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7-deadly-cats · 2 days ago

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killing me softly | extra

rafe buying reader a gift at the gas station

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 1 7 | C H . 1 8 ->

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive themes and implications, awkward!rafe, cougar behavior from an older woman (age appropriate but still gross), mention of alcohol consumption (flashback), one-sided flirting, kinda ptsd!rafe lol, rafe going insane (again)

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 2.8k+

✿ A / N ✿ thx @wefelldowntherabbithole13 for requesting this. hope you guys enjoy this little extra and lmk what you think <3

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// READ CHAPTER 17 BEFOREHAND IF YOU DON'T WANNA GET SPOILED

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W E E K O N E // S A T U R D A Y 2 : 5 5 P M

Rafe was so close to ripping off the fucking gas cap of his fucking Benz because why the fuck wouldn't it close, HUH?!

Or better yet: why the fuck did this stupid shit piss him off so goddamn bad in the first place?

OH RIGHT. Probably something to do with how he’d just dropped you off in the fucking Cut, at that rat-infested shithole where his stupid sister and her loser rat friends always hung out.

FUCKING GREAT.

No. No, you hadn't exactly told him who’d be waiting for you there besides your loud-ass friend and some dude she apparently needed help with. Seriously, Rafe still couldn’t wrap his head around how you of all people were supposed to help her. You could barely grasp the concept of flirting—how the hell were you supposed to be of any help besides driving everyone in a five-mile radius absolutely insane with your crazy head?

Rafe exhaled. Finally punched the damn gas cap shut with his fist.

Knuckles throbbing, he rubbed at them, though it hurt less than his damn head.

Like, Jesus fucking Christ, that stupid-ass conversation you two had just minutes ago? Rafe didn’t even know how the hell he’d managed not to crash the fuck out. He deserved a fucking gold medal or trophy for keeping his cool and actually calming your crazy ass down.

And the best part? Not even a whole fucking minute after he’d defused the ticking bomb that was your brain, you were already ready to ditch him.

Seriously, was Rafe just some fucking joke to you?

Sure, yeah, okay, your friend had indeed called, and apparently you’d promised to hang out with her anyway today. But that wasn’t exactly a solid reason to dip immediately. You could’ve stayed just a little longer and… yeah. Done what, exactly?

Under different circumstances, it would've been late evening, and Rafe would've gone to your place because no way in hell was he bringing a girl around his nosy-ass family. And of course, you'd have the house to yourself—Rafe had zero interest in dealing with a random girl's parents (except that yours actually were pretty chill). You'd have giggled at the door, walked in, one thing would've led to another, and he'd have you moaning into the sheets. Or well, not moaning, considering at this point he’d rather shut you up and feel you choke on his—

Fuck, he really didn’t need to get hard at a damn gas station.

And yeah, just like with his occasional (!!!) hookups (again, he wasn't a fuckboy, alright?), he’d either crash at your place, too lazy to drive back, or show up at Kelce’s or Top’s, do a line, and pass out on the couch.

That’s it.

But those hadn't been the circumstances. It had been the middle of the fucking day, and Rafe knew better than to expect some quick fun with you. Hell, he’d be out of his fucking mind if he even tried making a move. You’d probably lose it, that whole exhausting conversation would start all over again, and even more likely: You’d freak the fuck out, dip, and that’d be the end of whatever the hell this was between you two.

Oh right, now there actually was a label. Apparently you were aiming for a friendship, or rather you thought he wanted one.

Cute, really. You two had barely known each other for, what, a week? Not even? And you’d already pressured him into deciding where things were going after the project because apparently, your brain needed to "make space for new people if they decided to stay" otherwise your anxiety would eat you up.

Aight.

Like, dude. Chill the fuck out for once. Why couldn’t you just live in the fucking moment for a second? But no, you had to constantly leap a thousand steps ahead and dissect every possible outcome.

You were literally the least chill person Rafe had ever met, and somehow, he still couldn’t bring himself to dislike you. How? He didn’t fucking know. Probably better if he never figured it out, because unlike you, he didn’t need every single answer to every goddamn situation.

Jesus Christ.

But yeah, sure, why not. Rafe loved collecting annoying people as his friends for a living. One more wouldn’t kill him. Bonus points to you, though, because for some fucked up reason, he actually had fun with you. Sometimes more than with Kelce and Top. And well, he didn't have the option to flirt with those two. But with you? Shit, it was his new favorite activity.

Which brought him back to the original question: What the fuck was Rafe supposed to do with a female friend?

Like, with Topper and Kelce, he’d hit the country club, hang out at one of their places, smoke some hookah, hit some beach bar or the gym.

Wait. On second thought—dragging you into the gym, you wearing tight leggings, squatting in front of him, and—

Rafe rubbed the bridge of his nose. He seriously needed to think of some other shit.

Another reason he desperately needed a fucking line right now. This whole situation—he was actually going insane.

First things first: pay for the goddamn gas.

The Benz gave two clicking sounds as Rafe locked it and headed into the station.

Good thing he’d driven back to the north side of the island. No way in hell he was about to get robbed by some cracked-out junkie at a Cut gas station where they probably laundered money and sold kidneys on the side.

“Pump Three,” Rafe said as he stepped up to the counter, eyes on his wallet, fumbling to get that fucking credit card out of the sleeve. Seriously, his patience was really being tested today.

“Oh, honey, what happened to your face?”

Rafe looked up—and his heart dropped.

Fucking shit. Not her.

Agatha Woods. 44, widow, Pogue, and the fucking woman Rafe had almost hooked up with last year at a bonfire party.

She’d been working the bar (which—let's be real—grown woman hanging out at a teenager party? Fucked-up), and Rafe had been doing shots one after the other with Top. And then Topper—holy shit, that was the party the idiot almost hooked up with your friend—dipped, and Rafe got left behind. And for some goddamn fucked-up unexplainable reason, he'd stayed at the bar with cougar Agatha and let her keep pouring him drink after drink.

Fucking shit, he'd been so wasted and desperate anyway because he'd dropped Gracie a week before and then there had been fucking Agatha with her triple Ds, her purring at him and fuck, Jesus Christ, his whole body literally tensed at the memory. His horny, almost-blackout self had almost followed her to her truck if Kelce hadn’t intercepted him.

Actually no, Rafe's entire skin was covered in goosebumps right now.

Shitshitshitshit. Just ignore her. She won’t remember. She probably pulls this shit on every guy who'd just celebrated his 18th birthday.

He shook his head and shrugged like it was no big deal, avoiding her eyes. “Golf club accident.”

Now Rafe was forced to meet her eyes, only because he was trying so fucking hard not to look down at her way-too-exposed cleavage as she leaned forward on the counter.

“I’m off soon, want me to take a look at that?” she said, fluttering her lashes in that sweet—actually, no, raspy smoker’s voice of hers.

Rafe kind of wanted to go back to Barry’s and let the guy shoot his brains out, because what the actual fuck. Why was he getting hit on by a woman twice his age? For the second time.

He just shook his head, letting out a tight chuckle. “Nah, I’m good. So, uh ... Pump Three.”

“I heard you just fine the first time,” Agatha said with a smirk, leaning back. “Just thought maybe you’d wanna pick up where we left off last time.”

Please just let me fucking pay. Holy shit.

Rafe gave a strained smile. “How much?”

Agatha chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, this is a gas station, not a brothel.”

What the—fucking shit, what?

His neck and cheeks were suddenly burning, and for a second he genuinely considered walking out and setting the entire gas station on fire, himself included.

Jesus Christ. This day was just getting worse by the goddamn second.

“I’m well aware,” he replied but his fucking voice cracked, and FUCKING HELL.

The hunting knives on the counter suddenly looked way too inviting, even though they were sitting right next to a blindingly pink stand full of glittery, oversaturated plastic bags with little rainbow-colored horses printed on them.

Okay. Seriously. The fucking universe—or whatever sick fuck ran it—was messing with him, because guess what was printed in bold letters on that stand?

Friendship Bracelets: Pick Your Pony, Share The Sparkle.

What. The. Fuck.

This had to be some serious joke. Hadn't he just made fun of the idea of making you a friendship bracelet a few minutes ago, just to shut you up?

“Four bucks.”

Startled, Rafe snapped his eyes back to the cougar, blurting out, “Huh?”

She laughed. “Looking at that thing with that big eyes of yours. You got a friend you wanna share the magic with?”

“Girlfriend, actually.”

The words had left his mouth before his brain could even catch up.

Shit.

Even worse than calling you his girlfriend in front of the cougar trying to bag him: he seriously considered buying one of the dumb bracelets.

See? This was your fucking fault. Riling him up with your psycho brain, then bouncing to Sarah’s rathole where she was most likely also hanging out. And now, here he was, about to buy you some glittery-ass children’s bracelet just to… fuck, he didn’t even know. Just the idea of you owning something he got you, it made his blood rush in a way that genuinely concerned him.

Well. One upside to the sudden topic shift: Agatha was backing off, now that she thought he was taken. Just like he’d intended, of course.

Guess she has some standards, at least.

“All grown up now, got yourself a girl, huh?,” she said with a giggle. “You oughta invest in a real bracelet then. Ain’t no girlfriend gonna want some kids’ toy meant for little girlies.”

“Nah,” Rafe muttered with a frown, cheeks warm. “She’ll like it.”

You loved sending fucked-up, crazy-ass crackhead pics to express your emotions. You’d absolutely love some discolored, shitty plastic bracelet from some shitty-ass horse cartoon.

And the fact that Rafe even knew that fucking cartoon in the first place was reason enough to buy one of the hunting knives as well and end his misery right here. Wheezie used to watch that crap when she was younger. He remembered those smiley, ugly-ass horses now.

Nonetheless, Rafe stepped closer to the stand, scanning the different packages. Apparently, each bracelet was themed after one of those LSD-tripping ponies.

There—that one. The obnoxious blue one with rainbow hair. He hated that smug, loud, egotistical piece-of-shit horse. Friendship bracelet for the Rainbow Dash in your life.

Yeah, no thanks. He wasn’t putting that asshole on your wrist.

“You need help choosing?” Agatha asked with a chuckle. “Otherwise move that sweet little ass of yours. Got another customer waiting.”

Rafe furrowed his brows and moved to the side, trying his best to ignore the heat crawling up his chest. First thing he’d do once he got out of here was a fucking line in the car, because fuck this day.

Okay. So what shitty-ass horse should he even get you?

He remembered the purple one with the emo bangs and that dumb little dragon sidekick. Wheezie’s favorite. Twilight Sparkle the package read.

Jesus, how the fuck did they all have shitty names like that?

Then there was the pink one. Of fucking course, she was called fucking Pinkie Pie. Rafe remembered her being all over the place and screaming and bouncing and just... no. That bitch reminded him way too much of Kelce for some reason. Or your best friend. Which was basically the same thing. Hard pass.

The weird cowgirl-looking horse just looked straight-up ugly. No way he’d let you wear ugly shit like that. Plus, it gave off full-on Pogue energy, so yeah, fuck that too.

Which left him with two fuckers called Rarity and Fluttershy.

And for some reason, Fluttershy just... felt right. Rafe couldn’t explain it, but he knew that was the one. Soft colors, none of that oversaturated eyesore bullshit. And her smile on the packaging—kinda sweet, kinda shy (well duh, the bitch was called Fluttershy for a reason), and she just radiated your vibe. Quiet, soft, but like... deep (in thought about some unnecessary bullshit probably).

He even remembered her being eerily like you. Awkward, kind, and anxious.

Jesus Christ, why the fuck did he even remember that?

Rafe grabbed the package with a grimace. It read Friendship Bracelet for the Fluttershy in your life. He seriously questioned his fucking sanity as he dropped it on the counter.

“Oh, so you finally picked one,” Agatha said, scanning it in with a smirk and raising an eyebrow. “I’m just gonna assume your girlfriend’s of legal age.”

HUH WHA—FUCKING SHIT, EW.

The audacity of that woman to say that of all people.

Rafe smiled crookedly, holding up his card. “Listen, lady, I’m in a fucking hurry, alright?”

Agatha chuckled again, holding out the reader. “That’ll be 110.55 then.”

The moment the confirmation beep rang out, Rafe snatched the bracelet and bolted the hell out of that goddamn gas station slash cougar pit. Before he ever stepped foot in there again, he’d rather make out with a fucking Pogue or shoot himself in the face.

In the car, he dropped the plastic package along with his wallet and keys into the center console and slammed on the gas. He needed to get out of there before that cougar actually chased him down.

And then the overwhelming urge to just crash his car into the nearest wall or tree rose up because:

Did he seriously just buy a fucking horse bracelet for a girl who was driving him completely insane, which also had the most fucked-up brain he’d ever witnessed?

Oh, and the worst part? He knew damn well he wouldn’t get anything in return. No sex. No blowjob. Not even a basic makeout. Probably just some awkward little smile and a confused “Thanks". Worst case? Another fucking discussion about what this meant, what Rafe’s intentions were, whether he was just trying to get in your pants, blah blah blah.

And the most fucked-up, goddamn infuriating part? He didn’t even seem to mind.

Sure, if you'd show him your gratitude on your knees, he wouldn’t complain (shit, just the thought almost made him hard), but Rafe had pretty much (almost) accepted that nothing like that was ever gonna happen between you two.

And guess friends without benefits didn't do this kinda shit, right? Like, Top and Kelce basically fit into this category and he'd never in a million years...just fuck no, what. Then again, they didn't have tits and a cute ass like yours, so. And moreover, Rafe would never ever gift them a cringe-ass fucking friendship bracelet. And definitely not one week after getting to know them.

Shit. The bracelet wasn’t supposed to mean anything anyway. Rafe just felt like he needed to make his point clear one more time, once and for all because he had this gut feeling that words didn’t cut it with you. Two days from now, you’d be whining again because Rafe made some harmless flirty joke, and your fucked-up head would twist it into some manipulative scheme of him wanting to get in your pants.

So when he'd give you this dumbass bracelet, he’d make fucking sure you read what it said:

F-R-I-E-N-D-S-H-I-P Bracelet.

Unfortunately, the gas station didn’t offer a bracelet that read “For the girl I got stuck with in a school project, who I kinda wanna bend over but I'm also fine with not doing so, even though she’s batshit crazy and wants a label six days in for a FUCKING HANGOUT, and for reasons only God knows I’m still putting up with her shit and guess I'm her fucking friend now and buying her this crap just to shut her spiraling brain up AND to make it loud and clear I'm not toying with her crazy ass”.

Jesus Christ.

He was losing it. He was actually going insane.

And the only reason for it?

You.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 1 7 | C H . 1 8 ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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#killing me softly series #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron fic

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vivwritesfics · 2 days ago

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No Need To Ask

Chapter One

Neither of them want to get married. Its a marriage of convenience, not of love. They can find it in themselves to love each other, but life has other things in mind.

Mafia!au

"Check," said Y/N as her Queen took his Knight. He had no moves himself, none that would win the game for him. In one more move Y/N could take his King, winning the game.

Lando stared at his sister, annoyance and amusement written on his face. "How did you get so good at chess?" He asked and leaned back in his chair. There was no point making his next move, not when she was going to win anyway.

With a smirk on her face, Y/N made that final, winning move. "I played a lot with my mum while you were off with dad."

Off doing unspeakable things.

While Y/N and Lando had the same father, they didn't share a mother. Landos mother had died when he was young. Nasty business really. He and his dad were alone until Y/Ns mother came along.

Landos dad and Y/Ns mother weren't meant to fall in love. It just sort of... happened. She gave the Norris boys so much love while being ruthless with their men. She fell into place in their world and, before she knew it, she was the heavily pregnant Mrs Norris.

A lot of people didn't realise Y/N and Lando were only half siblings. Some didn't realise they were related at all.

After having a baby girl, Mr Norris wanted to keep her away from their world. He already had Lando set up to take over from him, as head of the Norris family, working for the Hamiltons. But Y/N wasn't supposed to be involved.

"How is dad?" Asked Y/N as she packed away the chess set. Y/N hadn't seen her father in near two weeks. His health was deteriorating and he spent all of his time and energy working. Lando would be taking over as head of the Norris family but it was only once his body was in the ground. That was going to be any day now.

Lando cleared his throat and turned towards the window. "Don't be surprised if he calls you into his room any day now," he answered.

Oh. That wasn't good news. Y/N placed the wooden chess set back on the desk that used to belong to her mother and turned back towards her brother. "You have your first meeting with Mr Hamilton, don't you?" She asked, nervously chewing at her nails.

Lando narrowed his eyes towards her. "You've been listening in, haven't you?"

