#someone please make an oc I can be down bad for

[nobrain-onlysteven]

Since it is Star Wars day I’d like to give a shoutout to my fellow fans who are down HORRENDOUS for a stormtrooper. Not a canon character. Just a random unnamed stormtrooper.

Because me too.

[chronurgy]

Ohhhh yrliet girl you fucked up. You fucked up real bad.

Yrliet seemed to take Malakai's "I will take all the help I can get to escape" as forgiveness but I really, really don't think it was. Especially after being psychically tortured (and resisting through sheer willpower), Malakai has more or less shut down the part of their brain that feels. This is also partially a response to the torture worm that makes you see things. They beat all the checks by pointing out inconsistencies in the scene, so that's what they're devoting everything they have toward (and what they were taught to do to resist warp corruption) - know what is real and what is not. There isn't much room for other things right now. They need to get out and they will. They will do whatever they need to do to get out and consign any considerations of what happens after that to the future. Right now they are putting everything they have towards staying sane via clinging to a single, tiny shred of hope that might promise escape. The only question is if and how they'll process what happened during this time. Will it give them enough time for the fires of their anger to calm down and their usual nature to reassert itself, or will it push them further over the edge? And the thing is, Malakai is pretty forgiving. Malakai wants to see the best in people. But she just dropped them into their own personal ptsd nightmare and I don't know that there's any coming back from that under these circumstances. For a couple reasons.

First, she made a really stupid decision and then lied to their face, which they take as a challenge to their authority. Malakai is well aware that they're a psyker and only a distant relative of theodora, and therefore their authority and right to ascend as rogue trader is on.... Perhaps somewhat shakier ground than they would like. Especially after they were more or less threatened by the lord inquisitor (thanks for the heads up, heinrix. It probably did help). So they are very aware that they need to strengthen their authority as much as possible, and use it wisely. This actually caused a number of conflicts between them and Jae, who they saw as challenging them/overstepping, and lead to some cooling of that relationship. Heinrix has also been on the receiving end of that type of displeasure in some cases, though his authority via the inquisition does allow him some level of..... Imposition. Heinrix warning Malakai that the lord inquisitor was coming and that there was no real threat almost certainly saved that relationship from a similar cooling. But anyway, yrliet made a bad decision (trusting the drukhari?? Girl) which is somewhat forgivable, and then lied about how she knew (challenging them, using them, not forgivable). That means that their relationship is at an end, the only question is what kind of end. Because Malakai absolutely cannot trust yrliet now, because they see her as a poor decision-maker who can't even acknowledge that flaw (or so desperate that she will risk anyone and anything to get what she wants, which amounts to the same thing). Malakai cannot give her any other assistance because of this, so it's time for them to part ways.

It's how things actually played out that makes me wonder exactly what that parting of ways will look like. In most circumstances, I think Malakai would be willing to provide her with any resources she required, then drop her off at a location of her choosing. A polite but firm goodbye. But Malakai has already been under a lot of stress as they try to manage their new protectorate and try to decide between doing what they feel is right and what they were taught is right and then watching both of those options blow up in their face. Being threatened by the lord inquisitor didn't help matters either. And they had sort of started to make their peace with their choices, to regain some faith in their ability to choose what they believe is right, and then yrliet came in and, in some sense, proved all those people who said they were a fool to trust a xenos right. She sold them out. And maybe that isn't a super fair assessment of the situation, but Malakai has been dropped into their own personal ptsd hell and they're struggling to cope. They're backed into a corner and they're about to start swinging. They're not particularly angry or vengeful, but everyone has their limits and this just might be theirs. It really depends on how the rest of the act goes, but I think there's a real chance they'll execute her, especially if things get worse.

Apparently if you don't take yrliet into your retinue, Achilleas Scalander is the one who betrays you (I looked it up). He explains that he broke during torture. I've seen people call this motivation far more compelling, and I agree! That is absolutely something Malakai could forgive, interestingly enough.

[runefactorynonsense]

Cozytober - Day 26 - Catnap

[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[arachine]

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing. 

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks. 

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince: 

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’” 

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up. 

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad. 

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?” 

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there. 

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily. 

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy. 

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.” 

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level. 

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes. 

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him. 

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after. 

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.” 

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping. 

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner. 

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence. 

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question. 

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod. 

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement. 

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her. 

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul. 

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall. 

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat. 

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice. 

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed. 

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life. 

“You tried any dating apps?” 

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?” 

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?” 

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces. 

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes. 

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars. 

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!” 

“Right…” 

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too. 

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match. 

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace. 

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail. 

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’. 

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry. 

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch. 

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response. 

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”  

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself. 

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality. 

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.” 

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone. 

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type. 

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more. 

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit. 

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders. 

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it. 

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties). 

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile. 

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds. 

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are! 

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol). 

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so? 

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice. 

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say. 

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other. 

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it. 

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this). 

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too. 

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual. 

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago. 

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half. 

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’. 

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way. 

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult. 

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’” 

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call. 

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet. 

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body. 

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!” 

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother. 

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking. 

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention. 

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki. 

“Come in, hon!” 

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room. 

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception. 

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment. 

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time. 

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly. 

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana. 

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate. 

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you. 

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone. 

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue. 

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them. 

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here. 

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know. 

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–” 

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him. 

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it. 

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something. 

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder. 

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t. 

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact. 

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger. 

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?” 

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now. 

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway. 

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs. 

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’. 

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children. 

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep. 

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him. 

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted. 

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight. 

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity. 

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say. 

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date. 

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further. 

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now. 

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot. 

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first. 

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out. 

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch. 

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks. 

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?” 

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom. 

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you. 

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.” 

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation. 

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.” 

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting. 

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d. 

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness. 

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating. 

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?” 

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes. 

“I don’t know…” you trail. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow. 

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway. 

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you. 

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.” 

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?” 

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.” 

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter. 

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed. 

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate. 

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating. 

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed. 

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit. 

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental? 

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence. 

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver. 

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers. 

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door. 

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?” 

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time. 

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?” 

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?” 

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you. 

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?” 

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal. 

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly. 

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.” 

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat. 

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence. 

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water. 

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?” 

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows. 

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?” 

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?” 

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?” 

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly. 

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter. 

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?” 

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass. 

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased. 

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment. 

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?” 

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy. 

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed. 

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!” 

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.” 

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.” 

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song. 

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns. 

To fall in love 

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them. 

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame. 

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage. 

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do 

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems. 

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were. 

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down. 

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling. 

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful. 

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs. 

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.” 

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay. 

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles). 

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs. 

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.” 

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago. 

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.” 

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees. 

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound. 

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core. 

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love. 

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.” 

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you. 

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins. 

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?” 

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue. 

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit. 

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.” 

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor. 

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them. 

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.” 

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes. 

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone. 

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand. 

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you. 

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears. 

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers. 

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously. 

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.” 

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind. 

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.” 

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You. 

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally. 

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt. 

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give. 

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.” 

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium. 

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.” 

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days. 

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp. 

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration. 

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.” 

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you. 

Soon, that silence is broken. 

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads. 

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you. 

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages. 

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants. 

“Shit!” 

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you. 

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!” 

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom. 

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

© arachine 2023

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (11) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ *nsfw*

series m.list // taglist closed

note: the slight angst in ch 10 was a set up for all the fluff, smut, and happiness in this ch !!! HEHEHEHE enj !!! pls lmk ur thots ,, ik i ditched this story for a bit so pls talk to me yall 🥲

warnings: making out, yoongi’s dick is big, oc’s tits are big, yoongi eats her out,, they fuck side to side/behind idk,, missionary, dirty talk, and creampie

//

it’s 10AM and you haven’t texted or called yoongi. 

although, he should have seen this coming. you had left all his messages unread last night and he didn’t want to push his luck any further by annoying you now (the following morning)...

but it’s difficult as fuck. 

he has never felt this way about anyone before. 

he has never wanted to fix anything so fast. he has never wanted to pick someone up so early. he has never wanted to be with someone so bad at night. 

it ached, honestly. 

… when you said you didn’t want to talk.

what the fuck did that even mean? if anything, he should be the only person in the world you talk to. instead, he’s the only person in the world you’re ignoring right now. 

so, yoongi sits in his office. 

slumped at his desk with the hum of his computer and the faint clock ticking. his eyes skim over the files on his screen, but he isn’t really reading. if anything, he’s just blinking. every few minutes, he glances at his phone, the unanswered silence gnawing at him.

he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers brushing over his jaw as his thoughts spiral.

you didn’t want to talk to him last night.

he doesn’t get it—doesn’t know if he’s pushing too hard, or if he’s just not getting through. you two were just fine the other day. great, even… so what gives? what shifted? what changed? was it jungkook? 

are you actually into jungkook?

is that it? 

before his thoughts flood in and make his anxiety grow, yoongi grabs his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact.

then, he thinks…

fuck it.

yoongi hits call and presses the phone to his ear, the dial tone humming in his chest. by the third ring, yoongi’s heart begins to beat faster and faster. as he’s about to put his phone down and end the call—

his door creaks open.

yoongi hisses from the surprise as his head snaps towards the door. before he can grumpily kick whoever is barging into his office out—his gaze softens at the sight of you.

suddenly, you step in. 

you move towards him, looking a little unsure. there’s a box of tangerines cradled in your hands and the sound of your phone buzzing in your purse fills the room. 

yoongi immediately hangs up, lowering his phone. he blinks, surprised, then pushes himself to stand.

“hey.” his voice is soft, warm, like you’re something he doesn’t want to scare off. 

“hi.”

your gaze flickers toward him before settling on the tangerines in your hands. you pick up your pace and stand in front of him, his desk separating you two. without hesitation, you extend the box of tangerines towards him. yoongi’s hands brush yours as he takes it, lingering just a little longer than necessary. 

“you shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy.”

“it’s not heavy,” you say, shrugging as you slip your purse off your shoulder.

“get jungkook to carry them in next time—here—have a seat, please.” yoongi gestures to the chair by his desk, guiding you down with a quiet insistence. he sets the box of tangerines beside him on the desk and leans against the edge, close enough to reach for you. 

he wants to.

so bad. 

so fucking bad. 

… but he doesn’t. 

instead, he stays still, hands braced on the desk, holding himself back.

the silence sits between you for a moment.

a little awkward, a little heavy. 

but finally, you speak.

“i’m sorry about last night,” you say softly, looking down at your hands in your lap. “i should’ve… i should’ve been better to you. i was really tired, yes… but i shouldn’t have left things like that. let’s blame half of it on my pregancy harmones, but let’s also blame the other half on me. i should have communicated better and i should have come home. i didn’t mean to worry you or make you feel like… whatever you felt last night… if we’re on the same page about everything, i’m assuming that we both felt—”

“like shit last night?”

“like shit.”

yoongi tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he watches you. “___, you don’t have to—”

“i came by your place,” you interrupt, your voice quiet.

“our place,” he corrects gently.

you pause, the words sinking in before you nod. 

“our place.” 

you glance up at him, and there’s a small smile on your lips, like you’re testing the words.

“i didn’t sleep well last night and i don’t understand why… or how… how i’ve been falling asleep without you by my side. so, i hurried over to our place but you already left for work… i spent the entire morning waiting for grocery stores to open so i could bring you these—” you gesture to the tangerines, a little sheepish. “peace offering? apology gift? please-be-my-baby’s-daddy bribery?”

yoongi blinks, caught off guard, and then—he laughs. 

it’s soft at first, but it bubbles up, warm and genuine, breaking the tension in the room.

you smile at him, a real one this time, and the corners of his mouth curve up in response. the air feels lighter somehow.

“baby daddy bribery?” he echoes, shaking his head, his laugh still lingering in his chest. “you’re unbelievable.”

“why? cos it’s working?” you tease, tilting your head as you look at him.

yoongi exhales, his shoulders easing as the smile lingers on his lips. 

“you don’t need to bribe me,” he says softly, his voice steady, sincere. “you just… you just need to talk to me.”

your expression falters slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“i know.”

he sees it, and for a moment, he wants to pull you in—wants to wrap his arms around you and hold you close, to kiss your forehead and tell you it’s okay. wants to tell you that you’re forgiven before you even ask for forgiveness. 

but he doesn’t. 

he stays still, waiting, letting you give as much as you’re ready to.

he prepares for the wait and for the lingering ache. he braces himself but instead—

you reach for him.

you reach for him and suddenly all his walls come crumbling down. like all the pride and courage he gathered to save face mean nothing when it comes to you and the way you captivate him. he gives in. he gives in so fucking much.

your hand finds his wrist, curling lightly around it, and his chest tightens.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, and yoongi exhales, the sound soft and heavy all at once. “i was imature and i could’ve handled the situation better. i should’ve talked to you. i should’ve called. we’re in this together and i left you alone last night. i will never do that agian. i promise, yoongi. i’m really really sorry—”

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “stop apologizing now.”

he turns his hand under yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you both in the quiet. before you know it, he’s tugging them to his lips. as he kisses your knuckles, your eyes water. 

you can’t help it. 

neither can yoongi because finally, he reaches for you. yoongi cups your face, dips his head low, and kisses you.

against your lips, he murmurs; ”did you build ikea furniture with jungkook?”

“no.”

“good,” he smiles. “i would’ve been mad at you.”

“mad at me or jealous over him?”

yoongi pulls away. “me? jealous?”

you throw your head back and scoff at him. he chuckles and quickly shifts himself back, close to you. 

“you noticed?” he tilts his head. 

“no,” you squint at him. “not at all.”

the box of tangerines sits between you as yoongi works, the soft sound of typing filling the office. you’re perched on the small couch in the corner, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, the other scrolling lazily through your phone.

“it’s quiet today,” you say, breaking the silence, your tone light.

yoongi hums, eyes still fixed on the screen as he types in steady, practiced motions.

“mm, i got through a few patient phone calls in the evening yesterday… just going through files and notes today. paperwork stuff.”

“maybe your patients are avoiding you,” you tease. “you know? since your resting face isn’t exactly inviting.”

he glances at you, a soft scoff escaping him. 

“it’s called being focused.”

you smile, the corners of your mouth quirking up, and yoongi catches it—he always does. his gaze lingers for just a beat longer before he shakes his head and turns back to his work, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

you let the quiet stretch again, content to watch him as you absentmindedly trace little circles over your stomach.

after a while, the stillness in the office makes you restless. 

“i’m going to walk around. check on the others.”

“okay. can you check on jimin, tae, and jungkook? they’re a little quiet today. usually means they’re up to something,” yoongi says without looking up, but there’s no real warning in his tone. “... if they are; don’t join them.”

you stand with a small groan, pressing a hand to your lower back as you stretch. “me? never.”

he watches as you leave, one hand on the doorframe for balance, and his eyes soften when the door clicks shut behind you.

an hour later, you’re back in yoongi’s office, settling onto the couch again with a triumphant little huff.

“did you make your rounds?” yoongi asks, closing the file on his desk and turning toward you.

“mhmm,” you hum, reaching for the box of tangerines. “jin was chill. namjoon and i talked about what bag he should buy hyemi for their anniversary. jimin and taehyung were running lab tests… jungkook was complaining about his protein bars not having enough protein… oh, and hobi said i looked like i was about to pop—”

yoongi scrunches his nose in distaste. 

“he’s an idiot. you look perfect.”

“yeah, but he’s your idiot.”

“and i’m starting to regret that.”

you laugh quietly, peeling the first tangerine with practiced hands. the sharp citrus smell fills the air, and you separate a segment before holding it out toward him.

yoongi quirks a brow.

“are you feeding me now?”

“i’m like 6 months pregnant and growing a human,” you peel another segment carefully, the sound crisp in the quiet of the office. “you think i’m doing all this for me?”

yoongi’s gaze flickers to yours—dry, disbelieving—but his lips twitch. “right. you’re peeling tangerines purely out of obligation.”

“purely. i do this for all my babydaddies…” you hold the segment out toward him, a quiet challenge in your eyes. “now be nice and take it.”

there’s a beat of silence where neither of you move, but then yoongi leans in, the edge of his knee brushing yours as he lets you press the tangerine to his lips. his eyes stay on you the whole time, half amused and half… something else.

“good job, daddy.”

yoongi freezes mid-chew, a soft scoff escaping him as his gaze sharpens. 

“don’t.”

you raise an innocent brow, peeling another tangerine with practiced fingers. 

“don’t?”

“don’t start.”

“why not?” you tease.

yoongi exhales through his nose, leaning back against the desk as he watches you. his long legs stretch out in front of him, the tips of his shoes almost bumping yours. 

“you’re playing with me.”

“maybe so… but only because it seems like you’re easy to mess with,” you quip, holding out another segment.

yoongi doesn’t move immediately this time. he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“but seriously… you don’t have to do that,” he mutters.

you blink, confused. “do what?”

“... do things like this.”

something about the way he says it makes the air feel different, heavier. you hesitate for a second before nudging his hand. 

“it’s just a peeled tangerine.”

“no it’s not,” he says. 

you blink at him. 

“okay,” you begin to confess. “it’s not. you know what it means and you know why i’m doing it. so what?”

yoongi huffs quietly—almost a laugh—but he leans forward again, this time brushing your fingertips just a little longer than necessary as he takes it. your breath catches, just for a moment, and yoongi notices. 

of course he does.

the corner of his mouth twitches.

“see? you’re not so tough.”

“never said i was,” you say softly, peeling another piece without looking at him. “especially when it’s about you.”

yoongi watches you carefully, his hand sliding to rest against the couch beside you, close enough that his fingers almost graze your dress.

“you always get like this when you’re bored,” he says finally, voice low.

“get like what?”

“antagonizing me.”

you smirk to yourself, holding another segment out toward him.

