "nevermind... forget i said anything, i'm sorry". hu-min was getting restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing.

"no... you're right, i'm sorry hu-min." you've gotten this far, now it was time to just rip the bandaid off.

tapping the space next to you, you silently invited hu-min to come sit down. he had been standing the entire time, worried that being too close would make you uncomfortable.

"i'm not angry at you —" you spoke slowly, trying to keep your voice steady. "i mean i was angry, initially i did blame you for what happened to hyun-tak. all i could think was, had he not been friends with you, he won't have gone through what he did".

taking a deep breath, you continued explaining how during the first two months of hyun-tak's recovery you were so so angry at him and how by month four, it had become tiring.

not only did you not want to hate the boy you love, you'd realised you were incapable of it.

"soon after, hyun-tak had picked up on the fact that i wasn't speaking to you. and you know what he said to me?" you let out a quiet laugh. "don't hate hu-min too much, the guy is a bit of a dummy. just go talk to him". what you had tried so hard to hide, your brother had picked up on in seconds.

after hearing those words from your brother, you realised that the anger and resentment you had held towards hu-min for being the "cause" of hyun-tak's accident had dissipated. and the real cause was something else altogether.

"the reason i've been upset with you is something else. did you think i was angry because of what happened all this time?"

"yeah..." — "well do you get why i was actually upset?" hu-min shook his head 'no'. you were starting to believe that he did, in fact, have a 99iq.

"hu-min!" you slightly raised your voice, slapping his shoulder. "can you please explain to me why you were actually upset with me?" he asked, with the most innocent look on his face. "are you serious?" was he trying to tease you?

"i was upset because you didn't reach out to me. after i walked past you in the hospital you didn't try to contact me. not once." you sighed, taking a breath to prevent tears from welling up in your eyes.

"i felt abandoned. i thought i meant more-" hu-min pulled you into a hug before you could finish. 'i'm sorry' he repeatedly whispered, like a mantra, his voice full of regret. you pressed your lips together, trying your best to not cry, but it was too late. tears had began to slide down your face, dampening hu-min's shoulder.

"hey, you're making me look bad, why are you apologising? i'm the one who is sorry hu-min, it was wrong of me." you spoke, your voice muffled.

"ialsomayhavebeenupsetbecauseyoudidn'tfeelthesamewayaboutme" you quickly murmured under your breath, praying he hadn't caught onto what you said.

but he had. hu-min pulled back just enough so he could see you, his eyes softening at the sight of your slightly puffy eyes. "oh dear, my poor baby —" he said in a teasing tone, wiping the remnants of your tears. " ___, do you have 99iq or do i? i think we both do."

"i like you".

"i like you so much. my every waking thought is about you. hell, even my dreams are about you." you were speechless, your brain was short-circuiting. "i was worried that baek-jin would go after you so i thought the easiest and safest thing to do was to stay away. i'm sorry i should've told you."

"please say something."

without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around hu-min.

"i like you too, god we're both idiots." you laughed, with a final few tears making their appearance. hu-min hugged you tighter — "guess we are" he mumbled, laughing softly.

"c'mon lets go inside". standing up, you laced your fingers through his. "give me a minute, you head in first" he replied.

you nodded and made your way towards the hospital entrance. realising there was one important thing you forgot to tell him, you turned back around.

"hey baku" you yelled with a grin on your face, "you know you're not alone right, you have me, hyun-tak, jun-tae, and si-eun. try not to hold the burden all on your own, i don't want my future boyfriend to get squashed. now hurry up and come inside".

hu-min hadn't realised how much he yearned to hear that nickname from you. and for the first time in a while, hu-min smiled. not a polite one to show everyone he was okay when he wasn't, but a genuine one.

turning back around, you headed inside. you felt happy, happier than you have been in the past year. even though there was still the whole union mess to clean up and even though you technically weren't dating yet, you were happy. you didn't mind waiting for hu-min for a little while, not when he had waited for you.

for @bloodysxxl who wanted a second part 🫶

and as always lmk your thoughts!! :)

[ilovekkarnolds]

“The First Real Argument”

USC Juju Watkins x Black Fem!Reader

Description: You and Juju argue for real. You leave, she waits. No apologies, just her pulling you close when you get back.

8:55pm Late Night — Your Apartment

You already feel yourself getting irritated. The vibe been off since she walked in the door.

Juju toss her keys on the counter like usual, kicks off her slides, and starts scrolling her phone like you not sitting right there.

You tryna play it cool but your attitude bubbling already.

“So you wasn’t gon’ text me back the whole time you was out?” You say with a tight tone

Juju (not looking up):

“Bro, I was with my teammates. You know how it get when we out.”

You:

“Ion care who you was with. It don’t take nothin’ to send a text.”

She pauses. Looks up slow.

Juju:

“You deadass right now? You know how many times you ignore me when you out with yo friends?”

Now you pissed.

You:

“Don’t flip this on me. I don’t disappear for hours then come back like nothing happened.”