"Only sometimes," Y/N answered, sitting in her mothers chair. Sometimes she'd be there for hours, sitting behind the desk, pretending she was as involved in the Norris Family as her mother once was. They were big shoes to fill. “I could go with you, you know?”

“No!” Lando shouted, slamming his fist down onto the table in front of him.

Y/N jumped back. This was what her brother had been bred and raised for. Already he was ruthless and calculating, every bit the man their father had been trying to turn him into. “Dad wouldn’t allow it and neither will I,” he spat and stood from his chair.

Lando was already dressed in one of his best suits. He had attended several meetings with Mr Hamilton before, but none without his father. This was his first. He wasn’t yet head of the family, but he was going to act like it. At these meetings he was used to being seen and not heard, but this was his first time speaking. It was on behalf of his father, yes, but the words were still coming from Lando.

He marched out of the study, leaving Y/N there. He didn’t apologise for being harsh; it was the only way to keep her safe.

Y/N watched her brother go. As soon as he was gone, Y/N began trying to pull open the desk drawers. They were locked, had been ever since her mother had died. But she was desperate for some way to be close to her mother; it was lonely in a crime family when you couldn’t be involved with the crime.

When she couldn’t get into the desk, she stood and walked out of the room.

The halls were full of portraits. Members of the Norris family that had since passed on. there were family portraits, too. One of little Lando with his mother and his father and one of Lando, Y/N and their parents. Further down the hall there was a portrait of Lando’s mother and another of Y/N’s mother. Mr Norris loved both of his wives equally, that was clear to anyone.

Two men stood on either side of Y/N’s door. They were silent, unspeaking. The guns Y/N knew they had on them were saying enough. She walked past them, giving just a curt nod and pushed the door shut behind her.

Just because she wasn’t a part of the crime family didn’t mean her father didn’t want her protected. There were men outside of her door and men under her window. There were at least two at every entrance; nothing came in or out of the house without them knowing.

She sat on her bed and looked towards her window. Normal girls could go out and spend time with their friends. They could go out and get dinner, sit at a bar with a cocktail in hand. They could go out to the club and dance the night away. But not Y/N. She had to sit in her room and dream of a life she could never have.

There was a polite knock on her door before it opened. Oscar Piastri, a young man on loan from Mark Webber in Australia, popped his head around.

“You okay?” He asked her.

When she nodded, he strode into the room and sat on the bed beside her. Her best friend, the only person allowed to be this informal with her. If any of the other men tried, Lando would have shot them where they stood.

She shook her head. “Come on,” Oscar said and laid back, knitting his hands together over his stomach. “Talk to me.”

So, she did.

***

Lando was in the big leagues now. When he was a boy he used to sit on the side lines, taking notes for his father. But now he was up at the table with the other heads of house. Charles Leclerc of Monaco, Carlos Sainz Sr, one of the heads of family from Spain. There was Sergio Perez from Mexico, Jos Verstappen from the Netherlands and more.

At the head of the table was Lewis Hamilton. He ran everything, kept all of the families together. Before him there had been Schumacher and then Vettel. Hamilton was a wonder boy. He’d risen up in the ranks in the button family before breaking away and starting his own. It had started a war, a war that Hamilton had been quick to put an end to.

He was in charge of the crime family now.

Lando listened as Lewis ran the meeting. He spoke to each family member, a man from his organisation taking notes. “We have a newcomer at the table today,” Lewis bellowed, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him. “As we all know, Norris isn’t in the best of shape. So, in his steed, he has sent his son, Lando.”

Lando has a tight smile as he waved to the rest of the room. He’d met them all before, Sainz and his father were once friends. He’d spent a lot of time with his son when he was younger.

Finishing the meeting, Hamilton dismissed everybody. “Ah, Lando, can I speak to you for a moment?” He asked as he lit a cigar.

Lando walked over to him and accepted the cigar he offered to him. “What can I do for you, sir?” Lando asked, sitting in the seat beside his own.

Hamilton took his cigar from between his lips. “As you know, your father and Sainz haven’t always been the best of friends. There has been something brewing between your families for a while now and it is my job to squash it. Your father, Sainz and I have been having talks for years now, and we came to one conclusion.”

Lando cleared his throat. He hadn’t smoked very much before, but it was a habit he had been picking up since his father’s health started declining. “What might that be, sir?”

“Your sister.”

Lando’s face paled. His eyes went wide, and his mouth felt metallic. “What sister?” His protective instincts kicked in, but he couldn’t do anything in front of Hamilton. Lando felt sick.

“Before your mother died, she came up with a plan to unite your families. Your sister is to marry Sainz Jr and you’re to make sure it happens, okay?”

Hamilton gave Lando no time to reply. He put out his cigar and walked away, leaving Lando still sitting at the table.

He couldn’t stand up. His chest hurt and he needed to empty his stomach. Lando stood from his seat and rushed out of the room. He made his way through the halls and out to his car. He couldn’t throw up in Lewis Hamilton’s bushes, could he? No, Lando had to get home.

Driving around the fountain, Lando sped back home. He could hide his sister away, couldn’t he? Send her somewhere that didn’t have any of the families in power. Their house in Monaco was a no go, not while Charles was in power. Maybe their house in Belgium, but too many families in power surrounded the country.

Driving home was a blur for Lando. He couldn’t allow his little sister to marry into another crime family. And it was a plan his stepmother came up with. She was the one hellbent of protecting Y/N in the first place; how could she let this happen?

As soon as Lando was out of his car, he threw up onto the gravel driveway. He threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Lando couldn’t face going inside, not yet. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. How was his father allowing this?

Lando wanted them answers. He wanted them real bad.

Leaving his car where it was, Lando marched towards the house. He threw his eyes to somebody at the front door and stormed past them. Up several flights of stairs and towards the furthest bedroom. When he walked past Y/N’s bedroom, his steps faltered. She was in there, and she had no idea what was waiting for her.

Lando burst into his father’s bedroom. It was a horrible sight to see, him laying in bed hooked up to oh so many machines. He stared at Lando as he walked over to the desk, grabbed the chair and dragged it back over to the bed. “Dad,” he said, staring at him.

Mr Norris didn’t respond. He stared at his son, waiting for him to continue.

“I had my first meeting with the heads of the families today,” Lando said, his leg bouncing. “Hamilton pulled me to the side to talk about a deal Helena made with Sainz. Do you already have an invite to Y/N’s wedding? Or am I the last to find out? Well, aside from Y/N, of course.”

Mr Norris coughed. “Has she met with him yet?”

“What?”

“Has Y/N met with Carlos Sainz Jr yet?”

Lando shook his head. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Arrange it for the end of the week. I want the ball rolling on this as soon as possible,” said Mr Norris. He waved his hand, dismissing his son, but Lando ignored it.

“No,” he said and stood up. He pushed his hair back, knocking it over. “No, not until you tell me why! Why are you throwing Y/N to the lions when we’ve spent the last twenty years trying to protect her?!” He shouted, fury written on his face.

Mr Norris shook his head. "You know what will happen if we do not make peace with Sainz. Set up a meeting between Y/N and Sainz Jr."

With no other choice, Lando left the room. He stopped just outside of his father's door and punched the wall. The men guarding Y/N's door watched, but they didn't let their gazes linger.

Lando let out a shout as his fist connected with the wall, but he didn't register the pain. There were more pressings things at hand.

He marched down the hallway and pushed his way into Y/Ns room. "Lan!" She cried when he pushed the door shut behind him. "How was your meeting with the heads of family?"

This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Especially not with Y/N. But, what other choice did he have? He was supposed to arrange a meeting between her and Carlos.

Lando stood by the window, looking out into the gardens. "We've got something we need to talk about," he said, refusing to look at her.

"What's the matter, Lan?"

With a sigh he turned around and sat on the bed beside her. "Before your mother passed, she set up a business deal using the help of our dad, Hamilton and Sainz. This business deal actually involves you."

"Me?" Y/N gasped as she stared at her brother. "What could I possibly have to do with anything?"

Lando sucked in a breath. "You know the problems we've been having with the Sainz family? Well, your mother, our father, Hamilton and Sainz had been working together to try and rectify this. Before she died, your mum came up with a solution."

"Lan, just tell me," she muttered, picking at the skin around her nails.

This was the hardest thing he would ever have to do. "Y/N, you're getting married," he said quickly. "It was your mothers ideal, so there can't be any other solution."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Married. She was going to be getting married.

"I didn't want this for you, but we have no other choice," he continued. "Please, Y/N, try to understand."

"No, Lan, I understand. I get it," she mumbled, placing her hands in her lap. "I know its something I have to do. Just, tell me, who am I going to be marrying?" But Y/N was pretty sure she already knew.

"Do you remember my old friend, Carlos?"

A/N: yes, I still have the novel version in the works. @nurse-floyd is the only person who's had the privilege of reading it so far, but this fiction is a taste

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz x you #cs55 #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #cs55 x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader

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trippinsorrows · 1 day ago

Text

dreamland: what i've become

authors note: the conclusion to the mini story i've been writing within asks. i've combined those two shorts in this one for the sake of cohesion. if you don't want to reread part 1 and part 2, just skip to the second "-------" and that starts part 3.

words: 7k

song inspo: 'monster' by skillet

warnings: angsttttttt.

Solana had a bad feeling about it from the get-go.

Something she couldn't shake in the weeks leading up to Roman leaving. The same way she couldn't shake something being off with her son. Something Roman noticed too, and it wasn't without effort from both parents to try and talk to him. But, beyond his father's looks, Tama also inherited the difficulty Roman experiences with opening up sometimes. And just as she did with her husband—still does occasionally—she gave him space. Roman gave him space, Solana briefly mentioning to her husband that he should try again when he returned from his latest trip. A trip that included their oldest twins tagging along.

A recent thing over the past year and some change, Roman taking turns bringing their older kids with him, providing him the chance to spend one on one time with them. On his last visit to Italy, he'd taken Tama with him, and they'd had such a nice time. Solana almost wishes they'd have said football be damned and allowed him to go again this round, Lina and Leya catching the next one.

Because in the days Roman's been absent, Solana feels like things have almost gotten worse. tremendously. Tama's irritation has spiked, his fuse shorter than she's ever seen in him. He has Roman's temper, yes. All of her boys do, but Tama has always been the type to only show it when provoked. He only shows just how much he's like his father when he has to. not lately. Lately, it feels like her baby boy lives in the valley of volatility.

He's just so angry.

"Baby?" Her voice is as soft as the two knocks her knuckles rap against his closed door. "Can I come in?"

She expects him to say no. Maybe even ignore her. That hurts the most. The ignoring part, because that's never been her dynamic with her son. None of her kids.

But, instead, she's met with a short, "yeah."

Solana doesn't waste any time, welcoming herself into his space, finding his back toward her. Tama's long hair is pulled into a messy bun atop his head, his focus on the tv and controller in hand.

Solana sits down on the edge of his messy bed, not bothering to comment on it. She's always expressed her desire for the kids to make up their beds, and he knows this, but alas, she's found that picking her battles with her suddenly temperamental fourteen year-old is the best route.

She smiles at him, glancing at the TV. "What are you playing?"

Another short, borderline irritated reply. "Call of Duty."

Solana nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. "Of course." She chuckles quietly. "You remember when you tried to teach me how—"

"Mom, I'm busy right now. What do you want?"

Slap. It feels like a slap in the face. An ironic thing considering some sort of physical impact would be preferred over the coldness and frosty reception from her son. Such unfamiliar, hurtful territory. So unlike her son.

"Tamasa...." The smile is gone, her voice weighed down with all the concern of a worried mother. "Baby, I'm worried about you." He scoffs, ripping his headset off, Solana continuing, reaching for his arm. "Please talk to me. what's going o—"

"Nothing," he cuts her off, still not looking at her. Refusing almost. "I already told you that."

She swallows, shaking her head. "And, I don't believe you." Because, she doesn't. Solana knows her family. knows her kids. Knows her son, and this....this isn't her baby boy. "Tamasa—"

He suddenly shoots up from his chair, finally looking at her, brown eyes burning with irritation that doesn't make sense. "Would you just leave me alone?"

Briefly taken back, it doesn't take long for her to stand up, remaining undeterred. "No, I won't, Tama. I’m your mother—" He groans, walking away from her to the other side of the room. Solana right behind him. "Tamasa, I'm talking to you."

"I don't care."

She stops in her tracks, her face dropping. "excuse me?" He continues to ignore her, clearly heading for the door. "Don't walk away from me when I'm speaking to you Tamasa Reigns," she reiterates, voice raised, switching to Spanish as she remains close on his heels, despite his continued disrespect. He scoffs, actually scoffs, ripping open the door. "Tamasa!"

"I said shut up!"

It all happens so fast, too fast, quicker than what she can compute and truly process. the words, his statement, is one thing. something that would normally garner the bulk of her shock and surprise and many other things, but it's easily outweighed by what accompanies said words.

It's the way he quickly turns around, hands lifted and placed against her, forceful, pushing. It's the way he shoves her down onto the ground, Solana stumbling back and on her ass, landing on her palms, her wide eyes never once leaving her son.

Her son who just put his hands on her.

Her son.

Tamasa never takes his eyes off Solana either, expression similar to the one she wears, revealing and exposing all of the emotions. Shock. Surprise. Fear. The anger has all but melted away in the face of the unthinkable.

A situation made only worse by the appearance of two other faces in the doorway.

"Mom?" Koa is the first one to speak, both of her younger sons rushing over to her. "Mom, are you okay?" his voice is filled with concern, eyes scanning over her. "What happened?"

kai, however, is two steps ahead. standing in front of his twin and her, he asks his older brother, hand formed into a fist. "Did you push her?"

He did. Tamasa pushed her. her sweet baby boy who would cry and whine as a baby and toddler whenever she put him down, who's always given her the best, most wholesome hugs, who's always looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky, pushed her.

Kai growls, rushing towards Tama, pushing him back. "get away from her!"

"No....." Solana murmurs, finally breaking her silence, the reality of what's occurred settling in and pushing back an emotion she hasn't felt towards the opposite sex in years. Fear. She felt afraid. "D—don't—"

But, it's a sentiment expressed too late, because the last thing she sees is the devastated expression of her oldest son before he turns on his heel and rushes out of the room.

—-------

"Is he by you?"

A frantic question from a frantic woman. A woman still living in between the valley of disbelief and concern, a permanent residence for over the past hour and a half. The scene replaying in her head like a form of torture. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. Unbelievable.

He pushed me

Dwayne sighs on the other end. "Yeah, he's here."

At that, Solana's eyes shut, her emotions settling just the slightest. not knowing where her children are has always been one of her greatest fears. Among other things. and tonight, that's exactly what happened. Tamasa not only left the house, but he left the house without his phone, leaving Solana with no way to contact him.

how he managed to leave without security following him, she hasn't a clue, but that's an issue for another day. She has much more important, heavier things to tackle.

"Sol, what the hell happened over there?" Dwayne's question brings her back to the conversation at hand. "Kid has barely said a word and looks like he saw a fucking ghost." For some reason, that makes the weight sitting at the bottom of her stomach sink even deeper. No mother wants to know or see their child upset, and knowing Tamasa must be all over the place and her not being there to help him is crushing. "I know Roman said the boy's been off lately, but this...."

She closes her eyes. He has no idea.

"We, umm—" She sniffles, wiping at her nose as she paces Tamasa's room. "we got into....an argument."

A pause on the other end. "What kind of argument, Solana?"

Right then and there, she knows, knows that there's no use in lying to him. in trying to downplay what occurred. doesn't stop her from trying though. "It's nothing."

"Solana, my nephew is sitting in my guest room just staring at the wall, and you're holding back tears." failing to hold back tears, Solana unable to stop them from cascading down her face. "What happened?"

She doesn't want to. doesn't want to tell him. doesn't want to have to deal with any of this, but she also knows that delaying the inevitable has never helped anyone in life. Especially her.

"Please don't tell Roman," she croaks.

"Solana, I'm getting conc—"

"He pushed me."

A pause. Long. Longer. And, then—

"What?"

And right away, despite her own mixed bag of emotions regarding what occurred, she slips right back into mama mode. "Don't say anything to him. Don't even tell him I told you."

"He pushed you?" Disbelief forms a marriage with anger that seeps through his tone. "Has he lost—"

"Something's going on with him. I know it. I just....." she stops herself, blowing out a breath, hand over her chest, regulating her emotions.

"You have to tell Rom—"

"I know, I will. I just..." Another sniffle. "I had to make sure my baby was okay first." Because what happened doesn't change the fact that her children's safety will always come first, hence why she's been on the phone with several family members trying to track down and see where her eldest son is. "And, Dwayne, I mean it, don't say anything to him."