“it’s called keeping you on your toes. you should thank me.”

yoongi leans in again, but this time, there’s a faint smile on his lips as he takes the fruit from your hand.

“thank you—”

the door swings open without warning.

“am i interrupting something?”

jungkook’s voice cuts through the room, and you freeze mid-motion, holding a tangerine segment up to yoongi’s mouth. yoongi sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a brief second like he’s praying for patience.

“come back later, jungkook,” yoongi mutters, but you don’t move. instead, you smirk and press the tangerine to his lips anyway.

he takes it begrudgingly, chewing as he glares at jungkook.

“wow,” jungkook says, stepping fully into the room and folding his arms. “the baby’s not even here yet, and you two are already disgusting.”

“who cares about what you think?” you quip, reaching toward yoongi again when you see a bit of juice spill from the corner of his mouth.

before he can move, your thumb brushes the juice away, and without thinking, you bring it to your mouth, licking it off.

yoongi freezes.

jungkook’s jaw drops.

“oh my god,” jungkook groans, clapping a hand over his eyes dramatically. “can you two not? in the workplace? fired.”

yoongi’s ears tint faintly pink, and he clears his throat, shooting you a look that’s half warning, half something softer.

“you came in uninvited,” he says flatly. “and i’m technically your boss.”

“yeah, well, now i regret it.” jungkook drops his hand and gestures between the two of you. “just take the day off. seriously. the patients can survive without you—i’ll handle everything.”

“we barely have any patients today.”

“see?” jungkook sighs. “i’ll send out the emails and shit. just sign what you need to sign and get out of here.”

yoongi hesitates, eyes flickering to you. you shrug casually.

“it is lunch time… what do you say?” you ask, a small, knowing smile curling at your lips. “wanna get some lunch?”

“like a date?”

“a date.”

yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you see the way his jaw shifts, like he’s trying to fight back a smile.

finally, he exhales, pushing himself off the desk and taking the box from your hands. “let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

“you’re welcome!” jungkook calls as you both leave the office, the door swinging shut behind you.

yoongi’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you out, and he leans closer as tells you;

“we gotta eat fast. he’s gonna call me in an hour near tears because he won’t know what to do with the paperwork.”

you and yoongi decide to eat at this cozy but upscale restaurant downtown. 

the atmosphere buzzes with laughter and soft lighting that gives off a relaxed vibe, despite the place’s high-end feel. when the last of your plates are cleared away, and yoongi reaches for his wallet, about to ask for the bill.

"i’ll get it," you say, pulling your phone out. 

but before you can do anything, the waiter comes over with a smile.

“ms ___? your meal has already been taken care of,” your waiter tells you both. yoongi blinks in surprise, looking from the waiter to you.

you make a small surprised face, catching his gaze. 

“oh, did i forget to tell you? the chef here was my old junior sous chef, jiun. she’s been inviting me to eat here for a while, but i just haven’t had the time. i texted her earlier, and she insisted we try her new menu."

yoongi quirks a brow, still processing. "so everything we ate... was from her?"

you nod, giving a soft shrug. “yeah. but i swear, i had no idea she was going to cover it all.”

yoongi stares at you for a second, his expression softening into something between surprise and admiration. 

“wow… you’re seriously so cool,” he praises you, unable to stop a small laugh from slipping out.

you feel a heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment—it’s a kind of warmth, the way yoongi always makes you feel.

then, to your surprise, he leans in and kisses your cheek. 

the moment is soft, almost unintentional, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. you lean into it without thinking, his hand immediately finding your waist as he helps you stand. his fingers brush over the fabric of your dress, sending a tiny shiver through you as his touch lingers.

you both start heading toward the door, your hand wrapped around his as you step out into the fresh air, the afternoon sunlight casting soft shadows.

just as you're about to walk out, you see jiun approaching from the kitchen, her face lighting up when she sees you.

“oh my god! ___, you’re pregnant!” she practically beams, her excitement filling the space. "stop… oh my god, oh my god! babes, you’re just glowing—how are you so pretty?”

you smile, your cheeks flushing, both from the compliment and the way jiun’s enthusiasm hits you full force. you open your mouth to introduce yoongi, but before you can, yoongi beats you to it.

what do you even say?

this is yoongi, my boyfriend.

this is yoongi, my babydaddy.

this is yoongi, my friend but not really.

“I’m yoongi.”

yeah.

that’s probably good.

jiun’s eyes flicker from you to him, and a playful look flashes across her face. you catch her glance at your hand—your ring finger empty. she’s smooth with it though, and you know she means no harm. she just wants to have context without asking for it.

“oh, i see. the father, huh?” she teases, then looks back at you with a knowing grin. "___, we talked about this all the time, remember? i’m so happy for you both."

you feel your face warm at her words. 

there’s no hiding your embarrassment now, especially since jiun’s been so open about how she used to listen to all your daydreams. 

you nervously laugh, shrugging a little, but yoongi just chuckles and leans in to whisper into your ear, “i know.”

the three of you stand there for a moment, an awkward but comfortable silence settling between you all. you try to shake off the sudden shyness, glancing at yoongi. his hand is still on your waist, his thumb gently rubbing over your side as if to ground you.

jiun looks at the two of you and then back at you, still beaming. 

“honestly, i’m just so happy for you. i remember you talking about wanting this for so long. i’m so glad it happened for you… and with someone like…” jiun pauses, gesturing for yoongi to complete her sentance. 

“i’m a nurse practitioner for a dermatology practice my friends and i own.”

jiun’s eyes widen. 

“holy shit,” she breathes. “you chose well, ___. can you find me a babydaddy too?”

you throw your head back and laugh. she moves closer to you, tugging on your arm. “are you still friends with that taehyung guy? the one that’s friends with the twink and the buff one?”

you roll your eyes at her. 

“you guys kissed once at a party—”

“i want his babies.”

yoongi almost chokes on air. 

jiun shifts her attention to him and apologies. “sorry,” jiun giggles. “hyemi, ___, and i are a little unhinged when it comes to sex.” 

yoongi, noticing the warmth and tenderness in her voice, offers a small but sincere smile.

“all good,” he says, his voice soft. “he is single though… is there any way i could pitch jungkook to you?”

“the twink?”

“the buff one.”

jiun thinks for a moment. “isn’t he into milfs?”

yoongi’s smile drops. 

you make a face at jiun and shake your head. she quickly catches on and laughs, trying to move past the moment.

“you know what? you two look really good together. don’t forget to invite me to the baby shower, okay?”

you nod, unable to hide your smile now. "yeah. i’m actually not sure if i’m gonna have one—”

“that’s insane,” jiun gasps. “you out of all people deserve one. you’ve wanted to be a mom for so long… yoongi, contact me for catering, okay? that’ll be my baby shower gift.” 

“jiun, that’s too much—”

“okay,” yoongi accepts her offer. “let me know if you want any expenses cover though. it’s no problem.”

jiun looks back at you, her grin widening. “provider man, i see… well, wow. i love this for you, ___. you’re gonna be a great mom, and i know yoongi is lucky to have you.”

you feel your heart swell, but you try to hide your emotions with a soft laugh. 

"stop, you’re gonna make me cry."

“it’s the pregnancy harmones.”

“totally.”

the three of you laugh together, the tension between you all easing as jiun’s bubbly energy fills the space around you.

"i have to get back to the kitchen, but it was so good to see you. enjoy the rest of your day guys! and i’m serious about that baby shower, okay?" jiun says, giving you both a quick hug before she heads back to the kitchen.

as she disappears inside, yoongi takes your hand, guiding you out of the restaurant. 

"you really are something, you know that?" he says softly, his voice low, like he’s trying to keep the moment just for the two of you. “you have good friends.”

you grin at him, leaning into his side. “true. i mean, i’ve got good taste.”

“you do.” yoongi chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “remember when i was your friend?” his hand moves down to your waist again, his touch reassuring, like he’s silently claiming this space between you both, soft and sure.

“awh, what does that mean? are you not my friend anymore?”

you and yoongi go home and spend the afternoon rearranging a few things in the living room, bedroom, and nursery.

there’s no rush, just the kind of slow, comfortable task that makes the house feel more like home. he’s focused, but every now and then, his eyes flicker over to you, catching the way your movements are a little slower now with the growing baby.

“you know, we should’ve done this sooner,” yoongi says with a small smirk as he adjusts a shelf in the living room, his sleeves rolled up.

you laugh, brushing your hair from your face. “we tried, remember? but i kept changing my mind. it’s the pregancy brain—”

“yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, stepping back to take in the space. “so, are you committed to this? it looks good. like really good.”

you look around the room, the warm glow from the soft lighting making everything feel cozy and welcoming. 

“i am,” you breathe.

by dinner time, the kitchen smells like heaven.

the two of you working side by side at the stove, getting everything ready. yoongi’s movements are precise, fluid, and you find yourself watching him, the way he handles the utensils and moves around the kitchen with ease.

“need help with anything?” you ask, leaning over the counter, watching him chop vegetables.

“just stay out of my way, and we’ll be fine,” yoongi teases without looking up, though there’s a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. 

“oh, i see how it is.” 

“too harsh?”

you frown at him.

“just wondering where the guy that begged for private cooking lessons went.”

yoongi throws his head back and laughs. you join him and poke his sides. he squirms and tells you to leave his kitchen.

you don’t listen.

instead, you continue to annoy him. 

as the meal comes together, the soft music playing in the background and the warm lighting create a slow, almost intimate atmosphere. you stand close to yoongi, your body just slightly pressed against his, and before you know it, you’re laughing into the crook of his neck as he stirs something on the stove.

he pauses for a moment, his hand resting on your hip, and his eyes flicker to you.

“you’re distracting me."

“i’m just admiring your cooking skills.” you grin, pressing a kiss to his neck before pulling away to finish setting the table.

when you finally sit down to eat, you’re side by side, the tension from the earlier moments easing as the evening settles in. yoongi’s hand rests lightly on your thigh, his thumb drawing soft circles over your skin, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet comfort of the moment.

“so,” he starts, voice low and teasing, “baby names?”

you look over at him with an exicted look on your face. “oh my god. should we talk about that tonight?”

yoongi snorts, giving you a playful nudge. “why not now?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i’ll get too excited. i won’t eat.”

yoongi’s hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, his lips curling into a smile.

“okay. let’s get ready for bed and talk about it then?”

you reach over, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“oh my god, i think you just got me pregnant again.”

he raises an eyebrow, that playful glint returning to his eyes. “is that so?”

yoongi is washing dishes while you lay on the couch, munching on tangerines. 

the soft scent of citrus fills the room, and your pregnant belly rests comfortably on the couch, the perfect table for the fruit.

“you know,” you start, looking down at your belly with a grin, “my tummy’s really the perfect table for tangerines.”

yoongi glances over, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he wipes his hands on a towel. “of course it is. a convenient little snack spot.”

you giggle, reaching for another tangerine, but yoongi sets the dish towel down and walks over to you, his steps slow and deliberate. he dips his head low to press a soft kiss to your lips, but before you can react, he pulls away slightly, taking a tangerine from your mouth instead.

“i knew you were saving that one for me,” he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as he settles down beside you.

you laugh softly, offering him the next segment of tangerine, but he shakes his head, instead pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your body, his chest against your back. his breath is warm against your ear as he nuzzles your neck.

“i missed you,” he whispers.

“you did?” you tease, tilting your head back to look at him, your hand resting on his arm. “is that why you’re so clingy?”

yoongi laughs quietly, the sound soft and affectionate, before his lips find yours in a slow, lingering kiss. the world outside fades as you both settle into the quiet of the moment, the only sound being your breathing and his heart's soft, steady beat against your back.

everything grows more heated. 

more urgent. 

as he pulls you even closer, his lips moving to your neck, his hands roaming over your body with a gentle insistence. you don’t pull away, instead melting into him, your own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

he pauses, looking at you with a small smile, his forehead resting against yours. 

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection.

you smile, running your fingers through his hair. 

“so are you.”

you’re obsessed with yoongi’s lips.

maybe that’s why you cum fast and hard as he presses, drags, and uses them to suck on your clit. he knows all the right places to get your toes curling and your eyes wincing. you grip his hair, grinding your pussy into his face more and more. his hot breath adds a depth you can’t quite explain. 

it’s good.

so fucking good. 

“mhmm,” you moan. “y-yoongi…”

he does a few kitten licks, slurping up the last few drops of your cum from inside your folds. looking up at you, you feel your chest tighten as he maintains eye contact. 

yoongi finishes you off and you lose your breath. 

quickly, he hovers over and takes his shirt off. you sit up and raise your hands. he helps you take your dress off, revealing you in just your bra. 

and god…

are your tits the best thing he’s ever seen. 

wow. 

they’re plump and just so perfect. he practically drools at the sight of them. yoongi can’t stop his hands from cupping them over your bra. you gasp from his touch and whine; 

“my nipples… they’re still so sensitive.” 

suddenly both of you recall that night he came over and how one thing led to another… how he looked at you as he sucked your tits and palmed them. how he looked at you as he tugged on your nipples… how he massaged them until the soreness was gone. 

how good he was at playing with them. 

yoongi lowers himself and kisses your hard nipples. 

“that okay?” he asks you. 

“y-yeah,” you shiver from his light touch. “feels good…”

“okay,” he breathes. “i… just wanna make sure… you’re okay with this? do you want to have sex? we don’t have to. i can just—”

you reach for him and tug him close. kissing him deep and slow, you pull away and lean your forehead against his. 

“yeah.”

that’s all he needs. 

yoongi smiles and kisses you once more before taking his underwear off. revealing himself, your throat goes dry. 

sometimes, it baffles you how fucking big he is. 

no fucking wonder you got pregnant after the first time. 

you reach for his cock, but he jolts away. he spits on it, keeping his eyes on you. 

“don’t worry about me,” yoongi assures you. “i’ll cum no matter what.” 

you scoff at him. 

“but i wanna—mhmmmffffppph—”

as yoongi kisses you, he shifts his body to your side. he lays behind you, stretching his arms to cup your body. once he’s comfortable, he reaches for his cock and jerks it off a few more times before inserting it inside you. he spoons you, holding you close and resting his chin on top of your head. 

when he’s fully in, you let out a moan. 

“oh my god…”

“mhm?” he breathes. “is it okay? are you comfortable?” 

you nod and take his hand. you move it to you breast and have him squeeze it.

“keep going, honey.”

yoongi kisses the top of your head and begins to fuck you from behind. as he does so, you feel him everywhere. his dick is so fucking big, it’s hard not to. as he fucks you, each stroke makes you feel like you’re coming to life. like, you weren’t living until he put himself inside you. 

he moves slowly but surely, being careful with the way his pelvis slaps against your ass. you make cute little noises that boost his ego and all he can think is; 

fuck. 

he’s in love. 

as he fucks himself more and more into you, you begin to lose your breath. yoongi takes his hand off your tits and moves them down to your clit. he plays with it, pinching, squishing, and rubbing it. you moan louder and louder—unable to contain how good he makes you feel. 

“f-fuck,” you utter. “yoongi… oh my god…”

“yeah?” he hisses. “you like this? am i fucking you good, mama?”

“so good, daddy. so fucking good… u-uhhh! uh huh… mhmmmm!”

he hisses. 

“i’m gonna cum,” yoongi pants, breathing in through his nose. “are you close?”

you gulp. “almost?”

“almost?” he repeats. “okay. let’s change positions.” 

before you know it, yoongi pulls himself out and gets you to lay flat on your back. he gets on top of you, planting both his arms on either side of you. instantly, he lowers himself to kiss you. his hands move to your hair as yours wrap around his back. 

you dig your nails into his skin, dragging them down. then, you lower your hands even more and find his dick. you flick your wrist, gripping on it just enough. you pump him a few times before shoving his dick back inside you. 

when his cock is fully inside, you moan into his ear. 

“oh god… daddy, your cock is so fucking hard. i’m so wet, so close to cumming…”

“mhm?” yoongi moans. “yeah, mama?”

“y-yeah,” you gasp. “can you cum inside me again, daddy? i miss how it feels. so sticky… so creamy. you remember, right? how tight i got when you made me cum? did you cock get rock hard when you came inside me? hmm? can you make your cum special for me?”

yoongi gulps. 

“special for you? how so, mama?”

you kiss him. 

“dunno,” you bite your lip. “give me a lot, please. extra creamy. extra yummy.”

he snickers, thrusting inside you harder and harder. 

“i’ll do by best.”

“o-ohh,” you moan again. “mhm! j-just like that, daddy! o-ohh.. oh! oh my god. yes, yes, yes—oh my god!” 

soon, your whines and moans turn into sobs. 

you’re actually fucking sobbing over his dick. 

yoongi fucks you so good, your pussy swells. he fucks you hard but in a gentle enough way that you two are still being cautious over the bump between you two. every so often, he shifts to kiss your tummy. 

then finally, your breath hitches, and your legs begin to shake. 

you cum. 

“y-yoongi—”

“i got you,” he says, holding you tighter. 

you wrap your arms around his shoulder blade and bury your face in the crook of his neck. his sweat smells so good to you. 

as you ride your climax, yoongi continues to fuck you. he grunts, trying to push himself to the limit. he drags his dick inside and out of you—trying his best to gather all his cum. 

then, he spills himself inside you. 

“fuckkk…” he groans. 

you feel it. 

you feel his cum squirt inside you. you feel it spill out of your hole and down your folds. you feel it leak onto the bed. 

“thank you, daddy.. thank you.”

“anything for you, mama.”

lazily, yoongi continues to fuck you. 

you kiss his shoulders as he whimpers; 

“___?”

“mhmm?” you move your hands to his hair. there’s a silence that follows, but nothing changes. he doesn’t move and neither do you. 

and you feel it. 

you know it. 

then, he says it. 

“i love you.”

and with a flutter in your heart, his cum inside your pussy, and his baby inside you… you say it too. 

“i love you too.”