“Here you go.” juju says sarcastically, while laughing

“Yeah. Here I go. Every time I bring up how I feel, it’s ‘here I go’. Like I’m crazy for caring.” you say snapping back.

Juju sucks her teeth, tosses her phone on the couch.

Juju:

“Nah. You act like I’m out here bein’ grimy. Meanwhile, I’m at a damn team dinner tryna eat wings and mind my business.”

You:

“Mind your business but can’t mind your girl.”

Her jaw clenches. Yours do too.

Now both of y’all standing there staring each other down, breathing hard, neither one wanting to back down first.

She runs her hands over her face like she trying to calm herself.

“Man, I ain’t finna argue with you about this. I’m tired.” Juju says in a low tone

“Yeah well… I’m tired too.” you say in a mocking tone.

You grab your hoodie off the chair and start slipping on your slides.

Juju:

“Where you goin’?”

You:

“Out.”

Juju :

“For what?! You mad now but you gon’ be back like always.”

You freeze for a second. That cut a little deeper than you expected.

You open the door anyway and leave.

9:35pm—Juju pacing the apartment after you leave

She standing at the window now, hands on her hips, biting her lip.

Checking your location on Snap, exiting out, going back to it again.

Mad at you… mad at herself… mad at the whole situation.

9:47pm Outside — You just walking

Hood on, music blasting in your headphones, trying not to overthink.

You texting Your big sister Nia like,

This girl getting on my last nerve. I swear.”

Nia replies:

“Don’t stay out too long. You know she gon’ be pacing like somebody mama.”

You laugh a little but don’t reply.

10:17pm—Back at the Apartment

You come back, expecting Juju to still be on her phone or ignoring you.

But soon as you walk in, she’s sitting on the floor by the door, head down, hoodie pulled low over her face.

She hears you and looks up.

Eyes low. Face soft but still annoyed.

“…You done actin’ dramatic?” juju says quietly.

You blink. “Me? You the one on the floor like you in a movie.”

She rolls her eyes but still pulls you down onto her lap the second you step close enough.

“Stop walkin’ out on me… for real.”Juju says mumbling into your neck.

You

“Stop makin’ me feel like I gotta.”

She kisses your neck once, slow, and just holds you there.

Breathing deep like she finally able to relax again now that you home.

Neither of y’all apologize out loud.

But this?

This her way of doing it.

And you feel it.

hey guyss hope u guys like this one, thank you guys so my much for liking my last onesss!!

Divider: @cafekitsune

[strang3lov3]

Boundaries

Roman reads your diary when you're out of the house and learns all of your dirty fantasies about him. (3.5k)

Tags - stepdad!roman because I was in that kind of mood, stepcest, smut, daddy kink, age gap, (i aged roman for this so just picture him as dilfy as you'd like - perhaps pedro pascal aged. or joel miller aged if you're nasty), dubcon, some hitting, unprotected piv, blowjobs, vibrators, overstim, creampie, come eating, dom!roman - yes I know. I know I know I know. Let me have this let me pretend he’d fuck my brains out until they’re dripping out of my ears. He’s also a huuuuuge creep in this but I’m into that. I love this little dirt boy slime puppy. Fic help @beefrobeefcal for your beautiful eyes and @noxturnalpascal for your generous editing 🩷 A/N - ROMAN GIRLIES I am sorry for taking my sweet fucking time on getting him out to you in a timely manner but he can be difficult to nail down. I hope you like this icky stepdaddy version of him 🩷

Roman’s bored today. You’re not home right now, you’re out and about spending his money on god only knows what. He shouldn’t complain, though. You’re not as bad as his wife - your mother - who buys bags and bags of clothes and those single-function kitchen gadgets. He knows he’s one to talk, that really, he doesn’t need all of the square footage of his massive apartment or the fancy light fixtures or closets full of clothes he doesn’t wear. But he still doesn’t get it. Your mom doesn’t even cook.

Roman’s lonely, despite his marriage. He married your mom when you were still a teenager. He didn’t see much in her and he doesn’t think she really saw anything in him either, but neither of them seemed to really mind those facts. It was for appearances, mostly, there was never any love in it. Never any sex, either. Your mom could impress her family and friends by marrying rich, and Roman could appear to live a normal life. It makes him feel like Dexter a little bit, and that she’s Rita. Although, he feels like Rita too on some days. 

Roman checks his phone. 9:17pm. Your mom is gone too, she’s out getting drinks with her old friend from college. At least they’re out of the house. They get rowdy and obnoxious when they drink. Roman figures he might as well go to bed, so he gets up off of the couch and heads up the stairs. He’s just about to go to his bedroom when he catches a whiff of something strong and fruity coming from your room. 

A lit candle. You and your stupid fucking candles. Your room is covered in them, all different sizes and colors and scents and brands. You leave them lit all the time, and Roman’s constantly having to remind you to blow them out. But you’re not here right now, and who knows when you’ll be back. He goes around your room, blowing the candles out for you.