Another loud sigh. "You know we don't play that shit in this family, Solana."

She knows that very well. "And, so does he." Even if she, for the life of her, can't understand just what made him do it. "Let me....let me talk to Roman first."

"You gon call him now?"

I don't want to. "yeah."

And finally, the question she was both waiting and dreading. "You're okay though, right? Physically, I mean? He didn't hu—"

"No." There's something about him even asking that that upsets her. Her son would never hurt her.

And yet...

"Please just keep him there with you. For....for now." Because Solana still needs to sit down and talk with Koa and Kai, her younger boys who are somewhere in the house blowing off steam from what occurred.

"I will," he promises. "Just let me know when you want me to bring him back home."

"Thank you," she murmurs, voice dipping once more from the heaviness of it all. "And, Dwayne?"

"Yeah?"

A broken gasp. "Tell him I love him."

Because nothing, nothing at all in the entire universe could ever change that. Period.

"I will, Sol," he agrees, offering with all the sincerity, "let me know if you need anything."

She nods. "okay." Disconnecting the call reminds Solana of where she stands, still in her son's room, the tv still on revealing a paused game. The bed still unmade and unkempt, an empty water bottle on the floor beside his desk. She closes her eyes and places her hands over her heart, taking another deep, shaky breath.

That was difficult.

This will be devastating.

Solana lifts up the phone, shaking fingers ready to navigate to Roman's contact when something catches the corner of her eye. something on Tama's dresser, another place and space of unorganized mess.

How she sees it, she hasn't a clue, but she does, and it makes her frown.

Solana places her cell phone in her back pocket and walks over to the dresser, reaching for the manilla envelope with a strange bulge. Shaped like something familiar. Like a bottle.

And, that's exactly what she pulls out. A pill bottle. A large one, too.

But, it's when she pulls out said bottle, reads the label of said bottle that an already dire situation skyrockets from bad to horrific.

Tears brew in her eyes, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God...." She can't stop reading it, not the description or the other writing, but the name. Something most familiar to her given her profession. Something she knows all about through various teachings and experience in her field. But, something she never would have thought to find in her fourteen year-old son's room.

Trenbolone.

A name that might mean nothing to some but everything to her, because she recognizes it for what it is.

An anabolic-androgenic steroid

Tama is using steroids.

—--------

“Where is he!”

Solana has just rounded the corner, barely made it in the entryway of their home when she’s met with both a concerning, yet expected, sight. Roman stands in front of the door. Dressed in dark joggers, a black hoodie, the darkness under his eyes confirmation of the sleep deprivation he’s no doubt battling after boarding the jet as soon as she called and told him what happened.

The sound of Lina and Leya talking amongst themselves, giggling, clearly merry and happy, is a stark contrast to Solana who sits on the floor of her son’s room. Leaned up against his bed, her eyes, red and puffy.

She feels anything but merry.

Shuffling on the other end. “Give me a second, baby.” Roman says something to the girls in Italian, Solana muting the phone to sniffle without him hearing. The noise soon dwindles down into almost silence as he devotes his focus solely on her. “What’s wrong?”

Solana unmutes the phone, taking a deep breath. “I—I—”

“Solana.” His deep voice reeks of concern, Solana able to visualize the deep scowl on his face. “What happened?” The concern jumps to level ten as he asks almost anxiously. “Are the kids—”

“They’re fine,” she answers. Not entirely true, but the least she can do is wane his concern about something serious having happened with the kids. “It’s—it’s Tama.”

A pause. “What happened, Solana?”

Her eyes shut. Solana realizes the longer she goes without answering, the more his concern will grow. She has to rip the band-aid off.

“I tried to talk to him again, and he–he got upset with me.”

“Solana.”

The most heartbreaking words to leave her mouth in some time. “He pushed me, Roman.” And finally, the tears. Solana can't hold back her sobs anymore. Can't act like she's never felt so utterly hopeless and lost regarding her babies.

She feels so helpless.

Silence. Prolonged, continued, hefty silence.

And finally, a steel, cold, borderline stoic. “I’m on my way to the airport”

As relieved as Solana is to see Roman, she can’t deny that her husband looks the way she feels. Tired, confused, concerned and something extra, something evident in the way he walks into their home.

Angry.

It’s an emotion that melts away—temporarily—when he lays eyes on her. An instant shift. “Sol…”

Solana doesn’t waste a second in moving so that she’s in front of him, his arms around her, holding and comforting her.

Naturally, she melts into him, gripping the material of his shirt as he cradles the back of her head. She sniffles quietly, allowing the embrace to comfort her in a way she’s needed so desperately over the past few hours. Needed him.

Roman just holds her, letting her hold onto him before stepping back just enough to assess her, his eyes scanning over every inch of her, searching.

“I’m—I’m okay,” she assures. Partially true. Partially untrue. It’s hard, nearly impossible, for her to be even remotely okay considering what’s occurred.

Her words seem to settle him but only slightly, Roman’s eyes quickly darkening as he eases back into the space that had his jaw tight and his hand flexing.

Anger.

He’s angry.

“Where is he?” He repeats, Solana’s stomach dropping realizing just how upset he is. She knew he would be, expected him to be, but actually experiencing it in the moment is something different.

“Roman—”

“Naw, where the hell are you?” Roman moves past Solana, stalking up the steps, his wife right behind him. “Get the fuck out here now, Tamasa!”

She stops in the middle of the steps, eyes shutting as the gravity of the situation overcomes her once more. Never in a million years did she imagine hearing her husband speak of and to their son in such a tone. It’s painful, hurtful, and devastating in all the ways imaginable.

She hates every bit of it.

“You wanna put your fucking hands on your mom and think I won’t fuck you up for it?”

“Roman, please—”

But, he’s not listening, not even truly, mentally present. His focus, emotions, and everything else are too grounded and situated in the bulk of his anger. And, hurt. Because Solana has no doubt he’s just as torn up about this as she is. He just, in true Roman fashion, expresses his with more volatility.

With anger.

“Tamasa!”

Solana winces at the harshness, the way he stomps through the house, headed for the boy's wing. A part of her even more grateful that she made the call to send the younger kids over to Afia’s. Happy Roman agreed to leave Lina and Leya in Italy with Matteo, as he hopped on the jet straight home as soon as she told him what happened.

She didn’t want them to be around for any of this, especially this side of Roman, a side he’s never presented around them unless the occasion called for it.

And as much as she hates to admit it, if there was an occasion for Roman to tap more into the side of the Tribal Chief, it would be now.

Solana jumps when he kicks down their son’s door.

“Roman!”

“I want it all out of here,” he shouts, hands on his hip, motioning around their eldest son’s bedroom. “Every game, every piece of equipment, everything but his fucking bed is gone!”

“You need to calm down,” she advises, stepping toward him, moving her hands up and down his chest. “Please.”

Roman’s eyes shut at the contact, his jaw flexing and jerking in the way that it does when he’s trying to do just what she’s trying to do.

Calming the fuck down.

“He’s not here,” she finally informs, Roman’s eyes snapping open at the news.

“Where—”

“He’s on his way. Dwayne is bringing him,” she continues, jumping in before he can cut her off. “But, Roman, you need to calm down before he gets here. He doesn’t need this—”

Still, he remains too far embedded in his ire to hear her out. “He needs his ass whooped, Solana. That’s what he needs.”

“And, that’s why I need you to calm down.” Because she understands her husband being upset, knows how fiercely protective he is of her, and rightfully so given what happened. But, all this rage won’t help the situation. It’s only going to make things worse. “Ro….”

She steps away, past him, to the dresser where she found it. Where she left it, knowing Tama wouldn’t be home until Roman’s jet landed and he was home, so there was no way for their son to grab it again.

And especially to take anymore.

The tears begin brewing once more as she picks up the bottle and turns toward Roman, hand outstretched. “Look.”

He frowns, stepping closer, taking said bottle. Thick brows cave downward as a deep scowl forms on his face. His eyes dart up. “Are these—”

“Yes,” she answers, stomach in every sort of knot imaginable. “Steroids.”

Roman’s jaw tightens. “He’s been taking steroids?"

Solana nods, just hearing it aloud feels so wrong. “Yes.”

Roman scoffs, shaking his head. Disbelief dances between the two of them. “Jesus Christ…how did….how the hell did he even get these?”

She crosses her arms. “You and I both know how easy and accessible these things are to kids these days.” Far too accessible. “I don’t—I don’t know how I missed the signs.” One, in particular. Tama’s sudden irritability and outbursts should have keyed her into something being off. Maybe not steroid use but something.

She's a nurse for crying out loud.

Roman, however, sees the trajectory of the path his wife is on and moves quickly to deviate. “Baby, don’t do that.” He steps forward, pulling her into him, bottle tossed onto the bed. “Don’t blame yourself.”

He knows her well. Too well. “I just wish we would have—”

“I know.” Nothing more. It doesn’t need to be stated. Doesn’t need to be said aloud. Not with everything else that needs to be expressed, but not to her. Roman just needs to make sure his wife is good before he tackles the bigger issue at hand. Tama.

It’s Tama he needs to talk to.

—----

Uncle Dwayne doesn’t come in the house, doesn’t accompany Tama into what might be the scariest situation he’s ever walked into. He’s thought about this a lot, laid and twisted in bed thinking about it, fearing it, knowing what’s coming but also not being able to do anything to stop it.

Not that he necessarily would if he could, because deep down he knows what this really is. Consequences. They’re the consequences of his actions.

Actions that led up to this very moment.

He’s slightly disappointed to not be able to see his mother, but also not sure if he’s ready to see her, either.

Truth be told, he doesn’t feel ready for any of it, especially once he finds himself in front of his room. A room that no longer has a door, the large hole in the middle, the way it leans against the wall, very visibly off the hinges, all the story he needs.

It also makes his nerves just three levels higher. Five when he finds his father sitting on the edge of his bed.

Tama doesn't say anything, doesn’t know just what to say, what can be said at this point.

So, he goes with what’s undeniable and indisputable.

“Dad—"

“Tamasa.”

Silence. A frosty chill that channels across the room, embedding in the walls and settling in the cracks. A sort of tension that can’t be cut, dismissed, or ignored. The type that dances up the skin and pricks, imbuing itself within the soul.

“You know that I’ve always worked hard to control my temper in front of you and your siblings. That I’ve never wanted to show you that side of me.” Tama says nothing, continuing to look at his father who sits on the edge of his bed, closed, clasped fists holding up his chin, gaze finally lifting from the floor and settling on his son.

Tama swallows. He’s never heard his dad speak to him with such….coldness.

Roman gestures to the side of them, the wall lined with countless trophies, ribbons, and other sports-related accolades. “But, it’s taking everything in me not to put your ass through the fucking wall right now.”

Tama doesn’t doubt it. Doesn’t doubt it one bit.

“I asked you what was going on. I tried to talk with you before I left. I’ve been trying to talk to you, and you’ve shut me out. And even with that, I respected your space, because you deserve that.” Roman shakes his head, expression and voice remaining even and sharp. “But, you lost the right to that space the minute you put your hands on your mother.”

Another sentiment the teenager can’t deny or disagree with. He’s just grateful to be upright and vertical, because Tama knows if there’s one thing his dad has never played around with, it’s his mom. Tama knows for a fact anyone who’s ever disrespected his mother has been dealt with.

In the most brutal of ways.

“So, I’m only going to ask you one time and one time only, what the fuck is going on with you?” A pointed question, the acrid tone making the eldest Reigns boy wince. This side of his father is uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but it’s also well deserved.

Tama knows he deserves this.

“I—”

“Or, better yet—” Roman cuts him off, reaching behind him and tossing something in Tama’s diffraction. Naturally, the teenager catches it. “Why don’t you start with telling me about that?”

Tama looks down, his stomach dropping as his hands tighten around the now empty bottle of pills.

His mouth is suddenly drier, tongue dipping out to run over chapped lips. “Dad—”

“You taking roids now?” Is Roman’s rough, abrasive question. Tama wincing once more. This is brutal. “Answer me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

“It’s not….I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant, Tamasa.” Another harsh cut-off, Roman reiterating once more, “you know better than to bring drugs up in my house. The same way you know better than to even be taking that shit in the first damn place!”

Tama shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor, fingers tightening once more over the object in hand. “I—I know.”

“You know?” Roman’s voice is slightly mocking, his eyes flashing with something dark and intense. “Tama—” He stops, Tama watching how his father shifts his gaze from him to the window adjacent to them. The way his eyes close, and he takes a deep breath, gaze returning him with an almost 180. There’s still anger, still frustration, but also something else.

There’s concern.

“Talk to me, son.” Another audible shift evident in his tone. Softer, almost. Less abrasive and aggressive. Perhaps a bit desperate, even. “Help…help me understand this, cause for the life of me, I can’t. This isn’t like you. This isn’t the son that your mom and I raised.”

Hurtful words, but words that need to be shared. Truth be told, Tama doesn’t entirely recognize himself, either.

And, he shares as such.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, walking to his desk, plopping down in the seat, allowing the bottle to fall onto the floor. “I just—” He leans over, hands on either side of his head. “It became too much.”

A frown settles on Roman’s face. “What became too much?”

Tama swallows, voice tight. “The pressure.”

Roman sighs, not from frustration or agitation but something else. Something heavy. Something almost sorrowful. “What pressure, Tamasa?”

The words swim around in Tama’s head. A vulnerable truth he’s been too scared to discuss and speak aloud because doing so makes it real. Makes it something he can’t avoid anymore. Something he doesn’t want to say aloud. But, then the thought of his mom’s expression, the fear in her face after he shoved her smacks away that resistance, reminds him that perhaps avoiding it is exactly what brought them to this very point.

So, despite the trepidation that eats him up on the inside, Tama lifts his head, looking his father dead in the eye. “The pressure to be like you.”

Roman’s shoulders drop. “What?”

Tama continues, pushing and powering through his discomfort. “I’m not like you, dad.” He shakes his head, scowling, deep in thought, submersed in the throes of insecurity. “At school, all I see is Roman Reigns holds the record for this, broke the record for that.” His jaw clenched, hand moving nervously up and down his thigh. “I go to the Warehouse, and all I hear about is how epic a fighter you were, you still are.”

“Tamasa—”

But, Tamasa is too deep in his thoughts, finally freeing them from the suffocating confines of his mind. He’s struggled silently with this for long enough. “You lead the Bloodline and the Cosa Nostra, and everyone either fears or respects you—or both. And, I’m just….I’m just me.” Tama’s voice takes on a hint of disappointment. Of shame. He motions to his body. “Just your can barely put on muscle son, but even worse, one of the first in line to be your heir…. and I….I don’t want to disappoint everyone.” He swallows, finally looking back over at his dad. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Of all the things his son could say, of all the things going on, Roman could have never guessed this is what’s been behind Tama’s strange behavior. Not even the steroids. The reason behind him using the steroids.

Roman wouldn’t consider Tama small whatsoever. Is he as “big” as Roman was at his age? No, but Roman was also a late bloomer, not hitting puberty until he was almost thirteen years old, so Tama being a little behind just makes sense.

And, he knew that it bothered his son somewhat. Just not this much.

Not nearly this much.

More than the Tribal Chief could have ever guessed.

Roman’s tone has shifted once more, barely above a whisper. “Son—”

“I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

And just like that, any trace and hint of anger and frustration is whisked away by a crushing, devastating admission of vulnerability and insecurity.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he whispers. Roman looks over to see Tama’s gaze back on the ground, the light shining from the window behind reflecting off his face, highlighting the watering of his eyes. “I didn’t mean—I never—I never meant to hurt her—I’m sor—”

Mere seconds are all that pass between the time Roman stands up from Tama’s bed and closes the distance between them. “Come here.” Without word or warning, he pulls his son into him, hugging him, eyes shutting as Tama tenses momentarily only to quickly ease into a sigh of relief and emotion.

“Tamasa, you listen to me, and you listen to me good,” Roman speaks, holding the back of his son's head. “I don’t want you to be like me. I want…I want you to be better than me.” Words from the heart and deepest part of him. “And the truth is you already are better than me, because you’re half your mother, and we both know there’s no better person than her.” An undeniable truth. “I don’t want you feeling like you’re not good enough or big enough or strong enough or anything fucking else. You don’t have to be me or live up to any record or anything else I’ve set. I just want you to be you. I’ve always just wanted all of you kids to just be whoever you are and know that whoever that is, I’ll always support and love. No matter what.”