[darkbluekies]

can you write a drabble where y/n feels like theyre being too clingy since silas or JERRY !! had a bad day and accidentally lashed out on them. y/n gradually distanced themself and was really out of it 😔

Silas & Jerry drabbles: making up for lashing out on darling

Yandere!mafia oc & yandere!female!mafia oc

Warnings: mentions of them being mad

Silas:

He can tell immediately that you've distanced yourself. He didn't mean to shout at you, but why did you have to come just at that moment? He's asked you multiple times if you could wait until he's done with meetings before asking things. Not because he doesn't want you asking, but because of how distracted he is by you. You fog up his mind.

"Are you pouting because you're actually sad or because you want me to feel bad?" he asks as he enters the bedroom, loosening his tie.

"Both", you mumble without looking at him.

"Both? Oh, well, what should I do with my poor baby, then?"

He moves closer slowly, in his normal predatory way. He smiles halfly, halfly amused by your sad pout, halfly guilty that he made you feel unloved. He stops in front of you, lifting your chin with his fingers, making you look up at him.

"Are you just going to sit there and pout or enter my arms that are solely for you?" he asks, tilting his head.

"You didn't want me earlier."

"But now I do. And if you deny me now, I might be the sulky one pouting with my legs crossed like a child throwing a tantrum. Come here, little thing."

He opens his arms for you and pull you in, resting his chin on top of your head.

Jerry:

"Sulky baby, can never get into your head when I'm busy with work and not, hm? I'm sorry for shouting at you baby, but just please remember what I'm telling you next time, okay?"

It's not uncommon for her to yell, either at you or someone else, but she didn't mean to call you names. Not intentionally. Not that kind. She has all kinds of taunting nicknames for you, but none that are actually hurtful. But today something had happened. She had been stressed and you had come in the wrong moment. She had said something she shouldn't and had watched how your face had fallen.

And now you've been distant for hours. She sihs and plops down on the couch beside you, holding a paper bag in her arms, which she holds out.

"This contains food from all fast food resturants in the city", she says. "If you're going to sulk you might as well go all out."

"I don't want your pity food."

"It's not pity food ... okay, yes it is, but just accept it. It took me an hour to gather everything. Half of it is probably cold by now but it's the thought that counts. I've chosen all your favorites."

You hesitate.

"I did not mean to call you that", Jerry admits with a heavy sigh. "That name is not meant for you, you just happened to be there. Just ... just accept my apology and I will hold you the entire night."

You give her a look.

"And I will massage you", she mutters. "And kiss you. Take the damn bag my arm hurts!"

You take the bag. Jerry smiles and pets your hair.

[beomcharms]

bound ᥫ᭡ || pt.2||

pairings: beomgyu x f!reader

genre: arranged marriage au!, childhood friends to lovers, they’re really just idiots

warnings: angst, angst, angst, drinking, bad decisions, slightest bit of fluff, yearning beomgyu’s mean, oc is also mean soooo

w/c: 2.8k

read pt.1 here

a/n: i really didn’t expect pt. 2 to take so long but i fell into a writers slump in the middle of it so sorry for the delay☹️. i hope you all like this as much as you liked pt. 1 (please do)!!

taglist: @hyunelixbun @lickingan0rchid @j0qn @baekberrie @yoseicour @lovingbeomgyudayone @bambammtori @gyuhaze @definitelynother @tubatuupenguinkai @strawberryjaem @leehans-fish @filesforbeom @yeovnjin @sunooqvrlsx @t-102 @akitfffr @blossommi @soohashits @sulliefimmie @brrytears

fic below cut

You’re on your third drink of the night. Beomgyu is right by your side, as he has been the entire night. You’ve tried to shake off his company only for him to pop up right beside you whenever you thought you had succeeded.

“Can’t you atleast pretend like your enjoying this party ?” He mutters. You don’t even look his way, opting instead to plaster on the fakest smile you can muster.

“You look deranged” he tells you, alarmed by your change in expression and you force yourself not to laugh.

Beomgyu tries to take hold your hand which you immediately snatch away as you pretend to examine your nails. You hear him sigh.

Maybe it was a little too much, but he deserved it. The entire car ride had been silent. Beomgyu had picked you up from work, drove you home, complimented your attire for the night ( a short wine coloured dress that made him feel like he was being shot in the chest) and had tried to make conversation with you the entire night. You on the other had barely spared him a glance.

You had had to rush through your meeting and you weren’t even remotely satisfied with the work you had done today all because of Beomgyu and his insistence on attending the gala.

Although, you could see why this was important to him. Every major businessman in your state was in attendance and they all had bought someone with them. This would be a big night for him if he weren’t so busy trying to get you talk to him. You were too petty to let it slide.

You’re about to pick up your fourth drink from a passing by waiter when Beomgyu holds down your hand. You raise an eyebrow at him, shaking your hand free.

“I think you’ve had enough” he tells you. You roll your eyes, hard. Choosing to walk away from him. He follows behind you. This man, you think to yourself. You make your way onto a silent alcove, turning to face him.

“What is the matter with you” you ask him angrily.

“Finally, she speaks” he tells you, clutching his heart in pretence.

You give him a rough push but he holds onto your hands. “This is not a joke”

“Yes. It’s not. It’s one of the biggest nights of my life and yet here I am trying to make you talk with me” Beomgyu almost drawls out.

“Nobody is forcing you to do it. Go, talk with all your big investors. It’s not like I want to hang out with you here either” you huff out at him, trying to break his grip on you.

“I know. But, seeing your glower is making all of them scramble away from me” his tone a little playful.

“Fine. I’ll stay out here. Would that work for you?” You ask him tilting your head.

“That is not the point. Listen, I’m sorry. How many more times do I have to say it?” Beomgyu asks you, eyes pleading.

“Till you actually mean it. You can’t just expect me to adjust my schedule around yours anytime you wish to, that’s not how this works” you tell him, angry again.

“I know, but this was last minute and I didn’t have the time today morning. Stress got the better of me and I’m sorryyy sweetheart” He tells you drawing you closer to him.

“You never have the time. Never.” You tell him, trying to push him away.

“You knew what you were marrying into!” He tells you and it seems like he is on his last straw.

“Did I? I expected a little more respect Beomgyu, not this blatant disregard for my job and even myself” you tell him, voice rising a little.

“I respect you. This was just a one time thing. But you keep asking more and more from me” Beomgyu huffs out.

You stand there in shock. The audacity of this man. Beomgyu immediately knows he went too far.

“I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that” he tells you quickly.

Despite yourself, your eyes starts to well up. Wiping away your tears furiously, you turn away from him.

“Y/N… please” Beomgyu pleads.

“I’m going home” you tell him walking away.

-.-

The uber driver pays no mind to you as you sob in the car seat behind him. Beomgyu had not followed behind you. He had just let you walk away from him.

You didn’t even know what you were crying for anymore. Your ruined marriage was one thing but also your heart hurt. You had fallen for Beomgyu against the odds but it didn’t matter because he didn’t feel an ounce of the emotion you felt for him.

When the driver tells you you’ve reached home, your tears have dried up and only the numbness remains.

-.-

Beomgyu splashes water all over his face. Pushing back his hair, he gets the weird urge to laugh at himself. What was he doing? What is the point of any of this if you’re not beside him?

Mentally cursing himself for not following you back home, he rushes to get his car and leave the function.

Beomgyu will not let this marriage fail.

-.-

Pushing the door open, Beomgyu rushes into your shared bedroom. You’re not there.

Walking out he calls out your name but there is no response. Panic starts to set in inside him and he tries calling your phone, but there is no answer.

Beomgyu walks around the house and finally settles on the couch, clutching his head in his hands when he hears the front door open again. He jumps up and turns around and sees you, removing your coat to reveal the pajamas underneath, holding onto a rub of ice cream. Beomgyu bites down on his lip to avoid smiling.

“Can’t you atleast answer your phone?” He asks you.

You pay no mind to him, dropping the house keys on to the counter and walking over to the kitchen.

“Will you stop being so childish to me for once ?” Beomgyu is following close behind you. You pick up your spoon and turn around to see him towering over you.

You look up at him and Beomgyu holds the bridge of his nose to calm himself down. Being mad at you was not going to work, since he was clearly in the wrong. Beomgyu is not used to being in the wrong and hence he has a hard time coming up with apologies.

“I’m sorry” he starts

“Don’t wanna hear it” you tell him, picking up your ice cream tub and making your way onto the sofa.

Beomgyu sits beside you and you sigh.

“You’re not asking more from me, infact your not even asking for enough. I- I don’t know why I said all that. Clearly-“ Beomgyu is rambling on, while you struggle to open the ice cream lid.

Gently taking it from your hands he pries it open in one go and hands it back to you and continues on without missing a beat “- I was not in me right mind. Please, just please let’s talk this out”

You focus on your ice cream. It was your favourite flavour. Each spoonful helped a little more to calm you down.

“Are you listening to me?” Beomgyu asks you. He has not once looked away from you, despite your continued ignorance.

“I have nothing to say to you” you mumble with your mouth full, looking around for your t.v remote.

“Will you atleast look at me” Beomgyu asks you turning your chin towards him.

Your roll your eyes, pushing away his hand.

“Please sweetheart” Beomgyu pleads and you look away. You couldn’t handle his puppy eyes. Not when you were kids and definitely not now.

“I have nothing to say to you. And what is the point of even trying anymore when you keep doing what you wish to do and keep treating me like shit?” You ask him and you hate how sad and desperate you sound.

“Just- I need time” he tells you, rushing, trying to find the right words.

“Just leave me alone, Beomgyu.” You sigh.

Beomgyu feels defeated. He hates how there seems to be nothing he can do to make you understand him. The distance between the both of you continues to grow and he is out of attempts to try and find a way to fill it up.

-.-

You sleep on different beds for the first time that night. Beomgyu had not put up a fight when you carried out your stuff to the guest bedroom. He had simply watched you. You did not have another fight left in you.

Sleep refused to acknowledge you in any way. You tossed and turned all night, finally falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. Briefly, you wondered how Beomgyu was doing, before reminding yourself that you shouldn’t care for him.

-.-

Days pass in the same manner. You hardly see Beomgyu. He left early and came home late. In the few glimpses you got of him, rushing out the door, he looked rough. Sadness weighed heavy in your heart and you spend most nights crying yourself to sleep.

Beomgyu, felt like a shell of himself. He didn’t have the motivation to do anything and to avoid having to acknowledge the mess that was his marriage, he buried himself in work. He was sharper and meaner with everything and everyone around him, like a shard from a broken vase.

Unbeknownst to you, he would sometimes slowly sneak into your room, when he was sure you were sleeping. From your swollen eyes it was evident that he was hurting you. He just didn’t know how to fix it. Hours would pass by where he concocted plans to get you to talk to him but they all left him empty. He had hurt you, was continuing to hurt you.

-.-

You were in your usual hurry to get to school. Rushing about your room you pick up your bag and apply your perfume and rush out, nearly knocking Beomgyu onto the ground.

“Fuck- I’m sorry” you mumble, steadying yourself against him. He looks down at you, and it feels as though aeons had passed since you had the warmth of his brown irises on you.

“Careful” he tells you quietly, his hand still on your elbow and the intensity of his gaze makes you look away. Pushing away from him, you nod your head making your way to the kitchen to pick up your lunch.

Putting away the box in your bag, you turn around and Beomgyu is staying at the same place, looking at you. Your raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, walking towards the coat hanger.

“I-“ Beomgyu starts and you notice how he is not wearing his work clothes.

“Don’t you have work today?” You ask him.

“Yeah- I took a half day” He answers. He is fidgeting with his hands and it makes you nervous too. Since, when did it become so awkward to talk to him?

The shrill of the calling bell, turns your attention away from him. Who would be visiting you at this hour, you wonder and start towards the door when Beomgyu overtakes you and opens it.

“Darling” his mother is immediately on him. You stand rooted to your spot. Why was his mom here? Why didn’t he tell you??

“Ah- Y/N’s still here!” His mother rushes to hug you and you’re nearly strangled in her hold. You look at Beomgyu, who shrugs his shoulders at you, helplessly.

“Beomie told me you couldn’t take a day off today, since you were busy with the new term” his mother let’s go off you and grasps your hands.

“He- did?” You ask her looking over at him.

“Yes- it’s so difficult to get you both together these days. Are you alright, sweetheart?” The concern in his mothers voice, doubles the guilt in your heart. You texted her often, but ever since the fight between you and Beomgyu you had not called her. But it seemed as though Beomgyu still had your back, making up excuses for you.

“I- I’m fine Aunty” you tell her, smiling and she warmly smiles back at you.

“Let me not keep you waiting. I was just visiting and I thought I’d catch you if I came a little early” she tells you, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Beomgyu will be dropping you right?”

“No- I- I’ll take the b-“ you start

“Yes” he cuts across you. His mother stands there looking at you and you give her an awkward smile.

“Really it’s no bother Gyu, I’ll take the bus” you tell him pointedly.

“Ah- let him drop you sweetheart. I don’t mind waiting” his mom tells you.

“Yeah- let me drop you” Beomgyu tells you.

“Okay then” you tell him. “Take care Aunty” you tell his mom, hugging her again.

“Oh I am! The medicines you send are doing wonders on my joints” she laughs, letting you go.

“Be sure to take them consistently” you tell her.

“Mmhmm” she answers smiling at you. Beomgyu hands over your coat to you and you take it, not knowing how to treat him.

“Wait” his mother calls out and you both turn around. “Just a quick picture” she tells you holding up her phone.

“Momm… she will be late for work” Beomgyu whines.

“It’s just a picture darling, quick now” she tells you and you stand next to Beomgyu.

“Put your arm around her now Beom” his mother chastens him and Beomgyu let’s out a cough before awkwardly placing his arm around your shoulder.

“Seriously, are you guys in a fight or something?” His mother asks, lowering her phone and looking at you with concern.

“No, no” you tell her immediately, pulling Beomgyu’s hand from your shoulder and placing it on your waist. You stand closer to him leaning your head against his shoulder.

You can feel the heat of his gaze, but you refuse to look at him. You hear the shutter of the camera and you nearly miss the way his hand squeezes your side.

“Lovely” his mom tells you looking at the picture.

“I really need to leave now Aunty” you tell her apologetically.

“Yes, yes- go. Have a good day sweetheart” she tells you.

Beomgyu’s hand is still around you and you look over at him.

“Well?” You ask questioningly.

“Yes-uh- bye Mom” he calls out hurriedly, snatching his hand away from you and rushing to the door.

-.-

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are” Beomgyu breaks the silence of your car ride. You’re about to reach the school. The entire ride was filled with tension and you couldn’t wait to get out of it.

“What” you ask him taking a gulp of water from your bottle.

“Don’t act as if you didn’t just want my arm around you” he tells you, smirking.

“What?” You ask nearly choking. “Do you even hear yourself?” You ask.

“I see right through your plan, Mrs. Choi” he says laughter evident in his voice.

You place your hand on his forehead and Beomgyu nearly swerves the car into the median.

“Your temperature is normal… maybe you should see a doctor. It could be internal brain damage” you tell him thoughtfully.

“Ha-ha-ha” Beomgyu mutters. Surely, he cannot afford to be so affected by a little of your touch.

You reach the school sooner than expected. Time held no meaning when you were with Beomgyu. You almost regret going to school today. Beomgyu stops the car at the front gate and you look over at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me your mom was coming? I could’ve taken a leave too” you tell him, eyes downcast.

“I didn’t wish to bother you. Besides it’s not right to demand you stay home just because my mom’s coming” Beomgyu tells you.

The sadness in his voice grips your heart and you feel helpless. You wanted to fix things. But by each passing day it felt as though Beomgyu was slipping further away from you.

You sigh quietly to yourself.

“Well, I guess I’ll get going then” you tell him, unlocking your seatbelt.

“Wait sweet- Y/N” Beomgyu starts and you look at him expectantly. “I-

The school bell rings distantly and Beomgyu stops.

“See you at home” he tells you, clearing his voice.

You nod your head at him before getting off the car.

“And by the way, don’t think I didn’t notice the way I literally had to pry your hands off of me” you tell him.

“YAH-“ you close the door cutting him off, giggling to yourself.

Maybe, just maybe, things might work out.

🎧 end of pt.2!!!! please please please interact with this post, it helps me out a ton🩷 currently working on pt.3 (it’s all there in my head ) xoxo 🎧

[onlyswan]

i’m back to give you my iw!couple brain rot 🤲, please handle with care.

but !! imagine jungkook and oc doing that “see how long we can go without kissing” challenge !! how would fold first? they’re both so competitive but smitten it makes me conflicted. 😣😣

knowing them, jungkook would be twitching his eye just from the thought of being deprived kissies so would oc give in first to let him win? or would jungkook just take what’s his?? 🤔

imagine oc being a blushing mess from staring at jungkook’s face for too long 😵‍💫 THEYRE SO CUTE I CANT THINK STRAIGHT😭🫶

summary: in which jungkook is twenty-six years old and yet… you still give him butterflies.

idol!jk x reader, established relationship / word count: 0.7k

content/warnings: sexual tension, making out, it’s honestly just them fighting over who gets to be on top

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe hi anonie… sorry… i kindaaa got carried away… i had to write out the thing or else i would’ve gone insane just talking about it <3 (written with love and care) <3

—

“i don’t understand this challenge.”

“me neither,”

jungkook remains in a hypnotic-like trance, doe eyes trained to your lips stained with a lighter shade of mixed red and brown.

“we’re this close and we can’t kiss…? this is absurd.”

“do they actually do this in bed? with someone on top?” you chuckle as you coyly twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “i don’t think so?”

“i don’t know. i just wanted you to be comfortable.” he teasingly brushes his nose against yours, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended. “since, you know, we’ll be here a while.”

“oh wow. bringing me to bed, really? you’re that confident?”

he cockily raises an eyebrow. “hm, we both know you won’t be able to resist me here. you’re all over me all the time.”

you try not to roll your eyes in annoyance. and you also both know that you’re just as competitive, if not more.