 Roman doesn’t go into your bedroom often, the door is always closed and locked. But he catches glimpses now and then, he sees that you leave your bed unmade with your sheets and blankets crumpled up together and he wonders how strongly it smells of you. Not just your shampoo and body wash, but your sweat too. You. And he sees clothes on the floor, a bra hung on the closet door. Bottles of nail polish and acetone and used cotton pads on the vanity where you apply and remove your makeup. Lotion on the nightstand, a jewelry dish filled with sparkling gold trinkets. All of the things that make you up. He gets to look at it up close now, messing with the tchotchkes on your dresser and bookshelf as he strolls through your room. And he snoops through your bathroom too, opening your medicine cabinet and finding razors, and Midol, and mismatched earrings. 

Roman lies down in your bed sheets to smell you like he’s always wanted to do, bunching them under his nose only to be disappointed when he finds that they’re freshly laundered. Only then does he feel like a creep, but not enough to stop what he’s doing. He’s learning so much about you. Roman opens the drawer of your nightstand and finds a THC cartridge and chuckles. You little pothead. He finds a little satin bag and pulls your Satisfyer from within it and smirks as he brings it to his nose and sniffs it, hoping for even the briefest of whiffs of your scent. Not much. He puts it back in its bag and stuffs the bag in your drawer, his fingers grazing over something else deep in the back. He pulls it out - a journal. You’re so difficult for Roman to understand at times, this is the fucking jackpot. 

He situates himself against your thick Tempurpedic pillows, ones that he purchased for you, and he opens your journal. Your handwriting is loopy and a mix of cursive and print, but he manages to make out the words anyway. There’s some entries that are just nonsense - “Bugs flew into my hair”, and “Lost in a maze, following orange tabby cat”. He assumes these are dreams you’ve written down. He flips through the pages some more, hoping that maybe he’ll come across one of your sex dreams. He wonders which celebrity it’ll feature. Probably Pedro Pascal, but he hopes it’s about someone weird like Conan O’Brien or Liam Neeson. 

Roman. Roman is the first name he finds, and it’s within an especially long entry. Not a dream, no - you were most definitely lucid for this one. There’s details, adjectives and adverbs, words like ‘desperate’ and ‘sexy’. You’ve written in detail the way you believe he would fuck you. The things you’d want him to do to you, the things you want to do to him. 

He should feel sick to his stomach right now. You’re decades younger than him, he used to help you with your algebra homework at the dinner table. So fucking gross, so wrong. Roman likes it wrong. He likes it when there’s something off about it, something that would ruffle feathers if people knew. He wonders, do you like that too? Or do you feel ashamed of yourself, do you feel sort of icky inside? God, he hopes you feel humiliated by yourself. 

But he doesn’t feel sick, he feels excited. Thrilled, even. Thrilled that it’s now 9:44, and you don’t like to be out late. Minutes feel like hours as he waits for the sound of your careful steps up the stairs, down the hall. He can barely contain his smirk when he sees the shadow of your body on the floor right before you walk through your bedroom door, face dropping as you see him laid in your bed, your diary in his hands. “Hey, kiddo!”

“Roman–” 

“You’re out past curfew,” he teases. “Isn’t very becoming of a young lady, you know.”

Your cheeks heat up and your bottom lip begins to wobble. “Roman,” your voice shakes, “P-please, don’t read that.” 

“Oh, you’re too late for that. You should have gotten one of those diaries with a lock. Like, maybe one of those ones where you use your voice to unlock it. Or is that before your time?” Roman pauses, waits for your response. He’s not met with one. “Yeah, I read it all. You’ve got a lot of insect nightmares.”

“Did you - did you read anything else?”

 His smile tells you everything. “Mhm. I think it’s cute that you think I’d make love to you. That’s how you put it. Very romantic, very The Notebook-esque. No pun intended, of course.” Roman wiggles your diary in the air. 

 You’re gonna be sick. “Oh my god,” you whimper. “Oh my god, Roman. I’m sorry - you–” you seethe, “That was private.” 

“Ooh, defensive! No, I get it. I really do. You’re embarrassed. You’ve been fantasizing about fucking your stepfather and you’re embarrassed. What would your mommy think?”

Tears begin to blur your vision and you stomp over to where Roman lies on your bed and attempt to rip the journal from his hands, but he’s stronger than he looks. He yanks it back towards him, pulling you on the bed as he does. “C’mere,” he says. “Let’s read your bedtime stories. Is this what you think about before you sleep? While you play with your pussy using that little toy in there?”

“Please, Roman. Don’t do this.” 