Truer words have never been spoken, because two things can coexist in the same universe where Roman is upset with his son, disappointed with his son’s actions, but nothing could ever stop him from loving and being overall proud of Tamasa. Is he perfect? Hardly. And, Roman doesn’t want him to be. Doesn’t expect him to be. He just expects and wants him to be—exactly as he’s told him—himself.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Tama whispers, voice tight, the emotion and profundity of it all settling in, the haze and blinders caused by the steroids dissipating in the face of reality. “I don’t know what came over me—”

Roman already knows what he’s referring to. “It was the steroids.” No doubt about that. No doubt that majority of Tama’s behavior have been caused by the substances he’s been taking in order to feel better about himself, to feel like he’s “bettering” himself, an ironic thing considering what’s occurred. “You gotta stop taking them.”

It’s deeper than that, Solana already scheduling an appointment with his doctor to oversee the proper process of weaning Tama off the pills. And more than that, to run blood work, because no telling what the hell he’s been putting in his system.

“I will,” Tama sniffles, pulling back and quickly wiping at his eyes. “I–I promise.”

Roman nods, asking. “Where’d you get them?”

“Some guys on the team,” he answers. Roman makes a mental note to talk to the coach and find out who the fuck is on the team spreading fucking drugs like it’s fucking candy.

“Tama….” Roman lowers his hand to the back of his son's neck. “I meant every word I said. I am proud of you, and I don’t want you feeling like you’re not good enough or need to compete. I just want you to be yourself, to enjoy your childhood. Don’t worry about living up to shit. You should be in competition with nobody but yourself,” Roman releases a low, quiet chuckle. “Let alone an old man like me.”

The smallest smile on Tama’s face, his eyes twinkling with that light Roman hasn’t seen in his son in weeks. “You are really old.”

“Shut up.”

Tama’s smile deepens slightly, gaze dipping and rising back to his father. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you, too, son. Always.” Roman’s gaze darkens, his tone transitioning from almost lighthearted to serious. “But, Tamasa.” A beat. “You ever put your fucking hands on your mother again, and it’s me and you….you understand me?” Roman threatens, reminding his son the natural, respectful order of things. A one and only reminder he’ll ever again in life receive. “She may be your mother, but she’s my wife, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone lay a hand on her. Even you.”

Tama nods. “Yes, sir.” His shoulders drop as Roman lowers his hand back to his side. “Is she….”

“In her art room,” Roman answers, already knowing what his son is asking. “She’s waiting for you.”

Words that Tamasa continues to replay in his head as he makes his way through the house to his mother’s art room. A place of peace and tranquility. A room where he’s spent countless afternoons over the years, sometimes helping, sometimes watching, as she turns a blank slate into something beautiful and special. It’s always been one of his favorite things to do with her, even if he himself has never really been good at such things. She’s never made him feel that way, always been supportive and encouraging. Always been the best. She is the best, and that’s why it tears him up thinking about it.

Thinking about how he could do that to her. She didn’t deserve it. No one does, but especially her. He only knows a fraction of what she’s been through in life but enough to know the trauma she endured at the hands of men. Men who put their hands on her.

The same thing he’s now done.

It’s the worst fucking feeling in the world. The worst possible imaginable pain knowing the one woman he loves most in this world was hurt at his hands. His mother’s expression of fear, fear toward him, something he’ll never be able to rid himself of as long as he lives.

Good. He deserves it. He deserves a lot more than that.

But, it’s when he finally arrives to his mother’s sanctuary, sees her standing in front of an easel, a frown upon her beautiful face, her focus clearly on anything but the canvas before her, that something clicks. Something shifts that has all of the emotions he’s experienced over the past 24 hours—even longer—come to a head.

Especially when she turns to look at him. Her frown deepens, her shoulders dropping, the last thing he hears being his name, soft and sympathetic, on her lips. “Tama…”

Any resolve crumbles and breaks as Tama closes the distance between them. One minute he’s in the doorway, the next he’s in front of her, on his knees, holding her, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry, mama,” he whispers, holding her a little tighter, like he has to, like it’s the only thing he can do to make this right. A gentle, loving touch to counteract what was anything but. “I’m so—so sorry.”

For a second, he freezes, realizes that perhaps the way to undo is not to rewrite. That a kind touch does not strip away the scars of unkind. That he’s out of line. That just as he doesn’t deserve to forget what he did, he doesn’t get to try to make things right. A horrifying, debilitating feeling. But, one that is washed away the minute he feels his mom’s arms around him, her mouth pressing the longest, lingering kiss to the top of his head.

“Oh, Tamasa.” His eyes clench shut. Love. All he hears—all he feels—is love. The type of maternal, unconditional love that only a mother can provide. “I know, baby. I know.”

“I would never hurt you,” he vows, a promise to never be broken or made to be a lie from this day forward. “I love you—I love you too much. You’re my mom.” He looks up, sniffling as Solana cups his cheeks, offering a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry for—for all of it—for being so mean to you–for—”

“Tamasa.” She lifts a hand to stroke his hair. “I know exactly who you are and who you aren’t. You’re my son, and my son is the kindest, smartest, funniest young man I know. That is who you are, and that person is perfect just the way he is.” Words aimed towards what she won’t specifically say but he knows. The pills. The pills he’d been taking in the hopes of becoming someone he thought he needed to be. Bigger, stronger, everything just more. More like his taller, stronger teammates.

More like his dad.

“But, baby, your father and I are so proud of you.” He swallows, struggling to understand how that could still stand. “We always have been, and we always will be.”

“Even—even after—”

At that, Solana’s expression drops, her eyes widening slightly. “Tamasa Reigns, you listen to me. There is nothing—nothing—you could ever say or do to make your dad and I not love you. Nothing.” He hadn’t said it. Not verbalized it. Not allowed himself to say aloud the other fear, something that would have felt impossible before but a reality now.

The possibility of his mistakes being too great for even his mother’s infinite grace. The chance that he’d ended not only losing her trust and respect but her love.

“I love you.” She kisses his forehead, eyes closing, mouth shifting to place another kiss on his temple. “I love you so much. Don’t you ever forget or question that, okay?”

Tamasa nods, leaning in to hug his mom once more. “I love you, too, mama.”

She holds him, allows that reassurance and love to flow through the both of them. And, they stay like that for a good five minutes—maybe longer—before Solana reaches for his hand, helping him to his feet. “Tamasa….” He looks down at her, Solana bringing her palm back to his cheek. “I meant everything I said, but I also mean this as well.” She swallows, shaking her head. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never let another man put his hands on me—”

“Mama—”

“And, I meant that.” He swallows, wanting to interrupt but also knowing better. “So, if you ever in your life make the mistake to do anything like that again, it’s not your dad you need to worry about. It’s me.” He presses his lips together, Solana seeking confirmation of his comprehension. “Do you understand?”

He nods. “Yes ma’am.”

A warning that feels almost unnecessary. Tama would rather be raked over the coals than be in this sort of situation again. To put his parents through this again.

Solana smiles, moving to hold onto his arm. There’s still so much to cover, so much to process, so much to figure out. Roman and Solana already agreed to put Tama back in therapy. He’d done it when he was younger, all the kids, especially when Leya’s OCD was severe enough to where it was impacting all of them. But, once they felt the kids were “okay,” they stopped for the time being. However, given what’s happened, she thinks it’s best for him to restart.

They also discussed talking with him about family therapy. Just the three of them. Making sure they’re doing what they can and need to in order to support him.

And, though he didn’t say it, Solana has no doubt in her mind that Roman will be working to spend more one-on-one time with their oldest son. Time to talk, to support, to listen, whatever Tamasa needs. Personally, she already thinks he does such a great job doing that already, but clearly, more is needed.

So, that’s what will happen.

“Tama.”

The eldest Reigns’ boy turns around to see his father standing in the doorway, leaning, arms crossed. Tama wonders how long he’s been there, how much he heard. All of it, preferably.

“We need to talk to your brothers when they get home,” Roman informs. “We don’t have to tell them everything, but they need to know what happened isn’t acceptable.”

Tama agrees. He’s always considered himself, as the oldest boy, responsible for leading by example for his younger siblings, especially his brothers. They deserve a conversation.

And an apology.

He nods, “yes, sir.”

Roman kicks off the door, motioning with his hand. “Come on.”

Tama frowns, asking, “where are we going?”

Roman gives him a pointed look. “You want a damn door, don’t you? Well, now we gotta go fucking buy one.”

The smallest smile, Tama walking over to his dad when he thinks of something. Turning around, hand extended, he asks, hopeful. “Come with us, mom?”

Solana’s eyes water. She sees it. Sees the sweet little boy who always held onto her as a toddler, whined when she put him down for too long, gave her the biggest, best, tightest hugs whenever he had to leave her.

She sees him.

Sees her son.

Solana toward him, taking his hand, gently squeezing. “Always, baby. Always."

------

and, here we go. i've been wanting to write something to show more of the close relationship/connection roman has with tama, and this felt like a good storyline to do so. shoutout to my lovely, amazing moot @jayjayem1999 for giving me the idea forever ago about tama feeling the pressure of living in roman's shadow and resorting to supplements.

curious if you agree with how roso handled this situation, especially roman. lemme knowwww.

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #aisnotebook

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sqgeism · 3 days ago

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If I may make a request?

I saw your vampire reader x Anaxa fic and absolutely loved it! Would you be willing to do it the other way around? (with Anaxa being the vampire) lowkey obsessed with the idea of vampire Anaxa. I can just imagine him doing another wild experiment on himself again and accidentally turning himself into a vampire. So now his S/O takes care of him by letting him feed off them.

Also happy birthday!! Hope your day is wonderful!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 l - i - licky - c - k - licky - y ! | anaxagoras x gender neutral reader

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ hiiii thank u for the bday wishes!! cw suggestive.. 🧘‍♀️ thank u anaxacannibalau for helping me w this when i asked lol ❤️‍🩹 more vamp stuff coming eventually when i lock in.. also this was supposed to be short but i got carried away (*´▽｀)

coming home to your husband as a vampire should have been one of the things you had expected from the young genius, but you didn't. so now you've walked in on him draining a dead dove in the living room, how.. symbolic.

but he seemed to be relatively the same, just sharper teeth, red eyes, and far too much strength for him to need. oh, also the blood issue, that was always a concern.

you began unintentionally studying anaxa's behavior ever since he turned, taking down notes on things that may be helpful for research or understanding his new.. form. something of note was his reaction to his 'diet'.

animals and alike were working but anaxa never seemed to like them, not so big on their flavor and he always needed some sort of drink to 'wash away' the flavor, since he seemed much more relaxed after a glass of water. human blood bags were better, but he always grumbled that they were cold. never quite comparable to the real thing.

however something of note, was that the one and only time he fed on fresh blood, yours, was probably the best he had ever been. he was stronger, not at all crabby about it, and seemed to really like biting you. he got pretty into it until he could feel your pulse almost weakening, and immediately pulled away to care for you.

though since then, it seems he's trying to punish himself for almost 'killing' you. his vampiric urges won over his humanity, which almost scared him, he knew he still held great control compared to his bloodsucking kin. it still doesn't erase the fact he almost lost it, though, and has refused to drink from you ever since.

except you've always been a stubborn little thing, wouldn't be you without constantly worrying for his well-being, insisting he take the bite—to drain you, as if he's the victim. as if he didn't do this to himself and is just a helpless fledgling.

no, he was an intelligent man—with heightened senses and means of reading someone.

so yes, he could see right through your concern.

and yes, that means he knew your real intentions.

you wanted him to bite you, you were into it.

and by the titans he couldn't agree more.

even so, he still held some sort of restraint. whereas you began to wear much.. looser clothing around the house, exposing skin that was just soft to the bite, he stayed together.

till he didn't.

"titan forbid a man wants a little restraint around you." he huffed, pushing you down onto the bed firmly but not quite forcefully. "i want you safe," he says, making sure your head is comfortably rested on the pillows. "protected," one of your legs is lifted onto his adjacent shoulder to it. "but here you are. testing me like i'm some kind of hypothesis to study, do you really value yourself so little?"

breathless, you reply. "it isn't endangering myself if i know you wont hurt me."

seeing him looming over you, his eyes softly glow in the darkness of the room and there is nothing stopping him between the major vein behind your knee, and his teeth.

he then whispers quietly. "are you sure you trust me?"

"with my life, anaxa. with everything i am."

the chuckle he lets out shouldn't be attractive, but it very much is. especially with the fact he's leaning down to your thigh to bite.

"just tell me when it starts to hurt."

he presses a delicate kiss to your thigh, and you listen to the quiet hiss he lets out before biting.

while he could undoubtedly rip off the flesh from your bones, anaxa loves you too much to let his urges do so. and so he almost nibbles, and sucks on your thigh so gently you could mistake it for a kitten.

"mmgh." he grumbles, his brows furrowing as his eyes close shut—lost in the flavor of your blood, in you. but when is he not?

how is he supposed to ignore how pretty you are when you're forcing yourself to keep quiet, biting your bottom lip and making the prettiest noises. all while you still reach for his hand, for his comfort, which he's happy to give through reaching out to you and gently caressing your leg. "doing so well, dove. so well."

"an— anaxa— it hurts.."

then he's off just as quick as he bit, licking the mark and softly applying pressure to it. "good dove. now let your mind and body rest, i'll take care of you."

the most tender kiss is placed on the bite, slowly lowering your leg as his kisses trail upwards, all the way to your lips. "thank you, my sweet dove. sleep well."

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x you #anaxagoras x you

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katscki · 2 days ago

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10:30

The boys pile into his room like dogs running to a steak, you slowly trail behind, not wanting to disturb anyone and sit on his bed politely. You haven’t really integrated with Bakugous friends yet, they’re really nice it’s just a little… hard. Being as quiet as you are it can be difficult to be around boys who are so boisterous and most of the time you can’t tell when they joke with you.

“Woah Y/N you’re gonna get chewed out! No one’s allowed on explodoboys bed!” Kaminari smiles wickedly at you, not truly meaning it of course, well he’s not allowed on Bakugous bed but you’re different.

“O-oh m sorry I shouldn’t have…” It’s quiet and nervous face flushing with embarrassment as you slowly get up and play with the hem f your skirt.

“Now why the fuck would you-” he grits at the boy giving him a hard shove before looking back to you, “Stay. He’s just messing with you, you can sit.” At that you sit back down and tuck yourself into the corner and watch them do whatever boyish thing they’re doing now.

A couple hours later you overhear the boys whispering in the next room over, talking over whatever game they are playing. It’s hushed but you can still make it out.

“Ya need to apologize t’her, she wants you guys to like her so ya can’t go around messing with her, it’s not teasing it’s just you being a dick and I know about being a dick alright fuckface?” Bakugou grouches.

“Yeah you gotta let her ease into us bro, she’s a shy girl!” Kirishima offers to release the tension.

“I wasn’t trying to make her feel bad I was just jokin around.” Kaminari pouts as he starts to get up. “Doesn’t fucking matter what you meant it matters how it was received dumbass read the room. Now go.”

Don’t worry you’re all friends now the end 😛

#mha #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou x you #fanfic #katsuki x reader

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reiinaissance · 3 days ago

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ATSUMU'S S/O SNAPPING AT HIM ft. miya atsumu (haikyuu!!) x gender neutral! reader

⟢ content warnings slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. lowercase intended.

reupload from my old account ☻

"atsumu... will you please leave me alone even just for a little while? i'm trying to study and you're distracting me." you groaned slightly as he stopped nuzzling into your neck, looking at you with furrowed brows.

"but y/n, ya have been studyin' for days! i know ya can nail the exams just fine, and we haven't spent much time together for weeks!" he ranted — the longer he spoke, the more you got irritated, "i just want a little time with my s/o, is that too much to ask? and we have a game in a few days so i was wonderin' if—"

"atsumu! for the last time, just go! for god's sake!" you yelled, not noticing the flash of hurt on his face at your words.

he stood up abruptly and sighed, gulping harshly. "...fine. see ya tomorrow."

you nodded, not even bothering to look at him one last time as you continued to consume all your time in studying for the whole day.

the next day, you woke up from the alarm going off. you must've fallen asleep while studying.

as you turned the alarm off and sat up, you thought about last night and guilt ate you up instantly. you had snapped at your boyfriend because you were stressed. there was no excuse for your actions.

you cursed at yourself. ‘y/n... how could you be so stupid?! you could've just told him to leave you alone nicely!’

standing up in slight panic, you got ready for school, already practicing how you can apologize to atsumu in your mind.

you sighed nervously, fiddling with your fingers as you walked to the gym where the volleyball team is currently practicing. as you were about to walk in, you heard atsumu's voice and your heart dropped at his words.

"i know, 'samu... it's been so long since we last spent our time with each other. it’s like i’m the only one in the relationship, like i’m the only one who’s makin' a damn effort."