“oh my god, you,” you mumble. the calm of your voice contrasts the aggressive push of your hand against your boyfriend’s naked chest. “and your stupid arrogance and your stupid need to flaunt your stupid hot body.”

in the blink of an eye, jungkook finds you stradding him, and himself, trapped underneath your body. he blinks in disbelief, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“this is dirty.”

you remove his glasses, moving it aside without care. “that’s just your mind.”

okay, perhaps bringing you to bed was a bad idea.

you lean down, slowly, close and then closer— it’s quite ridiculous that he’s nervous as if he doesn’t know what is bound to happen next: he’s thoroughly convinced that you’re going to kiss him.

once he feels your lips ghost over his, mere millimeters away, his eyelids flutter shut.

terrible idea. terrible.

the kiss, much to his disappointment, never happens.

he opens his eyes and your face is suddenly tucked in the space between his neck and shoulders, giggling and shaking and positively amused.

he turns away and squeezes his eyes shut. a painful admit of defeat against your infinite allure. “ah, i’m fucked.”

“we’ll get there later,” you lift your head, tilting his chin to face you.

you smile and scoot closer. so close that your bottom lips grazes his. he fails to remember the last time the two of you touched as chastely, as softly, but it felt like accidentally touching a live wire. he gets a funny feeling in his stomach. butterflies…? he’s twenty-six years old. he must be losing his mind.

“after you lose.”

“that’s not happening, baby.”

“yes, it will.”

“i won’t give up so easily.”

you give him an innocent look. “but i really think you will.”

you stare at each other for a little while, anticipating the other’s next move.

“fuck- yeah, okay-” he grits his teeth, taking advantage of his strength to finally flip back your positions. you’ve had your fun. “you’re right.”

“babe! ru-”

your surprised gasp is cut off by jungkook’s lips crashing on yours— curved into a smirk, you can feel it. your whines are muffled and swallowed by him, wrists caught in his hands and over your head because you were hitting his shoulder and he just wanted to kiss his baby properly.

“you lost,” you remark quietly when he draws back, only inches away, to scatter kisses along your face and down to your neck.

it tickles, you squirm in pleasure when he reaches near your collarbone, but your hands are still tied.

you were supposed to have him underneath you as a hot and flustered mess, not the other way around. damn it.

“really?” he feigns interest, lips finding their way back to yours. “doesn’t feel like it.”

[popcornpoppypop]

I'm Fine

A/N: I don't know what to call this, a companion piece maybe to Butterfly. It is a oneshot with the same OC essentially. I also can't seem to keep things short and sweet, this one got away from me again.

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, vomiting, illness, mentions of death, mentions of cancer. I have no beta so, this is edited by my tired butt. Sorry.

Summary: Callie is sick and stubborn. Jack is doing his best to get her to let him take care of her.

Word Count: 3,563

Callie was dying. Callie felt like she was dying. Day four of a flu that would not let up and she was warming up to the idea of eternal rest. She was currently laying in bed, bucket next to her, silently crying as her head pounded a relentless beat against her sinuses.

She let out a whine when she found her water bottle was empty, knowing getting up would make everything worse. She crawled out of bed and onto her feet and attempted to make her way to the kitchen. She made it to the doorway before she had to stop, the room was spinning too fast and her coordination was already not great.

The door swung open and Jack walked in, putting his bag down. His headphones blaring Sufjan Stevens causing him to not notice the pale, wobbly Callie.

“Jack!!” Callie’s voice broke through the music and made him jump slightly.

“What? Oh hell. You look-“

“Do not finish that sentence.” Callie scolded as she hung onto the door frame for dear life. Jack ran over and helped her sit down at the kitchen table.

“Baby, how long have you been this bad?” Jack said looking her over, pulling his stethoscope from his bag.

“It got worse around 1am I think. That’s when the spins started at least.” Callie groaned as he shown a light in her eyes.

“Any vomiting?”

“Don’t say vomiting.” She groaned. Jack nodded and pulled a thermometer out.

“Put it under your tongue please.” He shoved it in her mouth without hesitation.

“Jack-” Callie tried to mumble but was cut off when Jack shook his head.

“I wish you would have called, I could have come home early.” He sighed as he felt her lymph nodes.

“didn’t want to bother.” Callie mumbled. The thermometer beeped and Jack took it out, letting out a sigh that was more worry than exasperation.

“You have a fever, 102.7. Callie that is a bad fever.” Jack said zipping up his bag.

“I just need some Motrin and fluids.” She said squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep herself from getting dizzy.

“No. You need to go to the hospital for IV fluid therapy. You’re massively dehydrated. We gotta get that fever down or bad shit is going to happen.” Jack said massaging the back of her neck.

“I hate going to the hospital.” Callie started crying.

“I know, but I can’t take care of this here.” Jack sighed as he got up. He grabbed her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her. He packed her back with her kiddle and ipad and her now filled water bottle.

“Maybe just urgent care?” Callie shivered.

“They’ll just send you to the ER anyway. Come on. You know they’ll take good care of you.” He said holding out his hand.

“I don’t doubt that. I just hate making people work.” She sighed, taking his hand and slowly standing. Jack wrapped an arm around her waist to help keep her steady.

“What if I told you, all those people worked really hard so they can take care of you and they liked doing it?” He said helping her into his truck.

“I’d call you a fibber.” She said.

“Well, it’s sort of true.” Jack chuckled.

“Can you turn the AC on?” She whined.

“It’s like 50 outside. Sure.” He nodded, knowing the fever was probably getting worse by the minute. Jack drove as smooth as he could, every bump sending a wave of nausea crashing over Callie. When they arrived Callie slowly climbed out of the truck.

“I’ll get you a wheelchair.” Jack said.

“No! Don’t take a chair from someone who needs it.” Callie grumbled.

“Baby. You need it. You’re leaning on the truck right now because you can’t stand up on your own!” Jack threw his hands in the air.

“Here ya go Dr. Abbot.” A cheery young man came up to them with a wheelchair.

“Thank you Jamie. Will you park the truck for me?”

“I’m a valet Jack. That’s my whole job.” He chuckled taking the keys from him.

“You have to get in the wheelchair now or you’ll be impeding Jamie from doing his job.” Jack smiled. Callie scowled as she climbed into the chair.

“You did that on purpose.” She growled.

“I’m just taking care of you, you stubborn woman.” He kissed her temple. They rolled into the ER waiting and were both surprised by the lack of patients.

“Was it this, ya know, when you were here?” Callie asked, superstition preventing her from using the word slow.

“It was dwindling, but no. Robby always gets the good shifts. Lucky bastard.” Jack growled as he rolled forward.

“Dr. Abbot, Callie! What’s going on?” Lupe smiled.

“This one has a raging fever from the flu. Can you get her signed in?” Jack said.

“Lupe, is there a law about forcing a patient to get care against their wishes?” Callie hummed.

“Oh, um…”

“Callie, you’re fever is too high to pull this shit.” Jack barked.

“I’ll just buzz you two in.” Lupe laughed. Jack wheeled Callie through the doors and into the ER.

“Dana what’s open?” Jack asked as they approached the Hub.

“Hey, Sweetheart! Oh man, you look rough. Bay 2” She said walking them over.

“That’s how every girl wants to be greeted.” Callie groaned.

“Who is available right now?” Jack said as he put the brakes on the wheelchair.

“Anyone you want. I was going to grab Robby, assumed you’d want him.” Dana said helping Jack get Callie into the bed.

“I think a flu case is below the chief attending, surely.” Callie scoffed.

“I think the chief attending can make that call himself.” Robby laughed as he came around the corner.

“She’s got the flu, fever, vomiting, sweating, dizziness and severe dehydration. She can’t stand on her feet.” Jack stated.

“Right, let’s get another set of vitals. I want to know what the core temp is and get her started on fluid therapy and get lab work going.” Robby ordered.

“You got it Cap.” Dana disappeared.

“I’m fine.” Callie crossed her arms.

“Oh, I don’t buy that for a second.” Robby laughed.

“Baby, when I came home you were sliding down the damn doorframe.” Jack ran a hand over his face.

“I hate this. I hate being taken care of like this.” She snapped.

“Callie, we’re just going to make sure you’re not in danger. Once we know that and your fluids are set up, we’ll leave you alone. Deal?” Robby asked.

“Okay. Fine.” Callie wiped the frustrated tears from her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll take it. I’ll be back in a bit.” Robby left.

“I’ll be quick, Sweetheart.” Dana said as she came back in.

“You know I wouldn’t make you come in if I could treat you at home.” Jack said as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.  Callie just nodded, not trusting her voice. “I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn.” Callie sighed.

“You’re scared.” Jack said.

“Maybe.” She sighed.

“I’m going to get your blood, ok?” Dana asked. Callie nodded and turned away. Jack took her hand, rubbing soft circles on the space between her thumb and pointer.

“Can you have Robby sign off on some Zofran for her.” Jack ordered.

“Yeah of course. Blood’s all done sweetheart and we got that catheter placed. No more needles. Let me get another temp on ya.” Dana put the thermometer in her mouth and brushed the hair from her face.

“VIP treatment, I don’t remember the last time I saw Dana get blood.” Jack smiled.

“Only for you, Sweetheart.” Dana chuckled. “What was the last temp again?”

“102.7. Is it higher?” Jack asked, his body tensing.

“She’s at 103.” Dana nodded.

“Let’s get the fluids hooked up and bring some cold juice, her blood sugar might be dipping too.” Jack stated.

“I’m going to do all that because I know that needs to happen. You have to remember that you can’t be the one making orders for her.” Dana pointed. “I’ll let Robby know.” Dana ran off to get started.

“Jack…Jack I’m going to throw up.” Callie whined, her breathing becoming rapid and her forehead sweating as she fought the nausea. Jack jumped up, grabbing the emesis bag and holding it up to her face as her body lurched and vomited into it.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Jack held her hair out of her face. She gagged and spit the bile in her mouth.

“Sorry.” Callie coughed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Jack said rubbing the back of her neck.

“That’s so gross.”

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll be back.” He smiled. He tossed the bag into a trash can and went up to Robby.

“Hey, I put in the Zofran order, Princess is getting it ready with her fluids.” Robby said.

“Good, she just vomited. We gotta get that fever down.” Jack sighed leaning on the counter.

“We will. You would not be this worried if it was anyone else. Let me do my job and you just sit with her. Okay? I got her.” Robby patted Jack’s back.

“You suck at pep talks.”  Jack grumbled as he went back to Bay 2.

“You might taste it in the back of your throat, just so you know. Kind of a chemical taste.” Princess warned as she hooked up the IV.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“Did you push the Zofran?” Jack sat next to Callie, a hand rubbing up and down her thigh.

“Yes, did that first so the fluids didn’t upset her stomach. I got this, Dr. Abbot.” Princess smiled.

“Sorry, he’s a worrier when It comes to me. Just ignore him. He’s not here as a doctor.” Callie shot Jack a look.

“It’s okay. We’re used to him.” Princess chuckled. “Do you need anything?” She put a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

“Another blanket would be nice, it’s freezing.” Callie shivered. Princess nodded and scurried off.

“Feeling any better?” Jack asked.

“Not really, the immediate need to vomit has subsided.” Callie sighed as she got comfortable.

“Good. You tell me if anything changes, okay? I mean it.” He scolded.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Callie smiled.

“Here you go, fresh out of the warmer.” Princess said tucking a warm blanket around Callie.

“Thank you, you’re an angel.” Callie smiled as Princess left.

“You want your ipad or something?” Jack asked.

“I want you.”

“Callie. No.”

“Not like that! No, I meant I want you to hold me. Pervert.” She smiled.

“Likely story.” Jack winked as he got up and crawled into the bed with her.

“What would I do without you?” Callie rested her head on his chest.

“Die, probably.” He snorted.

“Yeah, probably.” She chuckled.

The fluids made Callie shiver, cold in her veins. Jack held her close letting his body heat warm her skin. Dana came in to check on things a few times, smirking and winking when she saw him. He was definitely getting shit later. Callie had fallen asleep finally, her head heavy on his shoulder.

“Jack, labs are back.” Robby whispered. Jack carefully unwrapped himself from Callie and went out to the nurses station.

“What’s it look like?”

“Like she’s got an infection. White blood cell count is high, but I’ve seen worse. We’ll get her on some antibiotics and as soon as her temp normalizes she can go home.” Robby said.

“Okay. I’m trying to be hands off.” Jack sighed, his fingers fidgeting with his shirt.

“Yeah, okay.” Robby chuckled. Jack shot him a glare as he went back to the bay.

“Jack..” Callie groaned.

“Hey baby. You got an infection, they’re going to get you on some antibiotics. Once that fever breaks we’ll get you home.” He told her.

“My neck hurts.” She sighed.

“Yeah, these beds suck.” Jack brushed the hair from her face.

“Jack, you’re not one.” Callie mumbled.

“What? What did you say?” Jack looked at her confused.

“You can’t be up and down.” She stumbled over her words.

“Callie, can you tell me where you are?” His brows knitted together in concern.

“Somewhere over there at things.” Her words falling from her lips with haphazard effort.

“Robby!” Jack yelled as he hit the call button.

“I’m not in that…” Callie’s head lolled from side to side.

“Callie, baby, can you focus on me. Can you tell me who I am?”

“What’s going on?” Robby and Dana came running over.

“I’m just…you in down…” Her eye unfocused.

“She’s not making any sense, lost all awareness of her surrounding. Fuck! She said her neck hurt!” Jack ran a hand through his hair.

“Get me the ampicillin and cefotaxime now, I want 50 mg per kg of both. Start the corticosteroid. Whats the core temp?” Robby snapped his gloves on as he examined Callie, shining lights in her eyes.

“Temp is at 104.2, pressure is tanked.” Dana barked.

“Get the cooling blankets out. We have to bring this temp down. I want the lab checking for bacterial meningitis.” Robby shouted.

“Stop, I want…Stop!” Callie whined.

“Callie, it’s Dr. Robby. I know you’re confused, but we’re going to help you.” Robby tried to console. Callie pushed his hands away.

“No! No!” She couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Callie, baby, you gotta let them work! You need to let them help you.” Jack held her face in his hands. Callie looked up at him, confused, before she started crying.

“It’s okay, I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Jack said kissing her forehead.

“Robby, Lab says it’s positive for meningitis.” Princess said.

“Okay, move forward with the antibiotics and steroids. We need to focus on breaking this fever.” He said.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jack kept saying over and over. Callie kept reaching out to him, unaware of herself or who else was there. Jack did his best to keep her calm.

“Jack…” She cried.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He said, his voice strained. Her hand fell from his and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her body started to convulse.

“She’s seizing!” Dana shouted.

“No! Callie!” Jack was out of his mind, he couldn’t do this again.

“Donnie! Get him out of here!” Robby barked.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jack growled.

“Brother, we need to work on her, you don’t need to see this okay? I’ve got her! I swear!” Robby said pushing him out of the room.

Donnie dragged Jack to the family room.  Sitting him down and putting a hand on his shoulder. Jack let his head fall into his hands.

“We’ve got her, man. We aren’t going to let you or her down.” Donnie said before running back out to help.

Jack paced back and forth the length of the family room like a lion at the zoo. His body vibrating with adrenaline needing to be released and emotions needing to be felt.

“Will you tell me about her one day?” Callie asked, her head resting on her propped up hand as they finished dinner. Jack looked up at her like she had just turned into a ghost.

“What?” He mumbled, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

“You don’t have to. I just…I would like to know the person I’m sharing you with.” She gave a soft smile.

“You aren’t sharing me with anyone.” He said looking down at his plate.

“Jack. I know better than that and so do you. It’s okay. I signed up for this.” She ran her hand up and down his bicep.

“I don’t want to scare you away.” He whispered.

“You won’t. It doesn’t have to be today or next week. Just, eventually.” Callie rubbed his shoulder where she knew he always held his emotional tension. He let himself lean into the touch as his mind whirled. He looked up at her, those big, bright eyes that made the world seem right. She wouldn’t run, he knew it.

“Her name was Jackie. She was a social worker. We met at the VA when I first got out.” He cleared his throat.

“So you have thing for girls trying to make the world better.” Callie smiled.

“I have a thing for girls that make the world better by being badass and have a smile that melts icebergs.” He snorted.

“What did she look like?”

“She was Mexican. Long, dark brown hair that had hints of red in it if the sun hit it just right. Big doe eyes that always had a hint of mischief in them,” he smiled at the memories he usually tried to ignore bubbling up. “She liked having her nails done, every three weeks like clockwork. Never the same color twice in a row. She said the designs made people open up just enough that she could wedge herself in. She was great at her job.” He didn’t realize the tears were falling down his cheek until Callie carefully wiped them away.

“She sounds amazing.”

“She was. She had the worst jokes, but they made her so happy. She loved telling people even if they groaned at how corny they were. She would play pranks on everyone she liked. That was how you knew you were in, she would lovingly fuck with you.” He laughed.

“How’d she die?” Callie’s voice was tight.

“Oh, ya know, cancer. She was fine and then she got a fever out of nowhere. Went into her regular doctor and they found lymphoma. She fought like hell. But it was just too aggressive. I remember she had been fighting falling asleep and I told her it was okay, just  go to sleep and I’d be there when she woke up. And something in my gut knew and she knew that she wasn’t going to. She didn’t.” Jack rubbed his hands over his face.  “I just can never shake the feeling that I should have noticed sooner. That I could have done something.” He shook his head. Callie leapt from her seat and pulled him to her chest.

“No, Jack. This isn’t your blame to carry. You were there for her, that was what she needed from you.” Callie told him.

“My therapist says that too.” He sighs.

“Weird, the professional who is a specialist on grief and guilt is right about grief and guilt. That never happens.” Callie chuckled.

“I love you.” He murmured as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too. Thank you.”

The door to the family room opened and Robby walked in. Jack didn’t stop pacing, he felt like he would break if he did.