“Yeah, I guess that’d be rather redundant, wouldn’t it? Because you’ve written everything in here, and I’ve read it all. I don’t know,” Roman sucks his teeth as he scoots closer to you, too close for comfort. His body touches yours, he brings his face too close to yours as he speaks. You feel claustrophobic, surrounded by him. Like there’s nowhere to run. “It occurred to me, sitting here, reading your dirty little fucked up fantasies about me, that you’ve got me all wrong in your head. And that just kinda bugs me, I guess?” he says. “I don’t know. If you’re gonna fantasize about your stepdad you should do it right. Like look - ‘long, thick, and veiny’,” Roman repeats your own words back to you. “I’m flattered, sweetheart, really. You’ve described a pornstar’s dick, and that’s sweet. But–” Roman unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, already rock-hard and leaking, a pearly bead of precum sitting pretty at his slit. “See? Painfully average.” He strokes himself slowly, squeezing his cock as he does. You’re almost in disbelief, and you should feel disgusted by this. Disgusted by Roman, by his actions. Disturbed by him for putting you in such a vulnerable position, making you feel so small. But goddamn if this isn’t what you’ve wanted. You can read between the lines, see that Roman’s casualness means that on some level, he must want this too. It appears as though your feelings are reciprocated by him, and that’s humiliating in an entirely different way than being caught for having them in the first place. It shouldn’t feel good like this. 

“Look at you,” Roman says. “You don’t give a shit. You’re fucking- fucking salivating over there. Why don’t you get on your knees?”

The door’s wide open. Your mom could come home at any point, walk up those stairs and see her husband on your bed with his cock out, and you sitting right next to him, your eager eyes devouring him. Enabling him. 

“On your knees,” Roman demands. It’s not a suggestion this time. 

The memory foam mattress slowly springs up as you slink off of it and onto your knees, just like Roman asks. He moves with you, lifting his hips to push his pants and boxers down his thighs, and then unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, revealing his soft, lightly toned body to you. His cock stands at full mast and looks imposing above you despite the way he described it as average, painfully average at that. Maybe it’s the context of the situation. The way that if you take him down your throat, that a line will be crossed and that there would be no way to go back. 

Roman sees you weighing it in your mind as he holds his cock between his thumb and forefingers. He doesn’t want you to think, or second guess this, rather. You’ve done enough thinking to know that this is what you want. It’s why you wrote it all down, right? You want this. You fucking want this. 

With his free hand, he reaches for the back of your head and pulls you close, tangling his fingers in your hair and looping the strands around his fingers as he pushes you down on his cock. He’s met with resistance as you push back, opting to swirl your tongue around the head and tasting that headiness of him, savoring him the way you wanted to. Roman swats your cheek, “Hey - quit that. Don’t fucking tease.” You wish he’d rub the skin he hit, show you a little kindness and make it hurt less. 

 “Wider, open wider,” he grunts. You open your jaw to allow him to push himself into your mouth inch by inch. He smells musky, heady, stronger than you would expect despite his pubic hair being so neatly trimmed. He tastes salty, the bead of precum that meets your tongue tastes so bitter and rather unpleasant, just like Roman is. But you love it anyway. 

Roman takes your hand in his own and wraps it around the part of his cock that you can’t reach with your mouth, squeezing your fingers tight so that your knuckles grind against each other as he twists your hand up and down. His other hand is still tangled in your hair as he fucks himself into your mouth, making lewd grunts and moans. None of it feels pleasant, it’s just his cock in your throat, sliding in and out. It’s mechanical, emotionless. You feel like a fuckdoll. 

Roman decides then that he wants to push you to your limit, so he pulls your hand off of his cock and forces himself down your throat entirely, his hand pushing on the back of your neck, causing you to gag and choke. He displays his strength again as you try to pull yourself up, but he holds you right where he wants you with his hand firmly on your head. “Nuh-uh, you're not quite done,” Roman says, “Choking builds character. Breathe through your nose. You’re fine. Hey–” he taps your cheek, “You’re fine. Relax.”

You know he’s right. It’s like the way they say to try to relax if you know you’re going to be in a car wreck, tensing up makes it hit harder. You try to relax your jaw and open your mouth wider as Roman fucks your mouth, but you still choke on him, drooling all over and making a mess of his lap. Zero gentleness as he bounces your mouth on his cock to an increasingly faster rhythm for his pleasure alone. Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you take Roman’s cock as far down your warm, wet mouth as he wants you to. 

“Mmph–” you groan in discomfort. 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman pants. “Fuck - just - just shut up. You’re fucking fine.” 

Your nose brushes against that coarse patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock as he forces your head up and down on his member over and over, gripping his muscular thighs for stability. You whine in discomfort as Roman really forces himself into you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. He giggles at the way you gurgle and sputter on him. “Listen to you,” he taunts. “God, you’re making this so fun for me.”

Roman moans and grunts, his head tilted back as he uses your mouth. Your jaw aches and you don’t think you can take much more. With a deep groan, Roman pulls you off of his cock. “Fuck,” he says. “Get- stand up. Up. Take your clothes off.” He lays on the bed, arms folded behind his head and his hard cock standing up tall, shiny and wet with your saliva as he watches you take off your clothes. You don’t actually consider if you want this or not, you just do as Roman tells you until you’re completely bare in front of him. He looks predatory, threatening even, as he lays there on your bed. “You have your mother’s hips,” he tells you, smiling sickly when your face falls at his comment. He knew that’d ruffle your feathers. 