"well... do ya plan on endin' things with them?" osamu asked, and you felt a pang in your chest.

no... no. what if he's really planning on breaking up with you? it was true, you don't even remember the last time you talked to him properly...

you can't bear to lose atsumu. not because of this.

you heard suna greeting you, it looked like he had just arrived. "oh, hey y/n."

you forced a smile, "good morning, rintarou... uhm, can you tell atsumu tha—"

“y/n? tell me what?" you heard your boyfriend’s voice behind you. you gulped and faced atsumu, hugging him tightly which took him by surprise, as well as suna but he just walked inside the gym to give you both some privacy.

"atsumu! i-i was thinking if we could eat lunch together later? if it's okay with you?"

this surprised him even more. you never asked him to go lunch with you, it was always the other way around.

at first he hesitated, but then he thought that he might waste this opportunity, so he agreed. "s...sure."

"okay, i'll wait for you outside your classroom during lunch— i gotta go now, i'll see you later!" you waved, but before atsumu could protest that he would be the one who will wait for you outside your classroom, you left in an instant before tears fell from your eyes.

this went on for a few days. and now it was exam week, and you gave him all your attention instead of studying for exams.

atsumu noticed it almost immediately, but he waited for the right time to talk to you about it.

“y/n, aren’t ya gonna study?” he asked you.

it was silent for a moment before you answered, "no," and cuddled up to him, eyes closing but then you heard his voice.

"y/n."

you slowly looked up at him, biting your bottom lip anxiously. "....yeah?"

atsumu hadn’t meant to call your name out in a cold tone, he was just confused. as he tried to find the right words to question your behavior lately, he heard sniffles from you. "hey— y/n?"

your sobs grew louder, burying your face into his chest. you mentally cursed at yourself for staining his shirt with your tears. "i'm sorry, 'tsumu... i-i... i'm so sorry... for being such a bad s/o..."

he hugged you tight, looking down at you in confusion. "hey, hey, what makes ya think you’re a bad s/o, babe? tell me." he whispered, kissing your forehead as he wiped your tears away lovingly. "you're the best s/o i've ever had. and what are ya apologizin' for? c'mon, tell me what happened."

once your sobs had died down, you told him everything.

"the day after i snapped at you while i was studying, i was about to visit you in the gym to apologize but i... overheard you and osamu talking about our relationship. i didn't mean to eavesdrop but i heard about the ‘plan on ending things’... are you... going to break up with me?"

your boyfriend pouted, pulling you closer. "i'm sorry ya had to hear that. 'samu and i continued to talk about it afterwards, actually. i said that breakin' up with ya have never even crossed my mind. 'n well, yeah, i was hurt about what happened the other day, but i knew ya were just really stressed." he caressed your cheek gently. "please know that i would never break up with ya for this reason, okay? you're it f' me, baby."

you nodded, you could feel tears building up your eyes again. “i love you, ‘tsumu. i'm really sorry for snapping at you...”

atsumu kissed your forehead, "it's okay. i love you. now c'mon, let's study together."

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zepskies · 6 hours ago

Text

And the Next

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: He has the ring, but still isn’t sure he should give it to you. Ellie helps him out a little.

AN: Here’s the sequel to Tomorrow, but this can also stand alone!

Word Count: 1.2K

Posted on Patreon: 6/04/2025

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, Jackson!Joel, fluff, sliver of angst

Ellie tears through the front door like a colt bolting out of a stable, still with that kid energy, disturbing his morning cup of coffee.

Joel jolts in his chair out on the porch.

“Jesus,” he mutters. She just grins.

“Morning,” she says, nodding at him. “Still waking up, one creaky limb at a time?”

He shoots her a wry look. “More like one sip at a time.”

He’s made enough coffee for you, too. It’s waiting for you in the carafe, for whenever you wake up. You’re not an early riser like he is. No, you push off the responsibility of starting the day until you run the risk of being late.

He’s tried to be your alarm clock before, but no matter how gentle, straightforward, or creative his attempts are, you either manage to fall back asleep, or worse, drag him back into the warm comfort of the bed (and you).

So today, he watches the sunrise alone. An early December breeze nips at his cheeks, nose, and fingers. He doesn’t mind. He almost doesn’t feel it, because a low buzz of unrest in his chest keeps his mind busy. His fingers brush along his jeans, around a small ridge and weight in the pocket.

“Saw you coming out of Sasha’s again yesterday,” Ellie says, earning his attention back.

She leans on the porch rail with her back facing the sun. Her grin kicks up into a smirk, especially at the subtle, uncomfortable way he shifts in his seat.

He crosses his arms defensively. “And?”

“And. What do you need to go to the town jeweler for?”

“None of your damn business,” he says, even if it just makes both of them smile, just shy of laughing. He’s been with you long enough that he’s started to pick up on the shit you say.

“Finally ready to do it, huh?” Ellie asks. Her voice is a little softer, her eyes less teasing, revealing the knowingness and the affection lying underneath.

Joel sighs, but he doesn’t answer. The buzz in his chest swells, reaching the base of his throat.

Ellie sees the familiar scrunch of his brows, and the less familiar hesitance in his eyes.

“What’re you afraid of?” she asks bluntly.

His lips purse. He shakes his head. “Nothin’. It’s just, uh…”

“You know she’s gonna fucking say yes. She fucking knits you socks,” she says. Now at sixteen years old, her mouth hasn’t gotten any better. “And she found you those old man reading glasses.”

Joel just rolls his eyes. He leans backward in the chair to adjust his spine, sighing with an edge of frustration. “I know. That’s what I’m…”

He stops himself, but when he meets Ellie’s eyes again, he knows she understands what he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. She pushes off the porch and draws in to lay a hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he looks up at her.

“If anyone’s earned a little fucking happiness, it’s you, Joel.”

Three weeks later, Christmas morning brings an even more unforgiving winter chill to Jackson. The house is warm thanks to the crackling fire in the living room hearth, but that’s not the only thing making Joel sweat.

His new rifle, your gift to him, lays on its side on the coffee table. His fingers had run carefully, reverently over the initials carved on the hilt: S.M. and E.W. He thinks he’ll add your initials too, tomorrow.

He’s tempted to swipe a hand at the sheen from his brow, but he can’t even move. His ass is plastered to the old couch cushion, his limbs frozen where they rest. He watches you with his breath stilled in his lungs.

You manage to close your parted mouth, your surprise having trembled down your spine like a buttery caress. The ring is a modest, stainless steel band carefully held between your fingertips. In its center lies a smooth turquoise stone Joel found in the river. He'll later tell you that he broke the metal off from an old sink, polished it, and had the jeweler melt it down.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” you say at last, awed and breathless. But you bite into your lower lip because you’re not sure what it means, other than one hell of a Christmas gift. The man hasn’t said anything since handing you the ring. “Thank you.”

His brows furrow, like he was expecting a different answer. “Uh, you’re welcome…”

He searches your face, the chocolate brown of his eyes confused, and a hint worried.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you ask, unable to help a nervous laugh.

“Well, you…I mean…is that a yes?” he fumbles.

Ellie groans and rolls her eyes, covering her face with one hand. You glance at her in confusion now, and back to Joel, who wears a look of embarrassment as heat creeps up his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. Put some effort in,” she mutters at him. When he just glares at her, she points at the ground. “Get down on one knee at least! You haven’t even asked her the fucking question.”

A cross between a gasp and a laugh escapes from your lips as you realize what’s happening. Why Joel now looks so fucking embarrassed and frowny, and a little flustered as he starts to slide himself off the couch and down on his knee—the same one he twisted on a patrol last week. You grab his arm and stop him.

“It’s okay, baby. I get it now,” you giggle. But you also caress his rough, bearded cheek as the threat of tears makes your eyes shine glassy and bright. “You want to marry me?”

You can’t help it. Your voice is laced with a hint of doubt. Not because you don’t know who you are to him, but because you’ve spent most of your life believing you’d never have a family again. You would’ve been content to have this as it is—you and Joel—without a label, as long as you know he’s yours, and you’re his. Today, tomorrow, and the next.

Joel’s arm slides around your waist and brings you in closer, warm and secure. With his free hand, he gently takes the ring from you. He meets your eyes. Despite the lingering embarrassment, what you don’t see is hesitation. When this man makes a decision, it’s made, like the sling of a revolver. Like trying to uproot an oak tree and all its stemming roots.

“I know it’s a bit old-fashioned nowadays,” he says, but you stop him, your hand pressing over his lips.

You lean in to kiss him instead, slow, and with meaning. You comb your fingers through his graying hair with affection, curling some tousled strands behind his ear.

“I like old-fashioned,” you say, smiling against his lips. It makes him smile too, almost like a compulsion. You’ve got that effect on him.

Ellie sighs from her lounge seat. Propping an elbow on the arm rest, she rolls her head onto her hand. The scene playing out in front of her is nauseating, but it doesn’t mean she hates it.

Actually, it’s pretty fucking funny to watch Joel hastily stop you from putting the ring on your own finger. He wants to do it himself, as if to prove he actually knows what he’s doing with you.

He’s fucked this almost all the way up from start to finish, but at least he got there in the end…with a little help.

AN: Tomorrow, and the next. 😉💛 (Yes, I plan to write more for these two. Like I tend to do, go back to their "beginning.")

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! ⟡ Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. 💛

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@risingwolf97 @superbouquetgarden @disappearintofanfiction @luci-in-trenchcoats @wayward-dreamer

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sevarchive · 3 days ago

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lay on me ༄.°

a hiori yo story. 800 words

synopsis: after a leg injury, yo hiori showers you with care and sweet surprises during your week of recovery.

it all started with a stair,

just one. one stupid stair that your socked foot didn't catch in time. gravity betrayed you, dragging you down in a flurry of panic, cracking sound, and pain so sharp you were convinced you'd pass out right there on the floor. breaking your leg had not been on your to-do list. and yet, here you were, confined to the couch, surrounded by snack wrappers, painkillers, and a very determined yo hiori.

you didn’t even have to ask. the second he heard what happened, hiori was already knocking on your door, duffel bag over his shoulder and that sweet, focused look on his face—the one that usually meant he was about to take care of everything.

and he did.

“this is fine,” you insisted, attempting to hop on one leg toward the kitchen.

“you’re going to hurt yourself again,” hiori said calmly, stepping in front of you with a glass of water in one hand and a very unimpressed look on his face. “sit okay?”

you pouted. “but i want toast.”

“i’ll make you toast,” he said, gently guiding you back to the couch like it was second nature. “just tell me what you need. i gotcha, love.”

you sighed as he tucked a pillow under your cast, handed you your water, and then smoothed your hair back like it was the most natural thing in the world. his fingertips were warm and careful.

“you’re too good at this,” you murmured.

he smiled, soft and pink-cheeked. “i like takin’ care of you, my sweet thing.”

over the next week, you quickly learned that yo hiori wasn’t just the kind of person who helped when you asked—he anticipated your needs before you even realized them yourself. if you looked like you were cold, a blanket appeared.

if you looked bored, he set up a little lap desk with your favorite books and games. if you so much as blinked toward the fridge, he was already halfway there with a plate of fruit.

“i’m starting to feel spoiled,” you admitted one night as you lay curled up beside him.

“you are,” he said with a smile. “that’s the point.”

“but what if i get used to this?”

he looked at you, brushing your hair away from your face. “then i’ll just keep doing it.”

you stared at him. “even when i’m all healed up?”

“especially then,” he murmured, the tips of his ears going pink.

he smiled gently, thumb brushing over your skin. “cause i wanna keep takin’ care of you. not ’cause you need it… but ’cause i want to.”

your heart fluttered, and you felt a quiet happiness settle between you. “that’s really sweet, yo-chan”

he looked a little bashful, but his eyes shone with sincerity. “i mean it. i like being the one you can rely on.”

you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling safe and warm. “i think i could get used to that.”

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “good. ’cause I’m not goin’ anywhere, love.”

on your third week of recovery, your cast now covered in doodles and encouraging messages from friends, you were sprawled across your bed, leg propped up, flipping through your phone when hiori walked in with a cup of your favorite tea.

“now, what’s the pain level?” he asked, placing the cup down on the nightstand.

“low,” you smiled. “but my craving level? definitely high right now.”

“for what?”

you paused. “...cuddles.”

he didn’t even hesitate. he kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed beside you, his arm wrapping gently around your shoulders. you leaned into his chest, sighing in contentment.

“i might start faking injuries,” you joked softly.

“you don’t gotta break anything to get me takin’ care o’ ya, sweet thing,” he said against your hair. “just ask.”

you tilted your head. “you’re gonna miss this when i can walk again, aren’t you?”

he chuckled, pulling you a little closer. “maybe a little.”

“you’re suspiciously good at the whole doting boyfriend thing.”

“i been preparin’ my whole life for this role, ya know?” he said solemnly, making you giggle.

there was a pause. a warm one. his fingers absently traced gentle patterns on your arm.

and then, in the softest, lowest voice, he added:

“when your leg’s all healed, I’m gonna ask you for somethin’ too.”

you blinked. “what is it?”

his lips brushed your temple. “let’s just say… it won’t involve walkin’ much for a while.”

you froze.

then slowly looked up at him, eyes wide.

he smiled innocently. but there was a twinkle in his eye that was anything but.

“yo hiori,” you whispered, blushing.

“what?” he shrugged. “fair is fair.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“i’ve carried you to the bathroom three times today. i think i’ve earned a little fun when you’re back on your feet.”

you covered your face with your hands, laughing into them. “you’re so lucky i’m in love with you.”

“i know,” he said, smugly pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “now finish your tea. doctor’s orders.”

HAHA omg, first fic with my very own theme character! by the way suggestion is accredited to ms. @nensi o(*￣▽￣*)ブ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ©sevarchive

#sevarchive 🍎#blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock fluff #yo hiori #hiori x reader #hiori x you

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aninipanin1 · 3 days ago

Note

If requests are still open, can you write some scenarios or headcanons of Miss Manger Sr. interacting with the World 5? Maybe like what Miss Manager did to get them to notice her or just a cute shoujo moment btwn them. Thank you!

IN A SHOUJO MANGA

Notes: I already answered an ask about how the World 5 met manager reader! So for this I will be doing the shoujo monents because its sounds so cute. Hope you enjoy anoon! :D

LEONARDO LUNA - Tying your shoelace for you.

"Phew, I feel like I ran a whole marathon."

You let out a heave, as you walked the halls, in your arms a not-so heavy box filled with paperwork. You had been going back and forth from your office to Anri's, returning and getting every paperwork inside her office to finish and return. Your once presentable hairstyle now loosened, some strands falling to your face and tracksuit a little damp and crumpled from your sweat now. Overall, you looked like a mess, a tired mess.

"Ms. Y/n! Fancy seeing you here."

You hear a familliar voice call to you. Turning around, you found a familliar mop of blonde hair partnered with green eyes and a tall build. A polite and friendly smile crawled up your face, greeting the Spanish player.

"Good morning, Luna-san!"

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, just going to my office to start the paperworks in here."

You said, looking down at the box in your hands. The blonde player nodded his head, before raising an eyebrow at the untied laces of your shoes.

"Your laces are untied."

"Oh, I didnt notice it unraveled. Thank you, Luna-san."

You looked down at the dangling laces of your shoes, realising that in the midst of your stressed countenance, you did not even notice that it got untied. Just as you were about to put down the box in your hand and bend down to fix it, Luna stopped you.

"Let me, Ms. Y/n."

He dropped to the ground, using his left knee as support as he tightened the lace before making a double bow to make sure it did not undo again. He made sure that both your shoes were secure, before standing up and giving you the most charming smile he can pull.

A smile used to win thousands of hearts in hopes of winning one heart.

Truthfully, he had been waiting for just the right moment to show you his interest. However, when the moment does come, he would get interrupted (mostly by the others). But finally, his moment arrived now.

He was definitely satisfied with his actions and the fact that he did not get interrupted.

"O-oh...thank you..."

You were so flustered. And why would you not? You read shoujo mangas before or even watched movies and animes about them. Maybe it was just because you do feel lonely at times and that wss your only taste of romance.

But by God, you wished someone would have told you that you would experience these types of things once in your life.

'Ughh, why did he have to be so handsome and slick? Luna-san, I hate you...'

ADAM BLAKE - Kabedon.

"Hmm..."

You carelessly sung a tune, folding clean towels before hanging them on each locker in front of you. It was your weekly locker cleaning, and this time, you had your work cut out for you seeing as you skipped last week and now it was covered in dust.

"That was fast...I wonder if its because of the ventilation next to it."

But your thoughts never wandered farther as you hear a someone shut the locker beside you shut. Looking up, you found an arm extended on the locker beside your head, an action that rendered you shocked.