“Jack she’s stable. Seizing has stopped. Fever is still high but it’s going down, she’s okay.” Robby said, trying to calm his friend down.

“How long was she seizing?”

“just under three minutes.”

“Okay. Okay, her fever is going down?” Jack repeated.

“She’s at 102.8 right now. She’s going to be okay.” Robby stopped him and put his hands on his shoulders.

“Her white cells were elevated-”

“From the meningitis, it’s not cancer Jack.” Robby consoled.

“You don’t fucking know that. We should run more tests, maybe do a PET Scan.” Jack rambled.

“You know I can’t just run invasive tests without her consent. Besides she has no indications that would have us do a PET, that’s too much radiation to be using without cause. She’s young and it would effect her reproductive health.” Robby said.

“But…fuck I can’t do this again. I won’t survive it, I barely did last time.” Jack broke.

“She’s okay! She’s stable, it was just bad luck that she got bacterial meningitis in her thirties. That never happens. She’s going to make a full recovery, you aren’t losing her.” Robby pulled him into a tight hug. They both jumped at the sound of knocking.

“She’s awake. She’s asking for you Dr. Abbot.” Donnie said.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” Jack took a deep breath, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“I’m putting you in for a few days off.” Robby told him.

“I’m fine.”

“You aren’t. Besides she’s going to need looking after. You’re mind is going to be focused on her and nothing else anyway. As it should be.” Robby gave his shoulder a pat and left.

Jack made a B-line to bay 2. Pulling the curtain back and seeing Callie awake made his chest loosen just a touch.

“Hey, baby. You fucking scared the shit out of me.” Jack smiled.

“Got to keep you on your toes.” Callie croaked, her voice hoarse.

“You’re going to be okay.” He said, brushing the hair from her face.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” She smiled.

“Never leave me. I can’t breathe without you now.” He leaned his forehead against hers.

“As long as it’s up to me, I’m staying right here with you.” She caressed his cheek.

“Sorry to interrupt, but they are coming down to bring you upstairs for overnight monitoring.” Robby smiled.

“Overnight? Oh man.” Callie sighed.

“You had a seizure Callie, we don’t take those lightly. It’s just for one night. Jack can stay with you the whole time. They’ll do repeat labs and if the fever is gone you’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, Robby.” Callie smiled.

“Of course. It’s our pleasure.” He smiled.

“I told you we like this shit.” Jack said.

“Oh please.” Callie chuckled.

[sleepinghypnos]

ITZY Ryujin ft. Yeji x Male OC

Tags: Smut

Genre: Blowjob, Rough Sex, Self-degradation, Female Idol x Male Reader (OC), Cheating (Extreme... i guess.)

PS: Sorry for inconsistent story format, I'm still learning so be patient with me... and it's cheating again, if you are not into that then feel free to ignore this.

The encounter with the IVE members surely is a divine one, having them as 'yours' isn't bad. It's been three days since that happened and you are back at the ITZY's private home.

As per usual, Yuna and Chaeryeong always wants to do something with you. Making moves here and there non-stop and it basically became a routine. In the shower, dining room, living room, and even in the garden when the guards is out for lunch.

The other members don't care because they got used to it, so it's going to be a surprise if they don't see you plowing the fuck out of them.

You woke up and do all your morning ritual before you come out of your room, these past few days their lives has been peaceful. No stalking, no creepy encounters..

But you are still on your guard despite that because who knows what will happen tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

"Oppa?" You went back to reality when you heard someone talked. Then you gaze downwards to see a beautiful woman kneeling before you. It's Ryujin, the main rapper of ITZY, due to the constant persuasion of Yuna and Chaeryeong, she eventually let her desire get the best of her and do what she wants and this is it.

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling good?" she asked and you nodded, cupping her cheeks as assurance.

She shows her beautiful smile and continued to give your cock some passionate attention, gazing up with sultry eyes as she begins planting soft kisses along your length. Her full lips pout seductively with each press against your sensitive skin.

"It my deepest wish to worship this perfect cock properly..." she breathes out between sensual kisses, taking her time to build anticipation. Her mouth eventually reaches the tip, which she swirls her tongue around teasingly before placing a loving kiss right on the head. She maintains smoldering eye contact throughout.

"I hope my mouth can provide you the warm-up you deserve..." With that, Ryujin's lips part and she takes you inside, moaning at your taste and thickness on her tongue.

She begin bobbing slowly but deeply, caressing the shaft of your huge cock with both of her hands simultaneously.

As the pace increases, Ryujin's muffled moans vibrate around you. She is utterly lost in her oral worship. focused solely on giving you intense pleasure. Her skilled tongue on which she practiced on a dildo proves her dedication on pleasuring you, desiring nothing more than your complete satisfaction from her dedicated efforts.

"Shit, I'm cumming."

As you begin fucking Ryujin's throat intensely, she relaxes her jaw and trying hard to suppress her gag reflex to accommodate your dominant rhythm. Spit drips down her chin as vulgar wet choking sounds escape her stuffed mouth. She's still making an eye contact with you totally want to satisfy your lust.

This pushes you over the edge. With a final brutal thrust down Ryujin's tight throat, you flood her mouth with a massive cumshot. Her eyes roll back in ecstasy as she eagerly gulps down every drop of your virile seed.

When you finally withdraw, Ryujin gasps for air, mouth still open to show you she didn't waste any cum.

"Mmm... thank you for feeding me, Oppa." She purrs, then she turn her gaze behind me.

"So, you finally did it. Congrats!" The woman behind you finally speaks, apparently she's been there the whole time and Ryujin just didn't even bother to say anything since she is focused on pleasuring you.

"Please you use me next, sir..." Yeji begs, Ryujin on the other hand smile upon the idea of another member of ITZY being conquered and that makes all of them your sluts...

Based on Yeji's behavior, she's on par with Yuna if being a slut is a character trait so going gentle on her is a waste. She knelt down on her own without getting told and patiently waits your response.

Yeji parting her lips to welcome your massive length. You didn't waste any time and slides it inside. She moans loudly around your cock, struggling to fit it to her mouth. You feel her tongue sliding along your shaft as she tries to pleasure you.

She gazes up at you pleadingly, eager to be stuffed and fucked as she craves, her cunt drips with arousal, clenching around nothing. She needs your cock to fill her, to ruin her completely.

You plunge into her mouth, feeling her throat stretch around your size. She gags but does not protest, willing to please you however she can.

Her eyes glaze with lust and desire as she bobs her head, wanting to taste your cum.

"Your cock brings me the greatest pleasure, the dildos can't even compare." Yeji pants. "Only you can destroy my mouth as I crave... please, fuck me harder. Ruin me."

You pound into her mouth mercilessly, feeling her lips smack and slide along your length. She moans, the sounds muffled but full of delight.

You look at Ryujin playing with herself, feeling the lust as she watch you ruin Yeji's mouth just like how you did with hers. "Fuck us! Please.. Fuck us!" Words that came out of her mouth.

You are closing to your peak, and finally flood Yeji's mouth with your hot thick cum, she shows off her mouthfull of jizz to you and Ryujin before swallowing it all down.

"Delicious!"

The two idols leads you to your own bedroom tossed themselves to your bed waiting for you to come closer, quickly undressing and lay down as if they are presenting their pussies to you.

Foreplay wasn't needed, the facefucking is enough to wet their cunts like waterfalls. You position yourself with your massive length lining up to Ryujin's wet entrance.

With a single thrust, you bury yourself inside her tight cunt. She screams, overwhelmed by the sensation of pleasure and pain.

"Oh god! y-yes!" She moans. "Fill me. Oppa!"

You pound into Ryujin intensely, feeling her tight walls clench around your cock, she moans and curses, writhing beneath you in delight.

"Harder, Oppa!" She demanded. "I need your enormous cock ruining me."

You oblige, plowing into Ryujin with brutal force. She screams and moans, overwhelmed by the intensity of your thrust, you know she has a boyfriend but this is what she wants, you are just giving it to her.

"Your boyfriend doesn't have any idea that you are here getting plowed by such massive cock but that's fine, right? Since he's been getting along with other women as well, the difference is you are enjoying a much bigger dick compare to his." Yeji said and kissed Ryujin's neck while caressing her hair.

"My wish to try full nelson with my boyfriend is not possible since he is not well-endowed. I want to try it so bad, please help realize my dream." She added, it seems like she found someone and didn't get what she wanted. You just nodded to her and focus your attention on Ryujin.

You pinch and tease Ryujin's nipples, eliciting more moans from the writhing idol beneath you. her breast bounce with the force of your pounding, eager to be marked with your scent.

You switch from her pussy to her ass taking her ass virginity in the process. But she didn't resist, instead she likes the idea. Being used as a fuckdoll isn't so bad in her mind, as long as it's you who will be using her.

Her ass clenches around your cock, begging for the pleasure of your cum. She gazes up at you pleading to be filled.

As you felt your climax closing in you position Ryujin into a mating press, insert your cock into her cunt and plowed her fast and hard making her scream your name.

"Suho Oppa!" She said, her saying your name instead of Oppa made your raging fire to go wild even more. She's taking your huge cock in full length.

Many more thrusts and Ryujin screams in mingled pleasure and humiliation as you fill her cunt with your thick, hot, virile seed. It spurts into her in enormous ropes, filling her up and making her belly bulge as you wreck her completely.

Yeji in particular grins with cruel delight, pleased to see Ryujin so thoroughly used and degraded.

You withdraw from Ryujin's stuffed cunt, your massive cock dripping with cum and slick with her juices. She present herself for inspection, eager to atone for actually giving in to her desire in betraying her boyfriend and please you however she must.

"Oppa's cum fills me as it rightly should." Ryujin's says meekly. "I am but a vessel for your pleasure and release now."

Yeji nod in approval, pleased to see Ryujin so utterly claimed and humiliated.

"She will make a fine breeding cat to produce kittens for you." Yeji says meaningfully.

The bed in your bedroom is quite big, so even if you are fucking three people on the bed you can still do many positions.

Yeji positioned herself in all fours waiting for you to plow her. Without a second thought you penetrate the idol in front of you, she moans as she feels your cock stretching her out, her walls immediately clenched around your cock.

You pulled her hair while fucking from behind, your desire to plow her is nothing lesser than what you felt with Ryujin. Letting them have it the way they wanted it.

Then you pull out, she was surprised and asking for more but you have a different plan. If she wants to get fuck in a full nelson then you'll give it to her.

You positioned Yeji into full nelson locking your hand behind her neck and thrusting upwards making the idols dream come true.

Yeji moans loudly, her hips bucking wildly as she's pounded into oblivion. She can feel your thick cock stretching her pussy to it's limit with your girth and length, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

"Ooh! Sh-shit! This is it! FUCK!!! FUCK ME HARDER, USE ME!" She screams as if she's the only one in the room. "I'm yours to pound to oblivion. My pussy aches to be filled by your girthy cock, please take your pleasure from me. I want to be your little cumdump, filled and used for your pleasure alone."

She grinds her hips against you, eager to feel your cock thrusting deeper into her. She knows you won't stop until you pounded her into a quivering, cock hungry mess, and she craves every second of it.

She cries out in ecstasy as you plow into her, her body shaking with the force of your thrusts. Few deep thrusts and she received her first creampie from you. Her eyes widen, looking down at her swollen belly in shock as the cum continues to pump into her. She can feel it filling her womb. Your thick essence flooding her body.

"Yes! Fill me! Pump your hot cum into my womb!"

You slide her to you side and lift her ass up. "I'm not done with you."

But as soon so she's already to take her second round, her phone rings. Ryujin picks the phone up and gave it to Yeji.

"Oppa?"

"Where are you?"

"At our dorm? We don't have any schedule today..." She's talking to her boyfriend then Ryujin came up with a brilliant idea.

In a whisper... "Do a video call with him, and let Oppa fuck you. Just make sure only your face is visible through the camera." with an evil grin. She's totally getting revenge because of what Yeji did earlier. She knows that Yeji won't resist if you desires it.

"Oppa, do a video call with me." She said and waited for the call. She's nervous but also getting more hornier, this is her first time doing such a thing.

When her boyfriend video calls. I penetrated her immediately. Yeji bites her lip and answers, angling it so he can't see you fucking her.

"H-hi baby! What's up?" Yeji asks, voice trembling as you continue plowing into her pussy from behind.

Her boyfriend is oblivious, chatting casually. Meanwhile, You rail Yeji harder, watching her struggle to keep composure during the call.

"Is everything okay babe? You seemed weird." her boyfriend asks with concern.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine!" Yeji lies, moaning as you spear deep into her soaked cunt from behind.

You reach around and grope her tits through her top, pinching her nipples as you fuck her on camera. Yeji bites back whimpers of pleasure.

"Are you sure? You look a little flushed..." her boyfriend says suspiciously.

You slap Yeji's ass hard, eliciting a yelp. "I-I'm just tired from practice!" she covers. She stifle her moans with her hand as you rail her harder, claiming her body as yours in secret right before her boyfriend's eyes...

As you railing her doggystyle during the call with her oblivious boyfriend, Yeji suddenly makes an exaggerated ahegao face right at the camera.

Her eyes roll back, tongue lolling out as she moans like an anime girl. She's getting off on betraying her boyfriend.

"What was that face for?" He asks confused.

"N-nothing babe! Ryujin's massaging my legs since it's sore and she hit the RIGHT spot..." Yeji lies, stifling her moans as you spear deep into her cervix from behind.

She keeps making lewd faces, clearly getting aroused from cucking her boyfriend without him realizing. Her pussy is soaking wet and clenching around your pistoning cock.

Yeji is getting addicted to the thrill of cheating. And Ryujin is liking every second of this amusement.

She even mouthed... "Crazy bitch!"

Her boyfriend keeps asking what's going on as Yeji makes more odd faces and stifled noises while you rail her.

"What do you keep making those faces for babe?" He asks confused.

"Oh uh, my stomach! It's in my stomach..." Yeji lies unconvincingly as you spear deep into her womb from behind.

"Huh? What's in your stomach?" He asks, not catching her meaning.

"Nothing baby! You wouldn't get it anyway..." Yeji says with a hint of mockery, biting back a moan as your swollen balls slap against her engorged clit.

Her boyfriend is completely unaware as you thoroughly claim his girlfriend's pussy right before his eyes. Yeji is getting off on cucking him so blatantly.

Soon your cum will be pumping into the stomach she mentioned instead of his..

While you rail Yeji doggystyle during her video call, Ryujin is watching from the sidelines and giggling to herself.

She can clearly see you spearing Yeji's tight pussy while her oblivious boyfriend has no idea. Ryujin finds Yeji's poor attempts at lying utterly amusing.

"Oppa's huge cock is stuffing you so good! Your boyfriend is so clueless!" Ryujin whispers teasingly.

Yeji glares at her but can't hold back a loud moan as you start jackhammering into her g-spot without mercy.

"What was that? Is someone else there?" Her boyfriend asks, hearing the noises. Looks like Yeji is also his first girlfriend because he remains oblivious...

"No babe! Just the TV!" Yeji lies desperately.

You are railing Yeji relentlessly, her pussy squeezing your cock as you hit deep in her womb. With a few final powerful thrusts, you erupt, pumping thick ropes of cum directly into her womb.

Yeji's eyes roll back feeling you coat her insides. Her tummy begins bulging, filled up with your potent seed.

Right as you finish cumming inside her, Yeji makes an exaggerated ahegao face and moans loudly, putting on a final show for her boyfriend.

"G-gotta go babe, talk later! I think my legs needs some ice packs." Yeji excuses herself before ending the call. your cum still oozing from her used hole.

Ryujin laughs seeing Yeji's bulging creampied pussy after deceiving her boyfriend so blatantly.

"You bitch! You're sluttier than Yuna and Chaeryeong!" Ryujin added before pulling you to lay down on the bed.

"It's your fault! Who said you can come out with an idea like that?" Yeji's face is buried on the mattress while arguing with Ryujin.

"Just make sure he won't figure it out, your career might face some consequences." You reminded her while rubbing her back. She just nodded and continued resting.

Here it is.... Another piece. Thank you for reading!

[artsninspo]

007 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 006

♠ summary: Lorence navigates the high-stakes world of elite private security under her enigmatic boss, Terry Richmond. But when Terry’s watchful gaze turns unexpectedly intimate, the tension between them ignites—blurring the lines. This ones fluffy 🧸.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~3.2K

⌖ - Monte Carlo, Monaco

I’ve never flown private before, nor have I ever been on such a lively flight. The champagne flows freely, and the chatter is so loud I crank my headphones to maximum volume just to drown it out. The last time I was aboard a plane, I was tossing back flutes of champagne to numb the sting of losing my job. Weeks later, I’m flying private at an elevated position—my new reality. Unlike my more seasoned colleagues, I’m more unnerved than excited.

I check the ETA on one of the screens and go over the expected hotel arrival time, counting down the hours until the big race is over and I can finally relax. I take out my tablet, reviewing my plans for what feels like the hundredth time, searching for any holes in my outline. I replay the live feeds at an accelerated speed, scanning for anything that could derail my emergency plans.

“Lorence.”

Cassandra smiles, placing a flute of champagne in front of me.

“Cassandra.”

She folds her arms, giving me a knowing look.

“Please tell me you're talking to someone handsome and not reviewing your plans again.”

“I’m talking to someone handsome,” I reply, telling her what she wants to hear. She sighs, satisfied.

“Emergencies almost never happen, and you’ve planned for so many types—it’ll be fine.”

“Well, partying isn't going to help my nerves,” I explain.

“You’re almost as bad as Terry.” She powers off my tablet and takes the open seat beside me.

“Now I’m insulted.”

She giggles, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Also, never suggest staggered flights for operatives again. Your extra effort is already making you unpopular with the weaker links.”

“Unpopular? As if I have the boss’s ear or give a flying fuck.”