Roman sits up and leans toward you, reaching for your arm and pulling you onto the bed with him so that you’re straddling his hips. He brings a hand between your thighs, humming when he feels just how slick you are. He ignores your clit entirely, skipping past it to push two of his fingers into your pussy, curling them rhythmically as he brushes against that sweet spot inside of you. “Fuck, Roman,” you moan. And as quickly as it begins, it’s over. He’s impatient and needs to be inside of you. 

Roman sucks on his slick fingers and then puts both hands on your hips, pulling you down a bit, lining his cock up with your entrance. He rubs the thick head up and down your dripping seam, coating himself in your arousal. “Come on,” he says. “Like you wrote about. Let daddy make sweet, sweet love to you.” 

Oh, you like that. Daddy. It adds another layer of fucked-up to all of this that affects you right where you need. Roman watches how your eyes go wide and your lips part. “My, oh my. Is that how we’re doing things? I don’t recall reading about your daddy kink but color me surprised, I guess. Dirty, dirty birdy,” he hums, still teasing your cunt. “Very cliche, you know, but I’m not here to yuck your yum. I will happily be your daddy.”

With that, Roman pushes his cock into you. That slow, gradual slide inside your body stretches and aches and hurts, causing you to bite back a moan. His warm, hard cock fills you just how you need, just how he needs too. Roman sort of whimpers once buried inside of you completely, but he doesn’t allow you a moment to get used to him before he’s thrusting his hips, guiding your own as he does. 

You feel unsteady and grip Roman’s shoulders for balance, he’s surprisingly broad. As he moves his hips he insists on looking at you, not with any love or adoration but intimidation, perhaps. At least that’s how you interpret it. He’s so fucking handsome - his once sleek strands of hair, all different shades of brown and gray are becoming mussed. His brows knit together as he focuses on his pleasure, his dark, hazel eyes scanning up and down your body. You fall forward and bury your head in his neck, the rough scruff on his face brushes against your skin, scratching you. 

You like the way Roman fucks you. Even beneath you, he holds all of the power. His thrusts are sloppy and harsh enough to make you forget about how disgusted you feel by yourself, by him. With Roman inside you, all thoughts are gone. All there is is the in and out, his warm hands holding you down with his nails digging into your skin as he pushes himself inside you over and over again. 

“Oh- hey. Sit up.” Roman’s thrusts still and he leans to his side to open your nightstand and rifle through your belongings for the second time. He pulls out that little satin bag and removes your vibrator from it. “You come on this thing when you’re thinking of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer. 

“Mm-mm,” he tuts. “We went over this. Yes, who?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Roman holds down the power button and the toy buzzes to life, then clicks it a couple more times to increase the power. He wriggles it between your bodies, “I wanna watch you come on it,” he says. 

It’s less than a moment before he’s back to fucking you, everything now intensified with the toy vibrating on your clit. It never takes long for it to get you off but with Roman inside of you, you’re done for. Your orgasm approaches quickly, thighs twitching, moans becoming stuttered and broken with your release. 

“Do you always come this easily?” Roman pants, “Or just for me?”

“Just - just for you, daddy.”

You wait for Roman to come too, but it never happens. He keeps going, fucking you til you’re an overstimulated mess, adding insult by using his free hand to tease your nipples, flicking and twisting the sensitive buds. He likes the way you moan louder when he does that. 

“Too much,” you beg. “Please - I can’t.”

“You’re such - fuck - don’t be a pussy. You can take it ‘til I’m done.”

Another orgasm is beginning to approach, threatening to send you over the edge a second time. Those tears from earlier when you were on your knees for Roman are falling freely now. 

“Oh please, the fucking tears. Why are you crying?” Roman goads, still fucking you relentlessly. “You like it this way. I know you like it this way.”

You do like it this way. You like the way Roman fucks you like he’s an animal, how he makes you feel like you’re one too. But you need that come down, that final descent from pleasure, because it’s painful at this point. Your quiet sobs of exhaustion and ecstasy do nothing to slow Roman down yet. “I want one more,” he demands. 

“Roman–”

“Yeah, one more. Do it for your daddy.”

Roman grunts as he fucks you hard, you’ve only now noticed how damp he is with sweat, and how damp you are too. That particular thought makes you feel queasy, the idea of your sweat mixing with his. It feels more intimate than coming on his cock, somehow. This is so fucked up.

You don’t know where release begins and ends, it all feels so intense. But you must’ve moved the right way, made the right sounds, because Roman seems satisfied enough to finally spill into you. You welcome the warmth of him coming inside you, as well as the pain in your shoulder as he bites you there to muffle himself. 