'Wha-'

"Well, well, if it isn't the pretty miss manager. Can I help you with anything?"

A deep voice rumbled in his chest and sent shockwaves down your spine came from behind you, to which you slowly turned around to find the familliar English player.

Raising his other arm, he made sure that you had no means of escaping until he let you. Standing there, albeit awkwardly against the locker door, you had no choice but to stay there and avoid his gaze to stop the loud beating of your heart.

'Oh my god... when will my poor heart have a break today?! First Luna-san, now this?!'

"May...ahem...may I help you, Blake-san?"

At the question, his smirk widened, and the space between you both lessened.

In his point of view, the closeness made him see the details of your face that he had never seen before. From how your lashes fanned on your skin, to even how your forehead was wrinkled due to the nervous face you were pulling.

God, you were even more adorable like this.

As much as he loved how poised and professional you were in work, seeing the different emotions your face pulled made him excited and pumped to see more of what you hid beneath the mask of ethics.

"Yep, I think you can, Miss Y/n."

"Ehm...really?"

"Yes! I believe that this specific locker is mine, and well, I don't think you appreciate it that I'm half naked, am I right?"

He winked, tone intentionally too saccharine that it sounded like he was teasing more than stating something. And that worked seeing as you blew a fuse, face heating up so bad that he swore he could see smoke coming from your head.

'Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!! THIS IS EMBARASSING!'

Looking up a bit, you noticed that he only had blue sweatpants on, showing off his muscular figure, his arms flexing unintentionally as he used it as support while holding the position you two were in. A sight that only made you even more embarrassed.

'AHHH I have to get out of here...'

"I-I'm SO SORRY! Um you can get dressed and uh - BYE!"

Ducking under his arm, you ran off the locker room. Cleaning materials abandoned inside the room at the foot of the door and heart pumping so loud in a mix of mortification and anxiety.

Inside the room, you left behind a stunned Adam Blake who could only chuckle at the stunt you pulled. Running his hand through his hair while picking up a shirt from the lockers, he shook his jead at the memory of your face.

'She's too cute for my own sake.'

PABLO CAVASSOS - Pinching your cheeks.

Call it a rather...childish habit, but Cavassos likes pinching something he finds really adorable. From plushies of famed characters to his own pets, and heck even his own cheeks sometimes, he really likes feeling the softest things under his fingertips.

It was a habit he picked up from his mother, seeing as she would always give the most painful yet loving cheek pinches towards him when he was still a kid and he regrettably got that from her since.

Though he never thought that a day would come that holding back this habit would be such a huge struggle.

He managed to successfully ask you to eat lunch with him, something that was slowly morphing into a ritual between you both. Pablo was someone you liked talking to, especially due to you both sharing the same likes and dislikes.

It was probably only him that had a much deeper agenda to these lunches though.

You were happily eating away your food, cheeks inflating with the food. You were clearly famished from having to run around the facility.

Beside you, he can only watch with a small hint of a smile on his face as he watched you eat like a hamster. The happy look in your eyes were just too infectious.

Swallowing the food, you tilted your head when you noticed Pablo staring at you, albeit too intensely. His food was forgotten on his plate.

"Cavassos-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Um is there something on my face?"

Instead of anxiety of being caught, a chuckle just escaped his lips as he extended his hand out to the side of your lips, showing a stray grain of rice.

"Now it's gone."

"O-oh...right...thanks."

Speechless, that was what you were.

Trying to calm your heart, you flicked your head back to your food and stuffed another spoonful of it in a rush to put your head in the food rather than whatever it was he was pulling on you.

Before you can put the spoonful inside your mouth, though, you suddenly feel a pair of hands reach out to your cheeks before squeezing it.

Pablo's touch was gentle, yet there was a small hint of aggression on it that made you blink your eyes in realization at what he was doing.

"Wha-"

"You're the only person that I can say is miles cuter than me, Y/n."

He sighed, albeit too dreamily, a tone you had never heard from him before. There was no hint of some sort of defeat, but instead, he said the words like they were a fact written in the book of truth.

There was just a small line on his face, one not showing any hint of emotions, something you are a little upset about. It was so unfair that you were right here, face heating up while his face was the same as it always was.

The proximity between you two lessened, the distance not that of two close friends but something more. Something that cannot be described by just words alone.

A small, almost unnoticeable pout landed on your lips as you avoided his gaze. The gesture only makes him more amused than ever, as if he was not so intimately close to you.

'These guys...they're too comfortable. Don't they know that I am still a lady who needs her space in order to feel normal!'

DADA SILVA - Comforting you crying.

This is the first time you ever heard of this before, much to your surprise as you stood in front of the Brazilian player, hands holding up your laptop.

"You also love movies, Silva-san?!"

"Yeah... things get kind of boring, especially in long flights, so I always end up watching something in the plane."

You beamed happily at that, moving your chair to give him more space to sit beside you. The foreign romance movie is still playing on the laptop screen as you both silently paid attention to what the characters were saying.

It was one of the most popular movies worldwide currently, and your friends told you that it was for good reasons. They even gave you a heads up to bring a box of tissue in case.

Naturally, you raised an eyebrow to that. Now, you were not completely emotionless. You cried your eyes out in a few movies before, but that does not mean it was a common situation. Especially when you are not watching alone, like right now.

Surely, this movie is not that bad, right?

"Wait- no! Don't leave him!" You let out, sniffling against your hand as the story hit its conclusion, eyes red and teary as you watch the two main characters, once lovers, now separate.

Turns out, it was that bad. As in really bad, that 15 minutes before the credits rolled, you were already crying and wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

You tried, you really did, but the script and the acting were just too good, and the dam burst. You looked like your pet just died, sniffles coming out in response.

Beside you, Dada just sighed, a small smile on his face finding your crying face amusing and adorable. He'd admit, the story was indeed angsty. Kind of melodramatic, but it definitely works with the overarching theme and story.

But, he did not really expect you, calm and composed you to start bawling your eyes out the moment the main female character received an important letter that was the catalyst of her and the male love interest to separate.

"Y/n, you'll scratch your face with that. Here."

He offered a clean tissue, helping you wipe your tears away, gently flicking away your arm that used the thick fabric of the sweatshirt to wipe away your tears and snot.

"O-oh...thank you...s-sorry. It's just... so sad they have to...leave each other."

"Yeah, it is."

The credits rolled, and you were just there, sitting and contemplating what you just watched. Though you were really thankful and embarrassed that Dada had to see you like that, as well as even wiping away your face for you!

His large hand was on your back, rubbing it up and down as some sort of comfort as he pushed some of your hair from your face.

Yeah, he is definitely thanking that movie for having you like this. All mushy and open to him comforting you like this, and he is not complaining at all even if the hem of his long sleeves were a little wet from your tears.

It was worth it to comfort your sweet soul and be a little closer to you.

BONUS:

EGO JINPACHI - "Overthinking" boss.

"It's not like that, Ego-san..."

Your eyebrows knit together as you defended your case against the ravenette director of the project, who did not even face you. His body and chair face the dozens of monitors, instead of looking at you.

"You may think it is. But how do you think other people will think of it? This is a project for us to win the World Cup, not a dating show."

Ouch. That hurt, the way his tone sounded almost made it sound like you were abandoning your duties in favour of seducing men.

Which was farther from the truth, seeing as you were one of the pillars of the project and without you, most of the arrangements would not be physically possible.

"I'm just being friendly with them so they won't rat us out to the JFU if we even treat them a little bad. And um, its really more of a professional friendship than anything."

"Yet, the way they interact with you looks different. Do you think that the shit they pulls is something they do to their friends, especially friends who are the opposite gender?"

You flinched at that. Even if they do act supposedly like the way Ego is describing them to be, it was not like it was your fault they are acting that way.

Yet, his harsh and cold tone made it seem that way.

Heaving a broken sigh, the fatigue of work, as well as the stress the JFU put on your shoulders and now even Ego's words add on your shoulders, forcing you to just bow your head and hold back your tears.

"I...I understand. Sorry, Ego-san. I...I have to go do my work."

You walked out of his office, skillfully hiding the fact you were crying. It felt so unfair to you, about hoq you were being blamed for just wanting to be in good terms with people you meet in work.

To be someone unlike him, so crude and rude.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Anri just glared at the man who did not even seem guilty with what he said.

"Why did you say it like that, Ego-san? It is not even her fault. It's so unfair to scold her and not the players for acting unprofessional."

"I just wanted to prevent any ideas coming from anyone in this place. I will not be the last person to think this way and you know that."

"Yeah, but its not her fault. Don't scold her for it. You even made her cry."

"Whatever."

'I swear, you are the worst type of person when they're jealous. Poor Y/n-chan..."

Anri rolled her eyes, proceeding to work. It was so obvious that he was jealous that the foreign players were very much taken and open in their affection towards you. Now jealousy, was not inherently evil.

What was bad was how he addressed and decided to act upon it. Spilling his frustrations on oblivious, you who only wanted to act amicable and professional to everyone you meet.

Welp, she'll visit you later because Anri knew, Ego will never applogise nor even reach out to her and ask her if she's alright so she'll do it herself.

'You're destroying all your chances, you idiotic buffoon.'

ADDITIONAL TIME:

"Y/n-san, please don't cry anymore."

"I just...I just hate him so much...I was just trying my best...to be welcoming...yet he made me sound like...a desperate...attention seeker."

You sobbed in your legs, hugging them closer to your chest. Meanwhile, Isagi, Bachira, and Chigiri were beside you, trying their best to comfort you.

They never saw you this upset before. Being their pillar in even the toughest of times, you never did confide your own fears and pain to them. You were always the listener, the comforter, the loving and supportive figure that pushed them to be better.

But, when they rounded the wrong corner towards their rooms, they were given whiplash when they saw you sobbing and crying alone in a cold corner.

Of course, they immediately rushed to your side, and for the first time, they saw you break down and say your own grievances.

Heck, they never hear you say you hated anyone before, too. Always being so patient and understanding, however, they knew that everybody had their own breaking points.

And this was probably the last straw.

"Don't worry, Y/n-san! We hate him, too! He's always so weird and well...we just hate him!"

"Bachira's right, Y/n-san. Everyone here in Blue Lock only follows him because he is the director of the project and because we want to improve. Nobody likes him that much really."

May cameras and hidden listening devices be damned. They aren't letting you stand up until you are all better.

So yes, screw Ego Jinpachi for making their beloved manager cry, the three simultaneously thought.

Drama rama, screw Ego Jinpachi we all collectively say.

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

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threegoldfish · 2 days ago

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Steven knows he must be a literal mess in every single way possible - appearing like one, acting like one, all of that. His shirt is stained with blood, his nose hurts, he can tell that he's got some crusts on his face - perhaps dried blood, would make sense? - and him ugly-crying certainly does not make it any better, yeah. He isn't pretty when crying, he's that kind of man who looks like a wet poodle instead.

But the doctor is kind to him, so nice and comforting - even puts that blanket around his shoulders, rubs his back, pushes locks of dark hair from his forehead. All of that almost makes Steven cry again; The other has no idea how much he is craving the soft attention of another, to know that someone's out there who cares, who makes him feel less alone. Steven's always alone, and whenever he tries to come in contact with others, it either does not work out at all with how damn awkward he is, or it never leads somewhere - causes him to end up alone again, doing his own thing, telling himself that it's okay, that's just how it is for him.

---Perhaps he's also missing the loving care of a mother - his mother, to be precise. Where Steven holds wonderful memories of her, but just doesn't manage to really get in touch with her anymore, he isn't aware of the fact that the truth is entirely different... and that it's the reason why he craves it all so much.

"O-Okay... ---okay..." Nodding twice, swallowing again, Steven reaches for the blanket with a trembling hand, pulls it a bit closer around himself - enjoying the warmth of it, how soft it is. Gosh, he thinks he's never touched a blanket so plush before, it's amazing! "I-it's... really... really soft, yeah, the b-blanket, I mean? Really... nice, yeah. Thank you... t-thanks."

Someone hurt him, but he didn't hurt anyone - that's what Harrow says. Yet the nurse had told otherwise - but she also called him Marc, he remembers at that moment; Steven blinks, then clears his throat, his gaze briefly landing on a small bottle kind of thing that sits on the bedside table next to them, a... nose spray, perhaps? Yeah, looks like a nose spray. Oh, maybe this will help with the breathing...? He keeps it in mind, but his wet gaze is back on Harrow for now, a little more... collected, a little less scared, but still hesitant and worried about the entirety of everything---

"S-so, you're saying that I d-didn't hurt anyone, yes? T-that I didn't... ---because that w-would be awful, really! I never... I n-never want to hurt anyone, I p-promise!" Again, Steven swallows, then keeps breathing for a little bit - calming himself down again, eyes closing briefly as he wipes some more tears with his sleeve.

"I-is this a... misunderstanding then, m-maybe? Because... because she---" A glance to the nurse, then his attention is back on Harrow, voice very quiet, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation happening between them. "---S-she called me M-Marc, and... I-I'm not Marc. I'm Steven." A nod, as if he needs to tell himself that he, in fact, is Steven. "S-Steven with a V. Steven Grant. B-but she... she kept calling me M-Marc, like, I think it was... Marc Spector. Spector? Yeah, I think it... was Spector, yeah. Is she... mixing us up, maybe? M-me and that... Marc-guy?"

There is a brief memory popping up all of a sudden, just a fraction of it, but... he thinks he remembers Harrow having called him Marc as well at some point. Back when Steven had first awoken inside the psych ward... huh.

... Somehow, and Steven doesn't really know why, but he thinks that... neither of those times have been the first for someone to call him Marc. He cannot really recall it at this moment, all of his memories feeling a bit mushy and unclear, but there's a sensation existing inside him that keeps prodding and nagging at the whole Marc-thing - how strangely familiar it feels, despite it not being his name...

Arthur’s chest ached. There wasn’t another word for it; it ached deeply, fully, settling behind his ribs and just refusing to leave. He hated the way that Steven carried it, every word being either an apology or a confession of guilt. He thanked the man, apologized, tried to explain, wanted excuses, felt the need to cover for himself; and then he just continued on, asking the question of if he’d hurt anyone. It was a horrible thing to see. It was horrible knowing that Steven was spiraling at all, falling into this pit of self hatred and guilt and fear.

He didn’t move too quickly. He turned slowly, grabbing the blanket and pulling it carefully around Steven’s shoulders, tucking it there as if Steven were a child or a patient in shock. The soft blue fabric was still warm from how long Marc had been lying there, Arthur gently running a hand over Steven’s back once it was in place. He let his hand stay there, steady and grounding.

He wished he could just pull the pain from the man, in truth. It was rare for Arthur to be impatient with such things - but he wanted so badly to get rid of this pain.

“I don’t care what time it is,” Arthur promised, softly. “You matter to me more than sleep does. You matter more than a lot of things - if you need me, I’ll be here.”

Arthur reached out, just to gently brush Steven’s curls back from his forehead, to keep them out of his eyes. Arthur’s fingers were cold, his hands always cold; it’d be good to get the man cleaned up, probably. He’d been careless, with that; the only focus with Marc had been taking care of him medically, not wanting to focus on his appearance just so that he didn’t come across as overbearing. But Steven didn’t need to wake up like this, in bloody clothes with parts of him broken.

He hated how even the question sounded broken, like Steven was terrified of the answer. Like he thought he could be someone who would hurt people - maybe Marc had done it in the past, and Steven had recalled it in some way. He supposed there could even be a sense to it - not that Arthur had ever fought anyone, himself.

“No,” he said, his voice firm enough to chase away any doubt. “You didn’t hurt anyone, Steven. There was an incident, it’s how you got hurt - but it wasn’t you. Someone hurt you. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

He continued to gently rub his thumb over Steven’s back, trying to comfort him as he let that truth settle. His eyes were gentle, but inside something was twisting; he hadn’t missed the phrasing. The nurse said that he had broken someone’s nose. He hated that woman, she deserved anything but a job here; what kind of person said something like that to someone in this state? Hell, even if it had been Marc, now wasn’t the time to bring that up.

She was probably the one who’d threatened sedation to the point of sending Steven into panic, too - it made Arthur’s stomach turn. It made him decide already that Steven wouldn’t be alone with her, again - Steven nor Marc. If they ever wound up here again, Arthur wasn’t leaving.

"You're alright," Arthur promised again, gentle. "Just keep breathing for me. You're doing really good, Steven. Just keep breathing." Arthur reached over just far enough to grab a tissue, holding it out to the man; just an offering, in case Steven wanted to take it.