“That’s the spirit.” She nudges me playfully. “It wasn’t the majority, but Emerson tried to stir up trouble. Richmond shut it down quickly. That weasel is always looking for a win. Must’ve heard there’s no warmth between you and Terry.”

“The blind know that.”

“Good thing my mouth isn't big. Cause that suit try-on definitely was more Dubai heat than Antarctica frigid.”

I give her a warning look, but she only squeaks, enjoying my discomfort.

“I’m glad you're amused.”

“Ladies.”

Emerson approaches with a drink in hand and that cavalier smile. He’s one of the company’s top ten most attractive male directors—probably the best-looking among the single ones.

“Emerson.” Cassandra acknowledges him, but his attention shifts to me.

“Lorence, why don’t you come mingle with the rest of us?”

I blink, caught off guard. The only colleague I’m on a first-name basis with is Cassandra. I’ve known Joel long enough to consider him more of a friend.

“I’m a nervous flyer. I’m fine here with my headphones and Gordon.”

“Cassandra didn’t tell you we use first names?”

“Not everyone. It’s Cole's choice.” Cassandra interjects quickly, sensing my discomfort. “Cole, what would you like to be called?”

“Cole.”

“Cole it is.” Emerson forces a smile. “You make your friends call you Cole?”

“I didn't realize the two of you were friends.” Cassandra leans in with a smirk.

“I’m friends with all of my colleagues.”

“Hmm.” Cassandra’s brow raises with condescension.

“Well, Cole, we’ll chat once we touchdown.” Emerson flashes another smile before returning to the back of the plane.

“What was that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Emerson and I may or may not have had a few rendezvous. It also may have ended badly.” she shrugs.

I’m not surprised.

“How did it end badly - hypothetically?” I ask.

“I felt like he was trying to use me to get on Terry’s good side, and when that didn’t work, suddenly Terry and I were too close. Blah, blah, blah. I know how much he makes, and it is NOT enough to afford me full time. So I went cold. Hypothetically.”

Cassandra shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Don’t hmm me. We’re all gorgeous—you’re the only one who hasn't dipped in the office pot.”

We spend the rest of the flight gossiping about who’s been with who, and I’m astounded by the level of secrecy and professionalism. Five office flings had gone entirely under my radar. When the party dies down I turn back on my music and relax dozing off a little. I’ve memorized my routes down to the detail and the timing windows play in my subconscious in a loop. Twenty minutes until clearance, an hour until our clients are safe. I wake with the sun warming the Mediterranean coastline below.

The weight of my responsibilities dampens any excitement. The drive to our accommodations is short, and I snap photos for my parents. The group dinner is the last thing I want to attend, but the chefs' live show and five-star cuisine prove to be a welcome distraction. Afterward, I slip away to the terrace with a glass of wine in hand.

“Still going over the routes?” Richmond’s voice cuts through the night air. I know it’s him by the shift in energy.

“Yeah” I respond.

“If you don't trust yourself—and you should—you should trust the agents on the ground, the drivers, the armed agents, helicopters, and tech. And if you don't trust all that, there's still the local PD, Fire, EMS... and human nature. After that, it's an act of God, and none of us can contend with that.”

I exhale slowly.

“I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“When something goes wrong tomorrow, it won’t be because of you.”

“When?”

“When. It's inevitable.” His confidence is oddly reassuring, though I know better than to assign sentimentality to Richmond. “One of our clients could get wasted, fall over and break their nose, or have food poisoning, require medical attention or be robbed by hookers they’ve hired or local thieves. Something happens here every single year. Transport’s never been an issue and no one has approached it like you have” he says.

I nod, sighing deeply. “That’s some peace of mind.”

“It’s not flattery, it's the truth,” he responds.

“Has to be, flattery seems highly unlikely” I confess. “Maybe now I understand why you’re always so uptight - this is a lot on someone’s shoulders” I sigh looking back down into the city. I swear he snickers but by the time the lights flicker on above us signaling night is here it's gone from his expression.

“I’m the last person you need to worry about,” he says. Looking him over I concur - he’s probably experienced things my nightmares would have trouble conceiving of.

“So if it isn't stress then what is it? Just your natural disposition?” I ask looking away just in case his face shows disapproval.

“I can never tell if you're joking” he responds unappreciative of my sarcasm. The feeling is mutual, I can never read him either. There are too many things at play, this sizzling tension between us born of disdain, or misunderstanding, or the unbalanced power dynamic. His resistance to letting his guard down. Smiling, small talk, pleasantries or being kind. The silence lingers mostly because none of my responses are safe and could put us back at odds. “I’m not uptight,” he says finally.

“Pigs fly. Now we’re both lying” I remark.

“I’m not uptight, I’m what my position requires of me as the lead, founder and CEO” he explains. 

“Look, I'd better get some rest. I'm a mess of nerves and we already don’t get along well” I sigh, not wanting to get into it with him. He smirks this time.

“You’ll toss and turn all night if you head in now. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and meet me in the lobby in ten?” he says, stopping me in my tracks. He looks harmless when he smiles. It withdraws into his usual disposition and when I turn Emerson is walking up behind me.

“Ok” I agree and he nods giving me a half smile that I know Emerson sees. I wonder if it’s to get my blood out of shark infested waters.

“Emerson” I nod, taking leave. I slip my heels back on once I'm off of the grassy terrace and head in. There’s a sprinkling of people, less than half of those who were at dinner. I head to my room and look myself over. I curse Cassandra when all of the outfits I have packed are transitional, appropriate for the beach, boat, dinner and anything else that may arise in a place like this. Blowing out a deep breath I opt for a black maxi dress. I grab a small purse and fill it with necessities. My reflection is date worthy, not following your boss around appropriate. I tie a scarf around my purse just in case it gets cool. When I arrive in the lobby Richmond is checking his watch and stands up like I've stood him up. He’s changed too into something more relaxed. 

“Sorry I’m late” I tell him once I've crossed the room. His eyes scan over me, his tense demeanour has returned.  “Am I dressed okay?” I ask.

“Fine” he nods. “I just thought we’d take a walk, go over your routes in person, put your mind at ease, tire the body, help you rest” he explains and it is such a simple approach I wonder why I haven't thought of it.

“I can walk in this” I nod and he leads the way. We walk alongside each other. It takes us about ten minutes to make it to the primary route we decided on. “Cassandra said, always look better than you need to while in Monaco” I tell him when the silence has stretched too long.

“That’s what that bill was about” he mutters to himself shaking his head. “I dont think you and Cassandra have the same objectives”

“I don't follow”

“Cassandra likes causing a stir and hooking big fish” he says without condescension or condemnation in his tone as we walk. “Wherever we go” he adds, making a left. I see he’s memorized the route as well as I have.

“I bet she’s a great decoy” I think out loud.

“She is,” he nods, leading us onto the main road. It’s brighter along this path, I smell food and hear music and chatter which is a good sign. We pass souvenir shops, restaurants, boutiques and tourists. There’s so much to see, it's distracting and I don't remember the last time I was in Europe so carefree. I take pictures of postcards and restaurants and send them to my parents. My mom will tell me what to try and my dad will tell me what cheesy thing they want.

“So, are you and your parents very close?” Richmond asks and I realize he has a birds eye view into my phone and no boundaries.

“Yeah” I nod. “They love to travel and my mom runs a food blog” I explain my actions.

“I’ve seen the food blog - she’s very good,” he remarks. Of course he has.

“She’d be happy to hear that” I say with a smile.

“How’d she get into it?” he asks.

“She had an empty nest, she put everything on hold to be a mom and wife. She retired early and I told her to go. It was like we both went to college together. She’s always been great but since it started she’s really happy.” I reflect feeling calmer at the thought of my folks. 

“We have contacts and so many unused vouchers, tickets, everything. You should ask Cassandra and use them up. Go with them too.” he says giving unconventional advice for a boss.

“Are your parents still around?” I ask and he tenses.

“My mom passed. Pops is still around. He’s married to Cassandra’s mom” Richmond says and it's a shock at first then it makes sense. “I was sure she told you.”

“She didn’t and I’m sorry about your mom” I respond he nods.

“It  was a long time ago,” he says. We approach a live band and he guides me in front of him. “Hold your purse close, it's a distraction for pickpockets” he explains, keeping me close until we’re out the crowd. We’re lower down now and closer to the water at one of the intersections I thought would have the most trouble. I assess it quickly before relaxing into my decisions.

“So is this what you recommend before a big gig?” I ask.

“No, I don't advise you to walk around at night in a foreign country,” he says.

“Now it's you who needs faith. We go through too much training to not be fine anywhere in the world that isn't war torn.” I remind him crossing the road. 

“If the richest men in the world need protection, what makes you think you're above danger?” he asks.

“I don’t think I’m above anything, I just dont think danger is likely.”

“You’re naive,” he comments.

“You're a pessimist” I respond.

“Realist. Men jeopardise their livelihoods and lives all around the world for women and sometimes men. Being alone at night is an unnecessary risk” he says, sounding like my father. When we make it to the beach the sound of the ocean is calming.

“Can we stay awhile?” I ask and he nods. I step onto the sand. My dress is too long so I take down my hair and use my hair tie to hike it up to my knees. There’s a breeze in the air but after all that walking it's not too chilly. My nerves are worlds better. I find a spot and sit down, feeling safe. I close my eyes and block out everything aside from the sound of the waves crashing and crackling sea foam. The air shifts and I catch Richmonds cologne as he sits beside me. I can feel his eyes on me but I keep mine closed. He probably thinks I’m crazy, maybe even too trusting given our history but I don't open my eyes until I'm ready. When I do his eyes are on me.

“Jameson told me you dont value your life” he says and I scoff.

“You can't care too much about yours if you joined the military” I shoot back.

“My father was decorated, he had me in mixed martial arts since I was five. I can take care of myself”

“So we have daddy to thank for this personality” I jest and he shakes his head instead of silencing me with a look.

“You really don't like it” he says, looking up at the sky.

“No I don’t, this is the most normal you’ve ever been with me since we met” I tell him.

“I’ve tried but you’re always running”

“Why were you so mean that first day?” I ask.

“It’s complicated,” he says, hardening.

“More complicated than using my trauma as a test?” I ask and he sighs.

“That wasn't my idea to push you and yes, that complicated” he affirms. “I was in a bad state, looked my worst and I found out my new recruit Lorence Cole is a woman,” he explains. 

“That’s a sexist admission”

“No. You’re my type Lorence. Cassandra knew that and didn’t tell me ahead of time. I was upset with her to make a point and short with you” he confesses and the way my cheeks burn im thankful for the nights forgiving lighting. Not was, not one of my preferences, you’re present tense my type.

“The next time your type walks in, try being kind. Most women don't like being barked at, frowned at, scolded. Do I need to continue?” I ask.

“I get the picture” he nods. Then there’s laughter down the beach and I see people laughing around a photograph.

“We should go see” I suggest getting up. I pat the sand off my dress and we make our way over to see caricature artists seated. 

“Come on, beautiful couple,” One of the women artists say.

“I don't want to” Richmond says motioning for me to sit alone.

“Not my boyfriend's bodyguard” I tell the woman in french and she smiles. Mischief lights in her eyes and I smile bracing for the worst.

“First time in Monaco?” she asks with a thick accent.

“Yes”

“Welcome! here for the races?” she asks.

“Yeah, a few friends wanted to check it out” I explain using my cover story and she continues drawing.

“Are you famous?” she asks.

“No” I laugh.

“Then why bodyguard?” she asks.

“He’s a friend who didn't want me out walking alone” I explain in french and she nods complimenting my speaking ability. I sit for another ten minutes and she stands finished. They count me down and when I get the photo I have to stop myself from laughing. I fold the photo immediately as the other artists cackle and pray Richmond hasn't seen it. If he didn't speak French too I’m sure he’d think I put her up to it. We leave the beach heading back on the path back to the accommodation when Richmond snatches it from my hand as I let my dress back down. He gets a full look of the photo of me looking like an angel in caricature form while he looks like an angry muscle man with ears so big they span to the margins. I giggle and he gives me a look of warning handing the drawing back. I’m surprised he doesn't rip it into pieces.

“Aside from the ears it's an accurate depiction of how scary your scowl is” I joke.

“Good to know” he mutters, the streets are more lively now and the party crowds are out. Leading the way gets too challenging. Richmond holds his hand back and I take it following him through the crows he can see over. He's a gentle guide parting the crowd for me with his size. My brain starts to run away with the information I’ve learned aided by the hand holding and a replay of the past few weeks. My realization shouldn't be as charming as it is. Richmond the decorated veteran and impeccably polished CEO has a crush … on me? He’s not to be played with, tall, handsome, well off ….. My boss. My thoughts hit a roadblock there. The uphill trek starts to become a battle and he crosses the street finding a cab stand. His French is impeccable as he orders us a cab barely fitting in the small European car with me. I get my hand back and find myself missing the contact. The ride back to the accommodation is short. When RIchmond and I clear the lobby he’s right I’m no longer worried about tomorrow or my work. This elevator ride is far less tense than last trip. 

“Thanks for walking me through my route” I tell him as he walks me from the elevator to my door. 

“No problem” he nods. “Last call is at noon if you want to see the parade and the royals otherwise you can leave at two” he reminds me of the schedule. I check my watch and see I have a lot of beauty rest to catch up on.

“Sounds good.” I nod heading in my room. I stop turning to face him. “Why don’t we start fresh tomorrow? My type is nice” I tell him and he gives me his first genuine smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Cole” 

“Good night Richmond.” I smile, shutting the door. I call Sin thankful for time differences and we talk for an hour about what it all means before I fall asleep.

Authors note: thanks for reading loves. things are heading up and these interactions are getting more and more fun to write. Are we here for the new developments?

008 ⇛

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when new updates drop.

[mothyspace]

Death's Pet (yandere oc x reader)

Being the prized possession of a god of death. (❁´◡`❁)

[//warnings:// violence, captivity, mind break kind of implied]

A Grim Reaper, a shinigami, Death, they have many names. As you've also learned, there are many of them. This one has trapped your sad pitiful soul like a mouse.

*splat!* You flinched as more gore spilled out from the mangled corpse. It wasn't anywhere near you. But just watching it was too much... You wanted to turn your head but his large clawed hand held you still. His talons were tangled in your hair, almost painfully. Almost. He would never truly hurt you. So he says...

He laughs, the sound low and rumbling and too sudden that it makes you jolt in surprise. He only laughs more and leans down to speak directly in your ear. His breath is cold as always.

"It's been years and you're still afraid of these things? I thought this was my best work yet." He sits back, pulling you with him to settle you further on his lap. One hand is at the base of your neck, the other at your waist. By now you've grown accustomed to your place here with him. Being held like a precious doll.

But these visions he shows you... of people dying. It's something you will never get used to.

He's the god of death- or rather one of them. His domain is over what you used to call "freak" accidents. Now you know they're no accidents, he orchestrates them all.

You stare blankly at the vision as he laughs like it's some kind of game. To him it is, you suppose. A woman holds her husband- what's left of him and sobs. You can't hold it back anymore and you retch.  He lets go of you and lets you curl up on his lap and tremble to your hearts content.

"Still so delicate and pitiful, aren't you?" he laughs, softer this time, and gently strokes your back. He soothes you from the brink of another panic attack, "Give it another hundred years and this stuff will be as mundane as bugs to you."

"Please... I don't want to watch this right now..." you stare up at him with teary eyes and beg, hoping it's one of the few times he's in a good mood.

He leans closer, the dark void of his hood gives no emotions. It's always unnerving. Another thing you don't think you will ever get used to...

Slowly he brings a gloved hand up to wipe away a tear. You wonder briefly how such a monster could also be so delicate. and why, why so gently with y-

"On second thought..." his voice is a low whisper it fills your head and interrupts your frantic thoughts, "Maybe you shouldn't..."

 

He hugs you tightly to his chest, burying his cold face into the crook of your neck. You feel his whole body shuddering... 

"Because... You're just so cute when you're frightened."

This an oc i've had cooking in the oven for a bit! He's a grim reaper, god of death type of guy. I'm thinking he might actually be part of a group? and they're people who no longer have human faces so they wear masks or hoods to hide the void of where their faces SHOULD be!! I have a few more ideas for characters in this group~! a few more yanderes too and one (1) wholesome boy. Maybe.

Also a few ladies bc,,,, i like wamen 🥺

YES THEYRE ALL EDRITCH FREAKS TOO!!! EXPECT TENTACLES FROM SOME !!!! not this guy tho--

ANYWAYS, as you can tell it's going to be a little messed up setting. You're his pet and there's p much no escaping that 💕 But it's not so bad maybe? He's…. well he doesn't hurt his darling. He's not someone who would assault his darling either! HE'S LIKE SECRETLY DOWN BAD but just doesnt kno how to be normal lmao? loser ???

I'LL THINK OF A NAME FOR HIM SOMETIME… LATER ?

His appearance im thinking is like, classic hooded figure but also with fancy clothes like this:

also um,,,,, ( ^////^) this is my first fiction in like a million years,,, hope you enjoy it 💌💕

-Mothy

[mikaylathenerd5]

All I Want Is You | Roman Reigns

Mistakes With Your Last Name Series One Shot

“Then I’ll move slow enough for the both of us.” —Roman

🖤 Pairing: Roman Reigns x Asha Langston-Reigns (black oc)

📌 Summary: Asha wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him—not after everything that happened. But when the weight of it all becomes too much to carry alone, she asks the one question that could change everything. A love that doesn’t ask for perfection—only honesty.

🎧 Song Inspo: "ALL I WANT IS YOU" by The Kid LAROI

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains emotionally heavy themes, including vulnerability, fear of abandonment, and complicated relationship dynamics. It also includes explicit sexual content intended for mature audiences. Please read with care, especially if you're in a sensitive headspace.

A/N: This was written from a softer, more vulnerable headspace. If it feels heavy, that’s because it came from somewhere real. Thank you for holding space for it and for me. It means more than you know. 🥹🤍

📝 Word Count: ~8.4k

Main Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

'Cause first time you looked at me, I knew you were already mine With me in every past life, destined to be by my side...