When he’s satisfied, he gently flips you over and pulls out of you, his cock already soft. His spend drips from your core and he uses two fingers to push it back inside, then licks the remnants off his fingertips, humming with satisfaction. You’re all fucked out, an exhausted look on your face. Roman pulls a blanket over your naked body and pushes some hair out of your eyes. “This is on you,” he warns. “Whatever happens, whatever you’re feeling right now…this is on you. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Yes, Roman.”

Roman likes you like this. So pliant, unquestioning, willing to accept a responsibility that’s really not yours to accept. You’re more desperate for him than he thought. He presses a long, gentle kiss to your forehead just to get under your skin and fuck with you. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Next

I'm really sorry about the "you have your mother's hips" comment. I know that was out of line. But I don't have self control and the ickier it is the harder I nut. (also if you enjoyed,,,,please tell reblog/send me asks/comment <3 )

tagging some friends i think might be interested based on if you've rb'd or commented or talked about my Roman stuff before <3 @dorims @atinylittlepain @goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @bookmarkingfics @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

[judysxnd]

Proofs that Pedro Pascal & Y/n Y/l/n are dating, (part five)

As requested, here's more!

Not going to lie, I don't really follow closely Pedro's life anymore, so I don't really know what he is up to or where he could be and stuff, so this is a bit approximate

———————————————————————

(a while back, can't remember the dates)

Pedro was on SNL a few times, not only to host but sometimes just to appear in a few sketches. Guess who appeared in at least one sketch when he was here too? Y/n. This is a huge coincidence, it's actually not a coincidence anymore. She did host one time, and Pedro appeared too. This is so weird..

10.11.2024 morning

Pedro and Y/n were seen having a coffee (date?) in some local coffee shop where they were. They were sitting in front of each other in some corner, trying to have some privacy. They were eventually seen leaving together. They were apparently very close to each other, and Y/n even held Pedro's arm as they left. That's cute.. but not enough, come oooooooooon

14.11.2024 at 9:17pm

Gladiator is premiering and, well obviously Pedro is here because he literally is in the movie. But, wait- who is that on the carpet just a few meters behind Pedro? Is that Y/n? Oh yes that's her! Wearing a very tight red dress with some gold lines, matching the topic of the movie. But what is she doing here? During one interview she said that the cast invited her. We do think it was one particular person who did.. Luckily enough we got a picture of them together. They do look good together.

21.11.2024 at 4:13pm

Pedro published a photo dump when he was on the set of Gladiator, and we couldn't help but notice a certain woman in the background of one of his picture. It might seem like a simple landscape picture, but further in the front, there is.. Y/N??? Yes that's her! To connect this, a while ago, might have been when they were actually on set, Y/n posted the same landscape on her story. We did not forget. She apparently visited him on set! What a coincidence

23.11.2024 at 7:20pm

Guess who posted another photo dump of his time on the set of Gladiator? Yes, mister Pedro. Guess who appears next to Joseph in one picture when they're in town? Y/n. Maybe she is in the movie to be there that much? I've seen, she is not. Come on guys, you keep dropping hints, just make it official now!!!

24.11.2024 at 10:29pm

Now it's Y/n's turn to post a photo dump of her "memorable moments" she had these past months. The pictures shows a wedding of one of her friends, a beautiful landscape in New-York at night, a picture of an arena with people dressed as gladiators, a picture of dogs- wait, did you say a pic with gladiators? Is there Pedro in this picture? Wa- Yes ! He is in the picture. There is also a picture of two hands holding, but of course it's her left hand and his right hand so we can't see Pedro's tattoo! Ugh this is getting so frustrating.

[thatbuddie]

after buck and eddie get together, eddie starts giving buck absentminded kisses all the time.

kiss on the forehead after he passes him his morning coffee. kiss on the cheek while buck is cooking dinner. kiss on the back of his hand as buck drives them to bobby’s house for a family bbq. kiss on top of his head while they cuddle watching a documentary. kiss on his shoulder while they sit on the station couch reading in between calls.

but buck’s favorite kisses? the ones edde blows him from a distance. when no one is looking during a call and they have to separate, buck doing evac and eddie treating some minor burns. when buck is pulling out of the their driveway to go meet maddie and jee for lunch and eddie sees him off from the front porch. during their family night out at the movies with chris in between them before the action film their son chose and they’re both probably going to hate begins.

every single blown kiss is always followed by eddie mouthing “i love you” at him, and every single time buck feels himself start to blush, the butterflies in his stomach staging a very chaotic and uncoordinated flash mob.

there’s something so exhilarating about knowing that no matter how close or far away they physically are eddie always wants to be kissing him. like eddie knows just as well as buck does that his lips were always meant to graze buck’s skin and leave behind goosebumps for hours to come.

even when they can’t see each other at all, buck knows eddie is thinking about it too because eddie does not go more than 3 hours without sending him little 😘 emojis. he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t contextualize them because he doesn’t need to. it's just random 😘 throughout the day, scattered in between the rest of their texts.