#preemptivejustice #threads & interactions; steven grant #(gosh harrow is so insanely kind. he cares more than anyone ever has for steven ;; aww)#(also steven offering his last name <3 eheheh)

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dumbgoondog · 3 days ago

Text

Nanami NSFW Alphabet

Cw/Tw—breeding, preggo

Tags—FWB, pretty vanilla, GN!reader for most, some afab!reader specific

Bout time I got around to doin Nanamin!

(A)ftercare - Sure he’s panting, eyes closed, looks so sleepy… but he’s massaging your hips, your thighs, asking how you enjoyed it all and if it wasn’t too much. Then after? Cuddle up, maybe shower if needed, get drinks.

(B)ody Part - shoulders. He likes giving some hickeys and rubbing your shoulders. Just a very tender guy

(C)um - he would love to cum wherever you tell him but if he’s permission and the choice? Deep in you. Makes a great transition for cuddling after! Condom or not he doesn’t mind!

(D)irty Secret - he wants you to Dom him. He’s not sure about pegging but he’d love if you took control and told him what to do!

(E)xperience - he’s got experience! He has some casual fwb with some of the assistant supervisors to relieve stress! So don’t worry!

(F)avorite Position - riding, ride him, get on top and then lift up some because he’s fucking up into you, you’re not doing much bouncing, you’re being dragged along for the riiide

(G)oofy - not really? It’s Nanami, cmon

(H)air - he loves a good bush, a jungle, any and all hair. He also likes shaved, he’s not picky at all.

(I)ntimacy - the MOST intimate man ever. He wants to cherish you, worship you, devote his future to you. He’s remembering every holiday and anniversary, you’re having at least once a week— a date night.

(J)ack off - Not often, but sometimes, he prefers to be in the shower or sitting in his office when he does. He claims it’s the atmosphere, but maybe it’s because if you walk in he looks really good doing it

(K)ink - Breeding kink. He wants kids, and he wants them bad. It’s not a deal breaker if you don’t want any, but expect them he’s trying to babysit for friends. He has a slight pregnancy kink too, the kind where he’s more like… it’s a primal thing of he’s showing off that you’re his and look at your family. He likes holding your stomach and pampering you extra too.

(L)ocation - very specific. Anywhere in the house is fine. Otherwise? If you want to be risky it’s in his car or at his desk and work.

(M)otivation - he’s really into those cheesy setups OR if you’re being bratty. He’s a brat tamer fo sure. Cheesy setups are just wearing an apron, rose petals leading to the bedroom, you doing laundry and you’re just wearing a shirt or something.

(N)o - groupies. Threesomes. No inviting any former fwb, he feels pretty monogamous and protective.

(O)ral - let him put a hand on your head and fuck your face like a toy. He loves it, he loves you. Please please pleaseeee

(P)ace - he’s never super fast and rough, it’s either slow and sensual or a quickened pace to watch you moan and squirm on him.

(Q)uicky - not particularly, he prefers to get to fully tend to you and have ample time for aftercare.

(R)isk - he’s… nervous. He’s a pretty vanilla guy—only very light bondage, hickeys, and maybe some spanking. He’s willing to try things out tho! Just be ready he might not be into it, but if he’s neutral to it he will do it for you!

(S)tamina - he can last a good hour! Nothing crazy-crazy and an hour is his max, his libido starts going down after that. Nothing on you he’s just not super horny

(T)oys - yep! His tie for tying your wrists, a vibrator, and his belt as a gag. Pretty creative eh?

(U)nfair - he loves spoiling you, sorry. He just wants to cherish and pamper you! If you brat enough at him all day though? He’s putting you in a head lock, against the wall, hands tied and pulled up, and he’s teasing you now.

(V)olume - lots of groans, not very loud but low warm ones like he’s purring. He talks a bit too, praising you and expressing how good he’s feelin.

(W)ild Card - he’d double team you with an au version of himself.

(X)-ray - plain black briefs, of varying ages. Some are pretty old and are ready to be tossed but he claims they’re too comfy and they aren’t dirty so it’s fine. Then he has crisp new ones that hug him really well

(Y)es - honestly he’d be fine being in a relationship with someone who’s ace even tho he isn’t. Sex isn’t a requirement for him, it’s just something fun and nice but he’s very will to give it up.

(Z)zz - yes please. Cuddle up after, maybe watching something casually like the great British bake off, massage you, and slowly nod off.

#goon dog #dogs tag #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #headcanon #smut #bad alphabet #kento nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami smut #kento nanami #jjk kento #nanami #mdni

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tttt06 · 1 day ago

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Bad Fight

Black Reader x Enhypen

Requests are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ Enhypen getting into bad fights with S/O

Part 2

Warning~ No smut, angst, arguments, stress, depression, yelling

Word Count~ 2.5k

Heeseung

Fights with Heeseung were often. He has a habit of getting busy and never talking to you about it. He likes to bottle things up.

It was a day you had been practicing all day. Being the leader of your own group was taking a toll on you. Heeseung was coming home late, and you knew that, but you really needed him.

You weren't surprised that he was gone until 1 AM. You were already asleep in your bed by the time he came home. You had a schedule at 4 AM tomorrow. Filming your next comeback MV.

You felt your bed dip, and you stirred awake. The rush of rapid thoughts came flying to your head. You pushed them aside, "Hi, baby."

Heeseung grunted and cuddled you close. Your body relaxed in his embrace. You tried to talk to him. "Today was hard."

Heeseung mumbled, "Yeah?"

"Mhm. The girls got into an argument, and it made practice so much harder."

Heeseung softly hummed. You could tell he wasn't listening. "Hey, you listening?"

There was silence and a long sigh from his nose. "No, not really, Y/N. I'm tired." You asked, "Do you wanna rant about it?"

Heeseung turned his back to you and said, "Maybe another time."

You sat there, feeling shut out. "Hee?"

He didn't answer.

You huffed while getting out of bed. You were gonna sleep on Sunoo's floor. You didn't want to sleep next to Heeseung. As he watched you grab your things, Heeseung asked, "Where are you going?"

You sharply said, "I'm going to Sunoo's room. At least he'd actually listen to me."

Heeseung was at his feet in a second, "What? No, you're not."

You nodded in a matter-of-fact tone. "Uh, yes. I am."

Heeseung grabbed your wrist, "You're not sleeping with another guy. I'm right here."

You laughed, "Heeseung. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've been ignoring my texts and me, not coming over, and blowing off my problems. You treat me like shit. When I'm stressed, I don't do that shit to you."

Heeseung said with a rough tone, "I'm busy."

You smiled with disbelief, "Too busy for me?"

When he didn't answer, you were about to storm out. Heeseung reached, "Wait."

You shook your head, "I think we should break up."

Heeseung stuttered, his eyes widening. "What?" You nodded, "You heard me. I don't have time for this shit. I'm going home."

Heeseung ran to the door and locked it. He said, "Let's talk this out." You laughed, "Now you wanna fucking talk? I talked to you earlier, and you blew me off!"

Heeseung said, "You need space to think, and we can talk when we're both relaxed."

You shouted, "WE'RE OVER!"

You slammed his apartment door.

Jay

Jay was probably the biggest crashout you've ever met. His patience for people is at zero.

As much as he's confrontational and argumentative, you two seem to have slipped past your problems.

One significant problem was that you felt lonely in the relationship. Jay was nurturing and careful in the beginning, but now he treats you like you're not there.

It led to a fight at his guitar practice.

He was in the music room for practice, and you were stopping by to drop Jungwon's dance shoes off. He said he'd forgotten them at the dorm and asked if you could bring them on your way to work.

You wanted to see what your boyfriend was doing on the way.

You opened the door to see him strumming a four-chord. "Jay bear?"

He looked up to see your cute face, "Oh. Hi, honey."

He sounded so... far. Like he was mentally checked out when he saw you. NO excitement, no, 'HEY! I MISSED YOU!'

Nothing.

You sat down, and Jay asked, "What're you doing here?"

The tension was thick. You said, "I wanted to see you. It's been a couple days."

Jay said, "A couple days? You getting clingy now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"What?"

Jay laughed, "I was kidding." You stared at him for over a minute. Jay asked, "Why are you looking at me like I just hurt you."

You took a deep breath, "You are hurting me. Where have you been? What have you been doing? Are you avoiding me?"

Jay just stares at you like you're crazy. "What the hell? Y/N? You interrupt my time and start coming at me. I don't really wanna talk to you right now."

You huffed and threw the bag at him. "Fucking fine. Don't come over, don't call me, don't text me, I don't wanna see your face."

You stormed out of the room, half expecting Jay to chase you. He didn't.

Jake

Ou, Jake had some explaining to do. He was on tour, and you were at home missing him. Only to see a viral edit of him kissing a fan.

Not even a peck. Full make out.

Your heart was pounding as you dialed his number.

The call went through on the second ring. "Hey, baby."

His raspy Australian voice came through the phone. It only heightened your anger. "Why are you making out with fans?"

His side went silent. You said, "Answer me?! I get you have to act single, but to this extent? How do I know you didn't have sex with someone to 'seem single.' At this rate, I should be getting checked for anything. I can't trust you."

Jake said, "Baby."

You shook your head, "No. Don't baby me. I'm seriously pissed off. I don't want to be with you anymore. This is the shit you pulled on me. It's disgusting."

Jake whimpered, "Let me explain."

You said, "I don't really wanna hear how your tongue ended up down her throat."

You were about to hang up, but Jake yelled, "So what?! You're just gonna break up with me?! Over some video, you won't let me explain?! This is why it fucking sucks to be with you. You're cold-hearted."

You said, "Cold hearted?! YOU KISSED ANOTHER GIRL! THERE'S NO FORGIVING FOR THAT."

Jake said, "Just drop it. I don't give a shit anymore."

You laughed as tears streamed down your face, "You don't care about us? Not surprising. Obviously, you didn't care about us when you kissed her."

Jake took a deep breath, "Y/N, I'll talk to you when we get home. I do agree we shouldn't talk for a few days."

You yelled, "Why? So you can cheat some more. I'd rather let you be free to..."

You couldn't even let the words out. You were sobbing now. Jake was your first everything. It felt like a different kind of betrayal.

"How could you think I'd have sex with anyone else."

You said, "You were kissing her!"

Jake said, "I wasn't!"

You hung up on him.

If he was going to cheat, at least be honest about it.

Sunghoon

He's the worst. When it comes to what he says, he has no filter.

He embarrassed you in front of your co-workers. He told them you weren't fit to be his wife. Everyone stared at you for something to say.

You had nothing to say.

You were in so much shock. How could Sunghoon ever say that about you?

After the DEAD quiet drive home, you walked straight into the shower. You wanted to avoid Hoon at all costs. You locked the bathroom door and showered in peace.

You started crying because you think this is your last straw.

He wasn't thinking about marrying you? Then what was he here for? Was he taking your relationship seriously? You don't even know anymore.

You opened the door, eyes red and puffy. Your shower cap was over your eyebrows.

You said, "Sunghoon, I really hated what you said today."

He looked at you, confused about why you were crying and why you weren't wearing your shower cap properly.

When it fell over your eyes, you threw it on the ground. Hoon's lip twitched as he asked, "What did I say?"

You said, "How could you not know!? Am I not fit for marriage? What? You never planning on marrying me?"

Sunghoon was stern, "Seriously? You're crying over that? Geez, sometimes I really hate how sensitive you are."

You froze. That actually hit a nerve. You've expressed in the past that you are insecure about how often you show your emotions. You told Sunghoon to never judge you for it.

He's saying shit without thinking.

"Sunghoon. Get out."

He stood up instantly. He's never heard you talk like that before.

He was walking out when he realized that he might've pissed you off for real.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, "No. Just go away."

You slammed the door after him.

Sunoo

You've had a stressful work week. Sunoo knew it was because when he'd come over, you were sleeping. He woke you up when the door opened. You had a pile of work documents surrounding you.

"Hi, baby." You said while rubbing your eyes. He smiled, "Have you eaten? Showered? relaxed?"

You scooted on the couch to check the coffee table full of more documents. Sunoo sat next to you and rubbed your back. You said, "Not right now."

You reached for a page and started reading. Sunoo said, "I love you, but you really need to take care of yourself."

You shook your head, "I don't have time. I'm the team leader, and they're relying on me."

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, "You can't always think of your team. You need to put yourself first sometimes."

You cut him off, "I am taking care of myself. Doing my job leads to my bills paying for another month."

Sunoo said, "You know I'm always open to helping with your bills if it's that serious."

You furrowed your eyebrows and shot up, "No, Sunoo."

You caught yourself about to start yelling, but you rubbed your nose bridge. Sunoo grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you closer, "I'll run you a shower, and we're gonna have a serious talk."

That's what you did. Sunoo showered with you. You two sat on the bed, and Sunoo took a deep breath.

"I think we need a break from each other."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What?"

Sunoo smiled, "Just a week or so. You're stressed out right now, and every time I talk to you, I seem to piss you off. I don't really wanna be around you anymore."

You started to tear up. Sunoo words cut through your heart.

"You don't wanna be around me?" Your voice cracked, and Sunoo gently pressed his hand to your cheek.

Your face was hot.

"Don't cry, please. It's only a week. You need to figure yourself out."

You said, "What if we have the break, and it doesn't work."

Sunoo said sadly, "We'd have to break up. I-... If I don't crash out on you when I get stressed, I expect the same back."

And with that, Sunoo stood up. "I'm sorry to drop this on you like this. I wanted to avoid this conversation, but after today, I don't think we can stay like this. You're not even taking care of yourself."

You cried, "Because I'm stressed! I can't just give up. This job is my livelihood!"

Sunoo looked at you as you got riled up, "So is mine, and I handle it peacefully."

Jungwon

What could an argument possibly be about? Commitment issues. It wasn't on Jungwon's end. It was yours. You weren't cheating, HELL NO. It was his patterns.

Jungwon was loyal, kept his promises, and treated you like a queen.

That was the problem. You weren't used to that. You were in unhealthy relationships. It was better to detach and not really commit because you always knew they wouldn't change.

If you told Jungwon something you didn't like about him, he'd change it.

It was a problem.

It was a date. You were eating at this expensive restaurant. The steak was huge, and you both shared it. Jungwon was joking around, "My girl-best friend is pregnant already. It's crazy to think I'll be an uncle."

You smiled as you played with your food. You knew what was coming, and you tried to brace yourself. After three attempts to change the subject, you were still talking about pregnancy.

Jungwon asked the bomb, "When we have kids, how many do you want?"

You looked up at him, and the world froze.

"Huh?"

Jungwon asked again, "How many kids do you want?"

You avoided, "I'd never thought that far." Jungwon tilted his head, "You want kids, right?"

The silence was loud, "A kid sounds scary."

He quirked his eyebrow and asked, "Okay, what about marriage?"

You laughed, "Let's not talk about all of this now."

Jungwon said, "I think we should talk about this. We're clearly not on the same page."

You said, "Wonnie, I don't wanna talk about this."

Jungwon said, "You don't wanna get married to me...? Is that it?"

Your eyes widened, "I don't wanna get married in general... it's too much to think about."

Jungwon looked at you like you were stupid, "When were you planning on telling me that?"

You said, "I'd figure we wouldn't be together by now."

Jungwon froze. He nodded slowly as he turned to the waiter and asked for the check.

Jungwon drove you home, and he didn't text you back.

Something about him leaving you hurt more than usual. You cried that night. You're not usually the type to cry over a guy. Jungwon felt like someone special.

Ni-ki

Another day of wanting your boyfriend, another day of him playing video games.

Ni-ki was yelling, "You suck literal ASS! God, I hope you drown!"

He was usually the type to say crazy shit like that in the game. The problem was his girlfriend was sitting on his bed, without panties on, and watching YouTube on his phone.

He didn't bat an eye.

Ni-ki was too busy shooting people.

He didn't stop, either. He'd play until 4 AM. He was crazy like that.

You huffed and stomped over to him. He turned around and said, "Lemme finish this battle."

You said, "Yeah, fine. Go ahead."

He heard your tone. The sarcasm and anger. He said in the mic, "I'll catch you guys later. I've got trouble with the wife."

He exited the game and asked, "What did I do wrong? Did I forget to take the trash out?"

You stepped back, "Look at me."

He started at your plush brown thighs. His eyes trailed to your face, and he asked, "What's the matter."

You said, "I've been sitting on your bed with no underwear on for the past 2 hours! Here, you are playing the game. Do you think the game is sexy?! That game ain't giving you kids and oral!"

Ni-ki's eyes widened, "Baby, be quiet."

You started grabbing your things in a huff, "Don't tell me to be quiet! I'm going home!"

You pulled on his pants and grabbed your purse. You stomped out of his room, and Ni-ki followed closely. "Fuck you, Ni-ki."