— The Kid LAROI, “All I Want Is You”

You keep telling yourself this is fine.

That being distant is safer than being raw. That if you can just ride the wave long enough—just smile, nod, keep washing dishes like your hands aren’t shaking—it’ll pass.

You don’t mean to pull away.

But every time someone asks, “What’s wrong?”, your chest caves in like it’s been wired to collapse on impact.

Because if you do answer, if you do unravel—

What if they don’t stay?

What if loving you only works when you’re easy to hold?

So you keep it in.

You shrink to fit the silence. You stretch a fake smile across your mouth and hope it holds. You try not to flinch when your voice cracks or when someone gets too close. You hope no one notices that your skin doesn’t feel like it fits right anymore.

Your shoulders ache from holding so much. Your jaw’s been clenched for three days. You don’t even notice anymore.

When did your body become a container for everything you never said out loud?

Roman’s not stupid.

He’s watching you.

And you can feel the questions in his eyes, even when he doesn’t ask.

Even when you beg him not to.

She learned young that love came with conditions.

That being easy to love meant being easy to manage.

Asha was seven the first time she realized her tears made people uncomfortable. She had scraped her knee outside—just a normal fall, the kind that startled more than hurt. But when she cried too long, when her chest heaved and her little hands shook, her mother sighed sharp and impatient like the sound offended her.

“You’re okay,” she’d snapped, flicking a glance from the sink. “Stop crying. It’s not that bad.”

It wasn’t the words that stuck—it was the look.

The tightness around her mother’s mouth. The way her eyes flickered not with concern, but with shame. Embarrassment.

Asha swallowed her sobs. Bit down on them. Nodded even though it still stung.

She didn’t ask for a Band-Aid.

She didn’t reach for comfort.

She learned.

Don’t cry too long. Don’t make things worse. Don’t need too much.

That’s how you stayed wanted.

That’s how you stayed kept.

Years later, she still caught herself saying “I’m fine” too quickly. Still measuring every reaction, every emotion, against whether it might inconvenience someone else.

And now—

Now she stood in her own kitchen, grown and exhausted, rinsing a clean mug under cold water while the man she loved stood just feet behind her. Watching. Waiting.

The silence between them was thick.

And still—she said nothing.

It started with the silence.

Not the comfortable kind—the one that draped itself over Sunday mornings and lazy kisses and slow-burn jazz humming in the background. No. This silence was different.

It pressed against the windows. It crawled up the walls. It coiled around Asha’s chest and sat there like something alive.

She stood at the sink with her back to him, rinsing the same mug in a slow, endless circle. The water had turned cold long ago, but her hands stayed there, submerged, as if the routine might save her.

The ridges of the ceramic dug into her palm.

It didn’t ground her.

Her thumb traced the rim again. Around, and around. A child’s muscle memory.

Stop crying. You’re fine. Don’t make it worse.

She could still see her mother’s face—tight-lipped, disappointed, tired of the noise.

Roman wasn’t her mother. She knew that.

But fear doesn’t care about facts.

Behind her, Roman stood at the threshold, his presence as steady and quiet as a coming storm. He didn’t say anything at first—he rarely did when she got like this. When her shoulders sank under invisible weight. When her laugh thinned out until it was all silence and swallowed sighs.

But it had been six days.

Six days of ghosted touches. Of distant eyes. Of her curling into herself like she was trying to disappear.

“Asha.”

His voice came low. Measured.

She blinked once. Her heart hiccuped.

“Yeah?”

“You good?”

She nodded, barely. “Yeah.”

Too fast. Too thin. Like tissue paper over a bruise.

Roman stepped forward, slow and deliberate. He didn’t touch her—he knew better than to crowd her when she was brittle. But his presence swelled behind her like gravity.

“You’ve been quiet all week.”

“I’ve been tired all week.”

“That ain’t the same thing.”

The mug slipped in her hand—just for a second.

She caught it, barely. Set it down with too much care, like overcompensating. Her hands were shaking. She curled them into fists before he could notice.

“I’m fine,” she said again. But it came out hoarse.

Roman didn’t answer.

He didn’t believe her.

And that made her want to scream.

She slowly turned, towel clutched in her hands. Her posture was straight, too straight, like a house built after the storm but still rattling in the wind.

“I’m not trying to fight with you,” she said, voice low and brittle. “I just want to sit. I want to be alone. Is that okay?”

His gaze didn’t waver. But his hands curled into his sleeves, like he was holding back something sharp.

“You want to be alone,” he said, “or you want me to leave you alone?”

She blinked. “Same thing.”

“No. It’s not.”

And that did it.

The words fell in the air like the snap of a rubber band stretched too far. Asha felt it burst in her chest—the tight coil of silence, of pretending, of stuffing everything down until it leaked out anyway.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth,” Roman said, quiet now. “Whatever it is.”

Her throat closed. She stared down at the towel in her hands, twisting it tighter, tighter, tighter until it bit into her skin.

“I’m not okay,” she said, voice so small it barely passed her lips. “But I don’t know how to talk about it without sounding ungrateful. Without sounding like I’m ruining something good.”

Roman said nothing.

And that silence—

That silence shattered her.

“I spent so long being the strong one,” she whispered, shaking now. “The funny one. The low-maintenance one. The one who doesn’t ask for anything. And now? Now I don’t know how to not be that girl. I don’t know how to let you see me like this without thinking you’ll leave.”

Roman didn’t speak.

He didn’t know how to tell her that none of that scared him.

That this—watching her slip behind her eyes—was the only thing that did.

“I’m not leaving,” he finally said. Gentle. Grounded.

“But you’ll see me different,” she snapped. “You’ll see the parts that don’t smile through it. The parts that cry too much. The ones that shut down and flinch at kindness because they don’t know what to do with it.”

She laughed—but it was a sound made of static and splinters.

“You don’t get it, Ro. You fell in love with the version of me who keeps everything light. Who doesn’t take up too much space. And now I’m this—and I don’t even like me right now. So why would you?”

Roman stepped forward again.

One step.

Then another.

He raised a hand.

She backed up.

Not because she didn’t want him. Because she did—and wanting him while feeling unworthy was the cruelest thing in the world.

“I don’t tell you what I’m going through,” she said, voice trembling, “because I’ve been told I’m too emotional since I was a kid. Because people leave when I cry. Because people stop loving you when it gets heavy.”

Roman’s breath hitched. His hand stayed frozen in the air, still reaching.

“I’m trying,” she said, tears welling now, “to stay soft. To not bleed all over the things we built. But I feel like I’m drowning. And I’m scared if I say it out loud, I’ll ruin everything.”

He moved to hold her.

She stepped back again.

“I just— I need air,” she choked. “I need out.”

“Don’t go,” he said quietly.

She turned toward the door.

His voice followed her.

“Don’t run from me, Asha. Not when you know I’d stay.”

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Her hand hovered on the knob.

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t look at him.

But her shoulders curled inward like she wanted to.

Like the little girl in her almost believed someone might follow.

She turned the knob.

Roman didn’t chase her.

He watched her walk out into the dark.

The door clicked shut behind her. A soft sound.

But it echoed like a scream.

Roman stared at the space she left behind.

His mouth opened.

“Asha—”

But the words caught on grief.

Then—

Crash.

He sent the glass from the island spinning, shattering into a thousand jagged truths on the floor. Shards sprayed across the tile like something vital had been ripped out of him.

“FUCK.”

The word tore from him, ragged and deep.

He pressed a hand hard over his face. Fingers dug into his beard. His shoulders curved inward like he was folding in on himself, trying to keep everything from spilling out.

The kitchen felt colder now.

Lonelier.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t clean it up.

Didn’t wipe the tear that slipped down his cheek.

Just stood there, in the wreckage of everything she couldn’t say—and everything he didn’t know how to heal.

The kind of silence that taught her love was conditional.

And the kind of silence that made him wonder if staying would ever be enough.

The beach was empty this late. No tourists. No locals. Just moonlight trying to reach the water and failing, and the sound of the ocean refusing to stop for anybody.

Asha parked without thinking. No charger. No bag. No plan. Just her keys, a hoodie she couldn’t remember grabbing, and the weight she hadn’t been able to shake since Vegas.

She kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into the sand. The grains clung to her ankles like reminders: of mistakes, of memory, of softness she didn’t know how to keep.

The ocean stretched out in front of her like a wound that never closed.

She dropped into the sand, knees drawn up, and let the silence swallow her whole. Not the water—just the hush. The kind that pooled around her, cool and indifferent, like grief that didn’t need a name.

She pulled her sleeves over her hands. Tried to match her breath to the waves. Slow. Gentle. Controlled.

It didn’t work.

Her chest stuttered. Her pulse skittered like it didn’t know where to land. Her fists tightened in her hoodie as if she could hold herself together from the outside in.

She stared at the horizon like it owed her answers.

But the truth was... there was no fixing this.

Not what she’d done.

Not how it had started.

Not how it had begun with a bad decision and somehow turned into the only place her heart felt safe.

She was supposed to be married by now.

To someone else.

A man who made sense on paper. Who didn’t make her heart race or her walls tremble. Who didn’t make her feel like she had to shrink to be held, but didn’t see her either.

She hadn’t even loved him—not really. But she’d trusted the routine. The predictability. The quiet safety of it all.

But that didn’t erase what she left behind.

She could still hear his voice from that last voicemail—tight, clipped, humiliated: “So this is how I find out? From TMZ?”

Her stomach turned. Not because she wanted him back. But because she used to be someone who wouldn’t hurt people like that.

And maybe she still was.

Maybe she’d always be too much. The girl who cried too loud, felt too deep, loved too recklessly. Maybe even now—after all this—she wasn’t someone anyone should bet on.

But then came Vegas.

And then came Roman.

And the sound of his voice saying her name like it wasn’t a burden.

And the look in his eyes when he touched her like he didn’t just want her body—he wanted her.

And now?

She’d married him in a haze, walked out on a man who never saw her, and somehow built something real with someone who could ruin her just by staying.

It should’ve felt wrong.

But Roman never did.

And that was what terrified her most.

She didn’t hear him walk up.

Didn’t hear the car. Didn’t hear the footsteps.

But she felt him.

The way her spine straightened just slightly. The way her lungs unclenched like they recognized him first.

Roman didn’t say anything.

He just lowered himself to the sand beside her—slow, solid, like he knew she was already made of glass.

There was space between them. A full foot. Maybe more.

But she still felt him like warmth in winter.

He reached out like he might brush sand from her sleeve—then stopped. Let his hand fall between them instead.

Asha didn’t look at him.

He didn’t ask her to.

The ocean never stopped reaching.

Just like her—too much, too often, too loud.

And yet the shore always met it.

Every single time.

They sat like that—still, quiet, broken open—until Roman breathed in.

Just once. Slow.

Then he said, “I didn’t want to push you.”

Her eyes stayed forward. “I know.”

“I just…” His voice caught low. “I didn’t know what to do with the way you looked at me before you left.”

Asha swallowed hard.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to be away from you,” she said. “I left because I didn’t know how to stay without falling apart.”

Roman’s jaw tightened.

She kept going—not because it was easy, but because silence felt like the only thing worse.

“My whole life, I’ve been told I’m dramatic. Sensitive. Too much. And I believed it. So I stopped letting people see me break. I stopped letting myself break.”

She dug her fingers into the sand again.

“And then I met you. And I was already engaged. Already living a lie. Already pretending I was okay because it was easier than admitting I wasn’t.”

Her voice cracked.

“And then we got drunk and married and somehow it felt like the only thing I’ve ever done that made any damn sense.”

The tears came easy now.

“But then came the guilt. And the shame. And the fear. Because what if it was just adrenaline? What if I’m not enough to make this last? What if I was never supposed to be loved like this?”

She turned to him finally.

And his eyes—

They didn’t flinch.

She wiped her cheek, even though it didn’t matter anymore.

“I don’t know how to be with someone who actually sees me. I’m so scared you’ll look too long and decide I’m not worth the cost.”

Roman didn’t blink.

“You think I don’t already see all of that?” he asked quietly.

She stared at him.

“I see the parts you think make you hard to love. And I still—”

His voice broke.

He looked down.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with someone who already belonged to someone else,” he said softly. “But I did. And I wouldn’t take it back.”

Her breath hitched.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. The wind moved her hair across her cheek, and for once, she didn’t try to fix it. She just let it settle.

Roman looked up again. Met her eyes.

“I still want to love you anyway.”

Silence fell again.

But this time it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Asha turned back to the ocean.

Her chest didn’t hurt as much.

Her breathing, while still shaky, came easier now.

Roman moved closer. Just a few inches. But she felt it. The permission in it.

She let her shoulder lean into his.

Not much.

Just enough to remember what it felt like to be held.

They stayed like that.

Shoulder to shoulder. Leg to leg. Grief to grief.

And when her hand slipped into his, he didn’t ask for anything else.

He just curled his fingers around hers and anchored her there.

Not in words.

Not in promises.

Just in presence.

Some silences weren’t empty. Some silences said everything.

Roman helped her stand.

He didn’t rush her.

Just rose beside her on the sand and offered his hand like it wasn’t a rescue but an invitation. Like she could say no and he’d still stay.

Asha hesitated for only a moment.

Then her fingers found his.

And for the first time all night, she let someone carry part of the weight.

They didn’t say a word as they walked to the car, feet sinking softly into the cool beach sand. The ocean stayed behind them, whispering secrets neither of them could quite hold anymore.

Roman opened the passenger door.

She got in.

The ride back was quiet.

Not the kind that echoed with what hadn’t been said—but the kind that softened the parts of her still clenching.

Asha leaned her head against the window, the chill of the glass grounding her. Her knees curled toward her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. Her hoodie was damp at the edges from the sea air, and her throat still burned from crying.

Roman didn’t fill the silence with apologies or questions. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, eyes on the road, but his energy never drifted. He was here.

Present.

Even in her silence.

His right hand shifted to the center console and rested there—open, palm up.

She stared at it for a beat.

Then laced her fingers through his.

She kept rubbing her thumb over the ridge of his knuckle. Not hard. Just enough to remind herself she was real. That he was real. That she hadn’t drowned.

The wind outside howled softly against the windows. But inside the car, it felt still.

Not healed.

Not fixed.

Just still.

And for once, stillness didn’t scare her.

They pulled into the driveway. Roman turned off the ignition, but neither of them moved.

The porch light cast a soft glow across the front step. Familiar. Quiet. A house they shared but still hadn’t fully settled into.

Asha uncurled herself slowly.

Roman got out first and came around to open her door.

His hand hovered at her lower back—not touching this time. Just letting her know he was there.

She stepped out on her own.

But when the breeze caught her hair and she shivered, his hand found the small of her back like it belonged there.

Inside, the house smelled faintly like leftover garlic knots from two nights ago and the candle she forgot to blow out before she left. It was clean—but something in the air still felt fractured.

Like grief was waiting at the threshold to ask if she was still carrying it.

She slipped out of her shoes at the door and stood there, uncertain.

Roman’s voice cut softly through the quiet.

“You want me to run a bath?”

Asha nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

She stayed in the kitchen while he moved down the hall. The sound of water rushing into the tub filtered through the walls like white noise.

Asha leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes low.

The glass from the fight earlier had been cleaned up. The space looked untouched.

But her heart wasn’t.

She stared at the drawer she’d slammed hours ago and felt something fragile uncoil in her ribs.

Shame.

Exhaustion.

Relief.

Roman’s voice broke gently through the quiet. “Tub’s ready.”

She looked up.

He stood at the edge of the hallway, dim light pooling behind him. His shirt clung to him, wrinkled and soft from the night. His eyes weren’t guarded anymore. They weren’t trying to read her.

They were just waiting.

She walked toward him, steps slow, towel tucked into her arm.

Then stopped.

“Will you stay?” she asked.

Roman didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He just stared at her for a beat, like he wanted to say more, like he had more— “I’m not going anywhere.”

The bathroom was warm.

Steam curled in the air like breath.

The lights were dimmed low. A candle flickered on the shelf beside the tub—its soft glow catching the edges of the tile and making everything feel less sharp.

Asha undressed slowly, peeling off layers like old skin. Her hoodie. Her shirt. Her sweatpants.

Her hesitation.

She stepped into the water.

The heat enveloped her.

It reminded her of when she was little, hiding in the bathroom with the door locked and the water running—not because she was dirty, but because the silence made her feel safe. Because if no one checked on her, it meant she was being good. Easy. Not too much.

Back then, she used to pretend the tub was the ocean.

Tonight, it felt like one.

Roman didn’t leave.

He sat on the closed toilet lid, arms resting on his knees. His presence wasn’t looming. It was anchoring. Like the tide coming back to shore.

Asha leaned her head against the edge of the tub and watched the flicker of the flame.

She didn’t speak.

But her body softened in the quiet.

Minutes passed like that.

Neither of them moved.

Eventually, she looked up. “You ever think about what would’ve happened if we didn’t get married that night?”

Roman’s gaze found hers.

“I think about it,” he said.

She waited.

“But not because I regret it.”

Asha’s heart thudded.

“I think about it,” he said again, slower this time, “because it scares me to think I might’ve lived a life without ever knowing this version of you. The real one. The one who’s not trying to be perfect.”

She blinked hard. The water blurred around her, but she didn’t close her eyes.

“I’m still learning how to be her.”

He nodded once. “Then let me learn with you.”

When the water cooled, she rose and stepped out.

Roman stood and grabbed a towel. He didn’t look away. He didn’t ask her to hurry. He just moved like someone who had loved her in all her versions.

“May I?” he asked softly, towel already in hand.

She nodded.

He wrapped her slowly, reverently, like she was made of something rare and breakable.

His hands smoothed the edges over her shoulders.

And then he just… stood there.

Not trying to make it better.

Just staying.

Asha’s hand found the front of his shirt. Not pulling. Not clutching.