buck [3:33pm]: got caught in traffic, chris and i will be there soon! eddie [3:33pm]: ok, hen and denny just arrived eddie [6:03pm]: 😘

&

eddie [11:27am]: can you write “chris dentist appointment” on the kitchen calendar for 10/17? buck [11:31am]: done! eddie [11:32am]: thanks, baby eddie [2:16pm]: 😘

&

buck [10:08am]: we also need eggs! buck [11:43am]: remind me to replace the lightbulb in chris’s bedside lamp eddie [1:14pm]: 😘 eddie [3:09pm]: your amazon package just arrived buck [3:09pm]: yaaaaaaay eddie [7:24pm]: 😘

&

eddie [6:02am]: 😘 eddie [8:56am]: 😘 eddie [9:07am]: 😘 eddie [12:31pm]: 😘 buck [3:17pm]: 😘😘😘

[hyuuukais]

GOODNIGHT !!!!!!!!!! gonna dream of my loves hehe

[yangkitties]

[9:17pm] ✩ n.rk

pairing: nishimura riki x gn!reader || word count: 0.2k genre: fluff || warnings: none! not proof read bc funsies hehe synopsis: riki likes that feeling when he's with you, where everything feels like the dim summer sea, where between the gaps of the universe, he can hear your hearts beat in sync. note: my entry for @okwonyo's celestial ballet event >.< it's not very obvious but it's inspired byt tfw by enha :] i did want to do smth with the lyrics but i love how this turned out based on the vibes alone :') hope you guys enjoy!!

Riki likes this feeling. 

The feeling of your fingers in his hair, the feeling of his hand in yours, and the feeling of your heartbeat in his ears. He wants to stay in this moment forever, listening to the storm outside, playing with your fingers, and simply being with you. 

In these quiet little moments with you, he knows what love is. He knows what love is because he knows you, and you’re with him, and he’s full of it, especially for you. He thinks that in times like these, anything is possible. 

He brings your hand up to his face, gently peppering your knuckles with chaste kisses. He smiles at your giggles, heart filling up with contentment. He pushes himself up to face you, lovingly staring into your eyes. 

It’s rare that Riki ever becomes overly emotional, but right now, he can’t help but press his forehead against yours, gently rubbing his nose against yours. He goes onto kissing your eyes, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, covering each and every inch of your face in his kisses. 

You hold him tighter, smiling to yourself. He kisses your lips finally, soft and sweet. He pulls away, resting his head on your shoulder, full of adoration. 

He loves you, and he can’t think of anything that could possibly be better than loving you. 

©️ yangkitties 2024 do not copy, plagiarise, or repost

[emotionalhottiee]

Obsessed

“You may not know me, but I certainly know YOU.”

1.

8:17pm

“Ugh shit” Jimmy groaned while pumping his dick in and out of her mouth. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but that didn’t change the fact that he was getting his dick sucked from a woman whom he had just met. But he couldn’t help it the way Vanessa was taking him into her mouth, he was ruining his relationship to be with a girl he didn’t even know. In the bathroom of the gym no less.

Meanwhile Journi was at home making dinner for her loving boyfriend Jimmy, who should’ve been home by now. But unbeknownst to Journi he was currently in his gym where he spent 4-5 days of the week working out, committing adultery. He was out violating her trust, for someone he didn’t even know. But that didn’t stop him from interrupting his usual workout to stuff his dick into the mouth of a stranger. When he should have been driving home to the loving girlfriend he had waiting for him.

The guilt Jimmy felt was overwhelming, but that didn’t stop him from thrusting his length into her wet mouth. Vanessa wasn’t even his type physically.

But still Jimmy was not at home with Journi, where he should be. He was in a gym locker room with this random woman.

Journi finished up her steak & mashed potatoes with asparagus on the side for Jimmy. But he was still no where to be found. Yet she made his plate, and put it aside while she started cleaning up the kitchen in await for her boyfriend.

Journi had finished cleaning up and there was still no sign of Jimmy. He’s never taken this long at the gym, concerned she pulled out her phone to text Jimmy. “Everything okay babe?” she typed. Sending the message she made her way to the bathroom to take her evening shower and get ready for bed. As she got out of the shower, she turned on the tv settling on watching “baddies” to pass time. Still no sign of Jimmy.

*An Hour Later*

9:17pm

Vanessa had finished her sloppy blowjob. And was expecting Jimmy to return the oral favor, but he was pulling up his shorts instead. The shame & guilt he felt, knowing Journi did not deserve what he was putting her through was already gnawing at him. He truly did love her, but he still felt the need to engage with a woman, who came up to him eyes filled with lust. Who had previously attempted to make advances at him. Advances in which he tried his best to ignore. He had seen her around the gym from time to time. Never acknowledging the flirtatious gestures she threw his way… until now!

He pulled out his phone seeing the message from Journi his heart sank into the pits of his stomach. “Sorry babygirl, me and the boys got carried away playing basketball lost track of the time” he was ashamed of how fast he typed up that lie. And the fact that he was lying to someone he loved only made it sting even more.