You stormed out as Ni-ki was left with himself, and Heeseung walked out of his dorm room. "Kids and oral? Ni-ki?"

Ni-ki turned around, and his eyes were red, "What the hell, hyung?!"

Heeseung reluctantly hugged him.

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fervent-adoration · 2 hours ago

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OKAY THIS IS IT MEET MY BL3 SELF INSERT!!! He's literally just me, but in the Borderlands universe. He kisses 1 singular Troy from my f/o list.

I drew a character intro card like you see in the games... I fw it heavy. Tried to mimic the style as well. Took... forever-

Now I know not a ton of you know Troy, so I'll do a quick explanation of him. He's a cult leader/influencer- And he and his twin sister (Tyreen) run their extraordinarily large cult through their "influencing" and streams and such. Troy acts as more of an editor and propaganda creator, being more clever and "scheming" than sociable. As such, Tyreen takes the spotlight. They refer to themselves as "god-queen" and "god-king" and it's quite amusing. They've also got powers but that's not exactly important right now. What matters is that they're powerful in all ways, socially, monetarily, physically, even politically. Horrid guys btw. Villains of their game.

So kicks my feet. Any good streamer needs a moderator for their chats, don't they? That'll be me. Except, there isn't a TON of chats to moderate for them. So it translates a little more into "get rid of this person for me" instead. If you're interested in more, I'll have it below!!

My s/i draws a lot from my own sense of style IRL, and the way I prefer to play Borderlands games! So, he's got a style I like and would wear, and runs around with my favorite BL3 gun. (The Companion... My beloved <3) I chose a random planet for him to hail from, that being Hestias, because it just felt right. He's 23-24, to match with Troy and Tyreen's age. Obviously... Dating, Troy, and I would say that Tyreen and I would get along decently well here too. Given that I work with her and all.

"Mod, ban that guy" - Troy, gesturing at someone he wants dead (he literally could do it himself?? but he likes to have someone else to do it for him.)

Anyway I do think that the twins HAVE mods but like. Do they have that One Specific Guy to manage things for them that they can rely on? NO THEY DON'T. SO I'LL FILL THAT GAP THANKS ♡

Anyway separate selfship lore post to be made ! thank you for reading <3 If you have any questions DO feel free to shoot them my way! Huzzah!!

Tagging @wittness because I think you may be somewhat interested 😌 shoutout to my awesome BL mutuals I love you guys

#ss: gods don't negotiate #selfship #selfshipping #s/i x canon #self insert art #s/i art #krue's wretched art #cw blood #cw guns #idk i feel like those should be tagged even though that is not blood - it looks like it so it's worth mentioning. shrugs. okay yeah!

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tgmsunmontue · 20 hours ago

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O is for Oceanographer (one shot)

3k Hangster - Teen/G* - While deployed at sea sometime in 2010 Jake finds a YouTube channel featuring a research oceanographer called Bradley Bradshaw. He likes how passionate Bradley is. Among other things. *I know - I'm shocked too

A is for Acoustic Doppler Current Profiler (ADCP)

Jake stares out over the wide expanse of dark blue water, watches it swirl and eddy as the carrier cuts through it and wonders what makes whirlpools naturally occur in the ocean. He knows they do, because he's seen them several times. He remembers vaguely reading something in a book back in high school, or maybe a documentary. He finds the ocean pretty fascinating, and he respects it. Can't be in the Navy and not be aware of just how beautiful but treacherous it can be.

Later, when he’s lying in is rack, killing time before he’s tired enough to fall asleep, headphones on to try and dampen some of the clanking racket that echoes around, he pulls up YouTube and types in a couple of words. A selection of videos appear but there’s one that catches his eye, and it’s definitely because the guy is kinda cute; grinning and squinting in the still, hand up to partially shade his eyes and he’s shirtless. Jake appreciates that too.

Then the guy starts talking, and he has a nice voice, a Californian accent, he smiles easily and grins at the camera. He’s around Jake’s age and clearly passionate about the ocean, talking, rambling really, about anything and everything. Some of his explanations are so technical Jake doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but decides he doesn’t need to understand to enjoy the sights and sounds that Bradley, that’s his name, is showing him. One video rolls to the next and Jake falls asleep to the sounds of Bradley talking away in his ear.

“As always, feel free to drop me any questions you might have about the ocean and I’ll either answer them, or they could even be the topic of one of my future videos.”

B is for Bottom Pressure Recorder (BPR)

It becomes part of his bedtime routine and he rewatches some of the videos over and over, downloads them onto his phone to save on the data costs. Months slip by and he starts to understand what exactly an ADCP is and does, and why it’s important to Bradley’s research. Which is all about the speed and direction of currents, with particular attention to nutrient movement for tracking food sources. Bradley is clearly busy, and life aboard a research vessel is clearly as disciplined as a Navy carrier.

“Hi again, my name is Bradley Bradshaw and today we’re going to be installing a BPR, which is short for Bottom Pressure Recorder.”

In the video Bradley is wearing a wetsuit, but it’s hanging around his waist and he’s smiling at whoever is holding the camera. Jake knows that the videos are day, if not weeks or months old, but it’s kind of nice to think about someone else sailing around on the ocean and doing something they consider just as exciting and important as what Jake thinks he does. Bradley is explaining what a Bottom Pressure Recorder does and how he’s lending a helping hand today for someone else’s research project and Jake adds it to the little list he’s formulated in his head, that he helps out his friends or colleagues. That he smiles easily and laughs. Is passionate.

“Now a BPR measures the change in pressure within the water column at the bottom of the ocean. It can help us monitor tsunamis and tidal changes. But also it can help monitor movement beneath the crust.”

“Magma baby!” someone calls out from offscreen and Bradley laughs, rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop grinning at the camera and Jake finds himself grinning back.

“Yes, and magma. What I’m more excited about is this,” Bradley says, and he’s holding up a Styrofoam cup. “Now. This here is a Styrofoam cup. We’ve got a collection of them, and as you can see we’ve all been using our time very efficiently decorating them.” The camera jerks to the side to show a lot more cups, all highly and intricately doodled and decorated. “Now, we will be bringing those with us, at about thirty-three feet the weight of the water pressure starts applying accumulated weight, around fifteen pound per square inch –”

“Fourteen-point-seven!”

“Adam!”

There’s laughter and Jake wonders if the pressure from deep diving is similar to pulling Gs. Bradley has continued talking, is pulling on the wetsuit and zipping it up and Jake bites his lip as he watches the other man’s muscles flex and shift. Yeah. He’s been alone at sea for a long while. Fortunately though Bradley releases two to three videos a week. Sometimes they’re twenty or thirty minutes long. And sometimes they’re only five minutes, with him answering a question or two that commenters have left and Jake wonders if he could ask about the comparison of diving pressure to Gs. He doesn’t bother though, he’ll go deep diving one day and learn for himself.

“So, I’m out here with little to no social life, so feel free to drop me a comment and ask any burning questions you might have.”

C is for Cusp

They have forty-eight hours of shore leave and he’s going to make the most of it. Once he shakes off his colleagues, who are all staring along the beach. Javy at least knows he’s wanting to go out and hook up, will let him make an easy exit. But he has time yet.

“What do you think makes those crescent shapes?”

Jake looks out at what they’re all looking at and huffs.

“They’re called cusps.”

“What?”

“The formation along the beach like that. They’re called cusps,” Jake provides, because he knows that. Bradley had done a series of three videos about them, from the coarse pebble beaches the bigger cobbles and Jake is pretty sure he could talk about standing waves and sedimentation rates and longshore drift if he needed to, it’s one of his favorite videos.

“You suddenly an expert on the ocean?”

“No. Just more educated than you lot. And if I was an expert on cusps I’d be an expert in coastal geomorphology, not oceanography…”

“Since when did you take an interest in the ocean?”

“We’re in the Navy, seems stupid not to have at least a passing knowledge of it,” Jake says, and he’s practiced this in the mirror, looking blasé as he waves off his depth of knowledge. There are eyerolls, because of course there are. They think he’s an arrogant asshole, and he is, but it’s not the only part of him. He’s just not going to waste energy on people that don’t seem to bother learning more about him.

Later that night, after he’s received a passable blowjob and given one in return he curls into his rack, not prepared to pay for a room on shore when he doesn’t have to. Plus he got a notification that Bradley post a new video and he always tries to watch new ones as soon as he can.

“Bit of a shit day for me today. Won’t be a long video. Just… might delete this later anyway. It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death and I’m stuck out here on a boat away from everyone. Sometimes that’s nice. And sometimes it just makes me feel even more lonely than ever…”

It’s the saddest Jake has ever seen him, and he knows Bradley likely puts on a happy face for the majority of his videos, seems like a generally happy person. This feels private. Open and vulnerable in a way that Jake hasn’t seen before and for the first time he feels like reaching out, maybe actually commenting, but he has no idea what to say even as Bradley rambles on about walking along the beach with his mom and eating ice-cream and watching the waves hit the sand. How the ocean makes him feel close to both his parents. Jake hadn’t realized that they were both dead and

“As always, feel free to drop me any questions you might have about the ocean and I’ll either answer them, or they could even be the topic of one of my future videos.”

D is for Diving

“So I got my diving certificate when I was doing my undergraduate study, then when I was doing my postdoc I became a PADI accredited instructor as a side hustle, so some of the others on the ship with me are building up their dive hours.”

He’s been watching Bradley for over five years now, followed him onto Spotify where he sometimes appears in a friend’s podcast. Jake has a new appreciation for patterned shirts and moustaches but also tanned muscled skin and easy smiles. He’s well aware he has a crush on a complete stranger, even if Bradley doesn’t feel like a stranger. He knows when his birthday is, when his mom and dad both passed away. He also knows Bradley has deleted the short private video that Jake thinks only a handful of people saw.

“I used to dream of flying, and I still like flying… but there’s something hidden and mysterious about the depths of the ocean which are just… a little bit more scary and unknown. We still don’t know everything about it, probably never will. And I find that far more interesting and compelling than flying these days.”

He watches, listens to his voice with his eyes closed and then, because he sometimes has time to kill; reads the comments. Bradley replies to some of the more ridiculous comments stating very firmly that he won’t ever share his precise location, or anything about his current personal life. Jake doesn’t blame him. He’s gone from having a few hundred subscribers to having close to one million. Some people are weird.

“Today we’re meeting up with an aircraft carrier today, can’t tell you the name for security reasons, but they’ve got a couple of researches on board who are joining us for the next leg of our journey.”

Jake blinks, wonders when the hell that must have happened, because obviously they’re on the same ocean sometimes, but knowing he’d possibly been so close has him feeling oddly nervous, which isn’t like him at all.

“As always, feel free to drop me any questions you might have about the ocean and I’ll either answer them, or they could even be the topic of one of my future videos.”

E is for Eutrophication

“So some of you already might think you know what I do, but I also look at the release of excess nutrients, particularly as they move up and down the water column and then impact upon the ecosystems within the ocean. My original research was based around currents and tides, but as the ocean warms there’s more research funding in nutrient movement. Not that there’s much funding for that either, but I’ll still take it.”

Jake has been watching Bradley for over eight years now. It’s weird, having watched him grow older along with him, his change in haircuts, the moustache coming and going a few times before it seems to have settled on staying in place. The shirtless look being replaced with sun top and sunscreen and hats covering his curls, sunglasses perched on his nose and he often wears aviators, sometimes garish button-down patterned shirts and Jake likes it. All of it.

Bradley still shares deeply personal information sometimes, but it’s all long past. Things about his childhood, his parents, both of whom Jake knows have passed away. He doesn’t mention any current relationships, romantic or otherwise. Hell. The man could be married for all Jake knows. Could have kids. Although he suspects Bradley would be too proud of kids to not boast about them, given the way he talks about his graduate students.

“Today we’re actually near shore, which means waves! Which means surfing! Now… I will be the first to admit I am not great at staying on my board, but when you catch the perfect wave and it’s just you, being pushed toward the shore by the force of the ocean behind you? Better than flying. And before you ask, or defend flying, know that I get to go flying plenty. As always, feel free to drop me any questions you might have about the ocean and I’ll either answer them, or they could even be the topic of one of my future videos.”

Jake still hasn’t ever left a comment, but like with all the others before it he clicks the little thumbs up icon.

F is for Face to Face

“Sorry I’m late pops,” Jake says with a grin, because it’s their little in-joke now. Also he knows he’s not late, simply the last one to arrive, but then again he’s always liked making an entrance.

“You’re alright Hangman, come on in. I think everyone is here, but you probably planned it that way,” Maverick states, and Jake grins again, tips his invisible hat.

“Well, you know most everyone already, Penny and Amelia obviously. And then this here is my godson, Bradley.”

Jake’s mouth goes dry.

Holy shit.

Bradley Bradshaw.

“Yep. That’s me…”

Jake realizes he must have said the other man’s name out loud.

“You know each other?” Maverick asks.

“No. We’ve never met. I’d remember,” Bradley says, and he’s looking at Jake with one eyebrow slightly quirked, lip twitching in maybe amusement. He’s taller than Jake, and he hadn’t ever seriously thought about what Bradley might be like face-to-face. Jake can’t take his eyes off his moustache and he locks his jaw, doesn’t want to accidentally blurt out that he’s thought about it on his body. Fuck. The other Daggers are watching him and he hopes the smile he pastes on is at least halfway convincing.

“Huh. Well. Hangman here is the reason I’m still around.”

“Pretty sure that’s meant to be classified Mav…”

“Well. He also threw me out of the Hard Deck only a couple of days after I ejected from another classified thing so… swings and roundabouts, right?”

“He what? Did you?” Bradley asks, and he seems torn between worried about Mav’s previous ejection and delight at the idea of Jake tossing Maverick out.

“I didn’t do it by myself!” Jake offers quickly in defense, and Maverick, the asshole, is laughing.

“Can I get you something to drink Hangman?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Whatever you’re having is fine…”

“Hangman here is obsessed with the ocean, always dropping little facts into the conversation. You two can probably talk each other’s ears off…”

Jake grimaces, because all the facts he knows about the ocean come directly from the man standing in front of him, although he’s not stopped looking at Jake with interest and he knows that kind of interest at least and he’s trying very hard to play it cool. He accepts the bottle of beer from Maverick, glad that it gives him something to do. Fortunately the Daggers were already mid-conversation of games of cornhole, and usually he’d muscle his way into competing but…

“So…” Bradley starts, and he takes a slow sip of his drink and Jake watches his throat as he swallows, the movement of his lips and the way his tongue pokes out to the side as he looks at him. “You looked a little spooked to see me. Any particular reason for that? We haven’t hooked up and I ghosted you?”

Jake shakes his head, and he guesses there’s his answer about whether Bradley would ever go out on a date with him. Maybe.

“I’ve… watched your videos. On YouTube.”

“Oh. Cool. Because you like the ocean huh? That why you joined the Navy?”

Jake bites his lip, considers lying. He knows he can turn this around, make himself appear smooth and cocky… except he’s seen Bradley through some of his saddest moments, as well as some of his best. He’s aware enough to understand it doesn’t mean he knows him, but it also means he feels like he owes him the same level of openness and honesty.

“I joined the Navy to fly. I liked the ocean fine, but… your videos have made me love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Been watching you. For years actually.”

“Oh… you ever comment?”

“No. Came close a couple of times, but… no.”

“Shame. We might have met earlier.”

“And what would have happened then?”

“Could have asked you out.”

“You make a habit of asking out strangers on the internet?”

“Nope,” Bradley says, and he looks like he’s holding back a laugh and Jake feels like a laugh is bubbling up inside him at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Going to ask you out now though. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Definitely interested.”

The smile Bradley gives him is slow and pleased.

“Good to know. Put your number in?” Bradley asks, handing his phone over and Jake takes it, will pass his own over as soon as he has a free hand.

“If you put yours in mine…”

“Oh, I have every intention of doing just that…”

Jake chokes as he processes the innuendo but then he’s laughing, handing Bradley’s phone back to him and fishing his own out of his pocket; as Bradley’s fingers brush over his Jake finds himself glad he stumbled across Bradley’s channel all those years ago, because he doesn’t know if this meeting would have gone as smoothly otherwise.

G is for Groom

“As always, feel free to drop me any questions you might have about the ocean and I’ll either answer them, or they could even be the topic of one of my future videos.”

Jake grins, because he’s still never left a comment even now, eighteen months after meeting Bradley in person for the first time and no doubt becoming his biggest fan. He just lets him know directly. But this? He wants everyone to know and see…

>>Ever thought of marrying a stranger on the internet?

#Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfic #AU - Bradley is not a pilot #O is for Oceanographer

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