“You coming home with me, papi?” Vanessa cooed trying to convince Jimmy to stay. But his mind was already made up, he needed to get back to his loving girlfriend. “Nah man i have to get home to my girl” his back was turned but he could hear the girl sucking her teeth. Vanessa didn’t like hearing him choose to go back to his girlfriend over her.

To Jimmy, Vanessa was just some random girl from the gym. A mistake FOR SURE. But to Vanessa Jimmy was undoubtedly hers. At least that’s what she told herself. There was just one obstacle standing in her way, HER. Journi. The woman who truly had Jim’s heart. Vanessa began to feel rage bubbling within her, not understanding what Jim chose to see in Journi that he wasn’t seeing in her. But she chose to not say anything… this time. But she would for sure be seeing him again!

Jimmy didn’t say anything instead he just sighed in frustration, making sure he had all his belongings before exiting the gym.

Jimmy got in his truck to head home, but he noticed Journi hadn’t texted back. He sighed rubbing his hand over his beard, thinking about how upset she probably is. Which rightfully so. I mean he did do something unforgivable. He wished he could take back what he did, because if his girlfriend found out about his indiscretions she would be sure to pack up all of hers belongings and move out of the home they shared. He just couldn’t fathom her leaving. He couldn’t bare the thought of losing the love of his life. He decided to keep this little slip up to himself.

9:52pm

It took Jimmy a little over 30 minutes to get home. Not knowing what to expect when he walked in, his nerves were completely shattered. He entered the house unusually quiet, compared to his normal gesture of busting through the door full of energy shouting “honey I’m home” or something similar. He set his gym bag down by the front door, noting that all the downstairs lights were off. He made his way into the kitchen to get some water when he saw the plate covered in aluminum foil setting on the counter. He pulled off the foil about to dig into the food before his girlfriends soft voice played in his head reminding him to wash his hands & say his grace, which he silently obliged. He pulled out a steak knife & fork digging into the meal, not even bothering to heat it up. He was that nervous.

As he finished eating, he washed the dishes before grabbing his bag, heading up stairs to their bedroom. But a tiny wave of relief and calmness washed over him when he found his girlfriend fast asleep. Only hearing the sounds of girls screaming and fighting as “Baddies” still played on their bedroom tv. Thankful that Journi was in a peaceful slumber, he shed his dirty clothes and made his way into the shower. Turning the water as hot as his body could take to wash away all the unfaithfulness that engrossed his body.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist before exiting the bathroom, before pulling a pair of boxers from his drawer and putting them on. The sight of Journi still sleeping should have been one of peace. But he couldn’t help but sigh, thinking about how bad he had fucked up.

Journi was sound asleep until she felt their king sized mattress sink, when Jimmy got in. Naturally she curled into her boyfriend’s 6’2 frame. Not the least bit suspicious of his activities that kept him preoccupied for the past hour and some change. Meanwhile the guilt Jimmy felt was still eating him alive. He cradled his small 5’1 girlfriend. Rubbing her head. A trick he knew would get her to fall back asleep.

He felt so bad knowing that his precious girlfriend didn’t suspect a thing… Because when she said she trusted him, she genuinely meant it. Journi wasn’t the insecure type to constantly ask Jimmy where he was, or who he was with. She wasn’t the type to go through his phone while he was sleeping or even creep on his social media. She believed that everyone deserved to be trusted until proven otherwise. Which is why she blindly trusted Jimmy, he never gave her a reason not to… until now.

Jimmy’s mind raced, wondering why he had given into temptation. Causing him to be unfaithful. Even though he stopped the encounter, before it went too far as in actual penetration, he knew he had indulge with Vanessa way more than he should have. Making a grave mistake.

But he couldn’t even begin to fathom what kind of woman Vanessa was. While he was battling with his act of infidelity, feeling remorseful for his transgressions, Vanessa was plotting on how to totally wreck the home that he and Journi had built, and were still building.

His thoughts finally seemed to slow down as sleep finally took over. But little did he know things were far from over.

a/n: sorry yall im not good at writing smut. But Big Jim done really stepped into some shit smh.

[newforever]

https://ift.tt/Yu8L5AH 95 Fahrenheit - Fading Future Libertas Raw

[cutiepiepiesweet]

Guys be careful, don’t go to midwich at 10:17pm remember constable gobby

semantic field of..darkness

those who know

(Aqa give me a 9 pls)

[upperranktwo]

Journey back isn't much better. Was waiting close to an hour for a bus, thing had a lot of people on it but I saw one free space and instead of letting me sit down the woman put her bag on it and gave me a dirty look! I am NOT in the mood for anything tonight!!! People have been annoying me left and right 😭 cannot wait to get home and get in bed

Person next to me on the bus is an absolute nightmare. He has his legs spread open with his feet on the seat pure pushing me into the window and he smells so badly of piss. Actually gonna throw up and die 😭