Just… resting.

Her thumb brushed his jaw. Just once. And then she kissed him like maybe—just maybe—she was choosing to believe him.

Their mouths met in the middle.

The kiss was quiet. Almost hesitant. Like two people asking the same question at the same time.

Then it deepened—slow, aching, open-mouthed.

Roman’s hand rose to her cheek. His thumb brushed under her eye, and Asha didn’t even realize she’d been crying again until he caught the tear.

“You’re not too much,” he whispered, barely audible. “You never were.”

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in days, she believed him.

When they finally broke the kiss, her forehead rested against his chest.

His arms wrapped around her fully now, the damp towel forgotten between them.

He kissed the crown of her head.

“You ready for bed?”

Asha didn’t answer with words.

She just took his hand.

She never liked silence after crying.

Not the kind that wrapped around your ribs and stayed there. Not the kind that echoed like a punishment, or held the weight of things unsaid. It always came too soon—after a fight, after an unraveling, after trying not to shake while pretending she was fine.

But tonight, silence was what met her.

And it didn’t scare her. It hurt.

Because Roman didn’t say a word when they stepped into the bedroom. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t brush a thumb across her knuckles or let his fingers skim her lower back like he always did.

He just closed the door behind them and stood still. Present, yes—but distant, somehow. Still trying to let her breathe.

It should’ve felt like space.

It felt like loss.

You’re too much. You ruin the mood. Why are you always so damn sensitive? Smile and stop making everything so heavy. If you keep crying, no one’s going to stay.

She had spent so long learning how to hide her feelings in order to be loved. And every time someone left, she wondered if it was because they finally noticed the weight she carried. Not just on her shoulders—but in her chest, her gut, her throat. Every part of her that pulsed, ached. She thought she had to earn love by being easy. Palatable. Pleasant.

Even when it was killing her.

Asha stood in the center of the room, towel wrapped high around her chest, as if it were armor. She wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of disappointing—Roman or herself.

Her hands flexed at her sides. Her voice came out raw.

“I’m not okay.”

It wasn’t a confession. It was a wound.

Roman didn’t move. But something behind his eyes flickered—tight and protective and burning.

“I know,” he said, voice low. Not careful. Not tiptoeing. Just real.

“I want to be close,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to be consumed.”

She didn’t look at him when she said it.

“I can’t… I can’t lose myself in this. Not again.”

There was a pause.

Then Roman asked, softly, “May I take it off?”

Her eyes shot to his.

Not because she was startled by the question, but because she felt it down to the bone.

He wasn’t talking about sex.

He was asking to peel away the thing she was still hiding behind.

She nodded.

Barely.

But Roman still waited.

Only when her fingers dropped away from the towel’s knot did he step forward.

His palms hovered just inches from her skin—two suns waiting to rise.

“You can stop me at any time.”

She didn’t.

The towel loosened beneath his hands. A quiet pull.

A gentle slip.

And when the thick fabric fell, it landed on the floor with a soft thud that sounded louder than it should’ve.

Asha stood completely bare. Goosebumps rising along her arms. Not from cold.

From vulnerability.

Roman’s eyes didn’t trail down her body—not immediately. He looked at her face first. Stayed there. Just stared.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. As if it were a fact. As if it couldn’t be argued.

Asha swallowed hard. “Even when I’m like this?”

“Especially when you’re like this.”

Her lower lip trembled. She hated how it did that. How her body betrayed her.

Roman didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word.

He let her come apart one thread at a time, steadying her with nothing but his presence.

When he reached for his shirt, he didn’t yank it over his head like a man preparing for something physical.

He peeled it off like a man shedding expectations.

One slow sweep of cotton over muscle. One silent offering.

He stood bare-chested in front of her, and for a second, it felt like they were two strangers staring at something they weren’t sure they could survive.

But neither of them looked away.

“I don’t want to be the girl who breaks every time,” she said quietly. “I hate that I still get like this.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. Not out of frustration. But something closer to hurt.

“You’re not breaking,” he said. “You’re feeling. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She blinked.

“And if I crumble?”

His voice dropped.

“Then I’ll hold the pieces.”

Asha stepped forward, slow and unsure. Her hands lifted to his chest.

Fingertips first. Then palms.

Roman’s skin was warm. So warm.

She wanted to crawl into it.

He bent down and kissed her forehead. Then the tip of her nose. Then—finally—her mouth.

The kiss wasn’t deep. It wasn’t ravenous.

It was quiet. Full of breath. Full of patience.

When his tongue finally touched hers, it felt like silk—an invitation to stay, not a plea to hurry.

Her knees wobbled slightly. Roman caught her waist, grounding her.

“I got you,” he murmured.

His breath brushed her lips.

“I always got you.”

She didn’t know how they moved.

Only that the backs of her knees hit the bed. And his arms came around her again.

Lifting her.

Holding her.

Laying her down like something sacred.

She stared up at him.

He knelt between her legs and just looked.

At the curve of her hip.

At the stretch of her collarbone.

At the small tremble in her fingers.

And then, finally, at her eyes.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

But something passed between them—breath, fear, surrender.

And then Roman leaned in.

He kissed her knee first.

Then her inner thigh.

Slow. Reverent.

Each kiss deeper than the one before.

Asha’s head fell back. Her breathing picked up.

His beard scraped gently, his mouth soft—hot.

When he reached her hip, he paused and nuzzled the delicate dip just above her pelvis.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“I don’t know how to stay still,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll move slow enough for the both of us.”

He kissed up her torso, tongue grazing her ribs.

Then he made it to her chest.

She gasped when his lips wrapped around her nipple—warm, wet, slow.

Her back arched.

Her thighs shifted.

Roman dragged one hand up her leg and gently splayed it across her belly.

“You’re allowed to feel everything,” he said into her skin. “You’re allowed to want. To need.”

She whimpered.

“I need you to see me.”

“I do,” he said. “I see everything.”

Asha’s thighs parted slightly.

Roman slid lower, nuzzling the inside of her knee, then her inner thigh again—closer, warmer, almost there.

Her heart was thundering.

Her hand slid into his curls, anchoring herself.

Roman looked up, voice low, eyes darker than she’d ever seen.

“Let me taste you.”

Her breath hitched.

She froze—but didn’t pull away.

Roman’s voice was a promise when he added—

“You’re not too much. You never were. You’re mine.”

Asha closed her eyes. Let her head fall back. Felt the air shift. Felt her body say yes before her mouth could.

She didn’t reply out loud.

But in her chest, in the quiet that used to scare her—

She heard it clearly:

He sees me. He wants me. Maybe I really never was too much.

He was right there.

Between her thighs, lips grazing the skin that had never felt so exposed, so open, so alive.

And somehow, she still couldn't believe this wasn’t a test.

Not a dream. Not a trap. Not a moment she’d regret later when the lights came on and someone called her too much again.

Because that voice still lived inside her. Not his—hers.

“You ruin everything when you feel too loud.”

“If you stop crying, maybe someone will stay.”

“Don’t take up too much space. Don’t be dramatic. Don’t ask for more than people offer.”

But Roman wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t hurrying her along. He wasn’t shrinking from the parts of her that felt wild, tender, loud, or complicated.

He was… waiting.

Not like a man who needed permission to touch her. Like a man who already understood that he’d never touch her the same way twice. Because she wasn’t just skin and heat and breath.

She was weather. She was feeling. She was everything she thought made her unlovable—and still, he stayed.

Still, he looked at her like the ache in her chest was a symphony.

And she didn’t know what scared her more.

That he might leave.

Or that he might never let her hide again.

Her fingers trembled where they clutched the sheets. Her eyes fluttered shut.

And in the silence she once feared, she heard something new:

“You don’t have to be small to be safe.”

“You don’t have to be quiet to be kept.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

Roman’s hands slid along her thighs again. His beard brushed sensitive skin. And when his mouth finally dipped low—soft, warm, unhurried—

Asha didn’t brace.

She let go.

The first time he kissed her inner thigh, it didn’t feel sexual.

It felt like worship.

Roman didn’t rush. Didn’t grope or devour. He kissed her skin like she was something he’d prayed for and now held in his hands.

Asha lay bare, breath unsteady, her body still humming from the unraveling conversation before. Her towel was gone. Her armor too.

And Roman? He moved like nothing about her softness frightened him.

Not her tears. Not her tremble. Not even the way she stayed so still—like she was afraid love this gentle might vanish.

His lips ghosted a path up her thigh.

Close. Then closer. Then—

He exhaled against her center, the heat of it making her thighs twitch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he murmured. “You gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

She nodded.

Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Because the moment his tongue dragged slow and flat through her folds, her whole body shook.

Roman moaned—low and deep—like her flavor knocked the air out of him.

“Fuck.”

His voice vibrated against her.

“Sweetest thing I ever had.”

Then he dove in.

Tongue flicking. Mouth sealing around her clit with gentle suction. Rhythm tight. Deliberate. Focused.

Asha gasped.

Her hand flew to the sheets, the other fisting the comforter by her hip. The sounds coming out of her weren’t careful. Weren’t quiet.

They were real. Soft whimpers. Broken moans. The kind of breathless pleading that didn’t ask permission.

Roman didn’t let up.

One of his big hands slid up to her stomach—spreading wide, warm, anchoring her to the bed as his mouth worked lower.

He kissed her again. Then licked. Then sucked—slow and hard.

Her hips lifted. He followed. Never breaking contact. Never needing her to guide him.

He knew.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured into her. “And I haven’t even started.”

Asha’s thighs quivered around his head.

She tried to respond, but her breath broke in the middle.

Roman chuckled—dark and soft—then slipped one thick finger into her heat.

She cried out.

The stretch was so much but not enough. Warm. Curling. Precise.

Her back arched. Her hand slid to his curls. Not to pull—just to hold.

“Right there?” he asked.

She nodded, voice breaking. “Yes… there, please—”

Roman sucked her clit again. Harder. Tighter. Tongue pressing in a slow, obscene circle.

Her body began to tense. A wave building in her lower belly—tight, hot, coiling with every flick of his tongue and curl of his finger.

She couldn’t stay still.

Her hips rocked. Her moans spilled out faster. Her legs locked tighter.

Roman growled.

“I said let me hear you, baby. Don’t hold it in. You’re not too much.”

Another finger joined the first—stretching her, filling her, fucking her slow.

His tongue picked up pace. Licking. Sucking. Ruining.

“You feel that?” he groaned. “That’s what it’s like when somebody loves you right.”

Asha’s whole body began to shake.

Her stomach clenched. Her throat tightened. And just before the orgasm hit, Roman looked up at her—lips wet, beard glistening, eyes locked with hers.

“Fall apart for me.”

Then he sucked her clit hard. Curled his fingers deep. And kept his eyes on her the whole time.

The orgasm ripped through her.

Her legs clamped around his head. Her back bowed off the bed. Her mouth opened wide on a scream she didn’t recognize.

She shattered. Hard. Raw.

It wasn’t just physical. It felt like grief. Like release. Like someone finally saw everything she was—and didn’t leave.

Roman didn’t stop. He slowed just enough to ride the wave with her, mouth still worshipping, fingers easing the tremble from her body until her breathing softened again.

He kissed her thighs as she came down. Whispered something she couldn’t quite hear over her pulse.

And then he crawled up her body—slow, heavy, sure.

His hand cupped her jaw. His lips met her forehead. Her cheek. Her mouth.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hoarse.

“I’ve got you.”

Asha blinked up at him, face flushed, eyes glassy.

“I don’t know how to be loved like this,” she whispered.

Roman kissed the corner of her mouth again. Pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He settled between her thighs, resting his weight on his forearms, still pressed chest-to-chest. His nose brushed hers.

“You don’t have to know how,” he whispered. “Just stay with me.”

His thumb stroked along the curve of her waist, not retreating. Not covering. Just waiting.

And when she didn’t answer,

When her eyes filled with something wordless and wet,

He whispered—

“Let me show you the rest.”

His voice had barely faded when Asha pulled him down again, catching his lips in a kiss that felt like a dam breaking.

Not lust. Not escape. Need.

A need she never let herself speak aloud—because when you grow up believing love has to be earned, you learn how to starve yourself of softness.

She trembled beneath him—not from fear, but from the ache of being seen. Completely. Unhidden. No armor. No edits. Just Asha, beneath the weight of a man who touched her like she was sacred.

You have to be perfect to be loved.

You’re too much.

You ruin everything when you ask for more.

She didn’t say those words out loud. She didn’t have to.

Roman saw all of them—and stayed.

He hovered above her like he was protecting something fragile, bracing one hand beside her head while the other slid slowly, reverently, along the inside of her thigh. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her—like she was giving him something she’d never given anyone before.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

Her breath shook. “I’m sure. I just… I don’t wanna feel like I have to be small to be loved.”

Roman’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with grief for all the years she had.

“You don’t,” he said. “Not with me. You can be as much as you want. I’ll still be right here.”

His words cracked something in her. She closed her eyes and nodded.

And that’s when he kissed her again—slow and grounding, his hand never leaving her skin as he shifted his weight and guided himself to her entrance.

The moment his tip pressed against her, Asha gasped, thighs twitching from the heat of it. The anticipation. The stretch. The truth of how much of him there was.

Roman groaned into her neck. “Fuck… baby…”

He was so big. Her body clenched instinctively as he pressed forward—slow, deliberate, careful. Not because she couldn’t take it, but because he wanted her to feel everything. Every inch. Every intention.

One hand cupped her face now, thumb brushing the tear from her cheek she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Breathe for me. You’re doing perfect.”

The way he moved was like prayer. Each thrust deeper, each stroke carving a space inside her where fear used to live.

She clung to his shoulders, breath hitching, head tilting back. “Oh my god—Roman—”

“You got me,” he whispered, kissing along her collarbone, “right here. Let me give this to you.”

He rocked into her slowly, letting her adjust to the fullness of him. Every inch he gave her made her heart pound louder. Every kiss on her skin made her eyes blur.

“You take me so good,” he rasped, voice low and hoarse. “Tightest pussy I ever felt. Warm, wet, perfect. Just like you.”

Asha whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, needing him deeper. Closer. Everywhere.

She’d never been filled like this. Not just physically—emotionally. She wasn’t just open. She was held.

And then Roman slowed to stillness, his body fully buried inside hers, chest rising and falling as he looked at her.

“Say it again,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want this. I want to stop running from it.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. Less hunger, more surrender.

Then he moved—slow, steady thrusts that dragged moans from both of them. Her hands gripped his arms, feeling the strain in his muscles as he held back, grounding himself in her softness.

The slide of him was intoxicating. The burn, the pressure, the rhythm building like the sea—waves rising with nowhere to go but over.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmured, forehead resting against hers. “I swear to God, Asha…”

Her voice caught. “Roman…”

“You’re not too much,” he breathed, rocking into her harder. “You never were. They just didn’t know how to hold you right.”

Her hands slid into his hair, eyes wide and glassy. “But you do.”

“I do,” he said, jaw clenched. “You’re mine. And I’m gonna remind you every time I touch you.”

She whimpered as his pace shifted—still slow, but deeper now. More force behind it. Her body sang with the stretch, the rhythm, the weight of his love poured into every thrust.

“I didn’t think I could be loved like this,” she whispered.

He kissed her shoulder, kissed the corner of her mouth, kissed the truth out of her.

“Nobody ever let me love them like this,” he said. “But I need you to let me. Let me give you everything.”

Asha let out a soft cry—not from pain, but from how good it felt to finally be touched like she didn’t have to earn it.

“I’m yours,” she breathed.

And Roman just held her face, kissed her again, and thrust so deep she saw stars.

Asha didn’t know if she was crying or moaning or both.

Roman had her wrapped in him—thrusts deep and rolling, his forearms braced tight on either side of her, keeping her caged in his heat. His body flexed with every grind, dragging against every tender, aching part of her like he knew what she needed and wasn’t afraid to give it. And she was taking it—every inch, every breathless whisper, every fucking word.

"You feel so good," he murmured, voice frayed and low. “So fuckin’ good, baby. I ain’t ever—” He cut himself off with a groan, his hips rocking deeper, slower, like the truth in his throat burned too hot to speak.

But Asha felt it. Felt it in the tension behind his rhythm. Felt it in the way his fingers tightened on the mattress like if he didn’t anchor himself, he’d fall apart inside her.

Every time he hit that spot deep inside her, her spine arched, her eyes fluttered, and her chest rose like she couldn’t catch her breath. Her body didn’t know whether to cling or collapse. She was so full it made her dizzy. He kissed her between each thrust—her cheek, her chin, her mouth when it opened in a gasp—and she started whispering his name like a prayer she’d just remembered how to say.

“I can’t—Roman—I can’t—” “You can. Look at me.”

His hand came to her face, thumb brushing her bottom lip as he slowed to an aching grind.

“I got you, Asha. I got all of you.”

Her breath hitched. That was what undid her.

Not the thrust. Not the pressure. Not the stretch. Him. Saying her name like it wasn’t too heavy to carry. Like she wasn’t.

Her legs locked around his waist. Her hands fisted the sheets, and when he started to move again—slower, deeper—her climax began to curl like smoke behind her ribs. Her thighs trembled. Her walls fluttered. And Roman felt it—let out a low sound that cracked straight through her chest.

Her mind scrambled to hold on, but her body had already surrendered.

The orgasm took her like a wave—sharp, blistering, impossible to stop. Her cry was jagged, caught halfway between a sob and a scream. Her hips jerked off the mattress. Her toes curled. And she clenched around him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth.

Roman’s breath punched out of him.

“Shit—baby—” he muttered, voice breaking into a moan as she pulsed around him.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

His next few thrusts were shaky—desperate. She could feel it in the tension of his thighs, the tremble in his breath, the way his rhythm faltered when she clenched again.

“Don’t… do that,” he whispered, eyes flickering shut for a second. “Unless you want me to—”

He broke off, grinding into her slow and deep, burying himself like he needed to feel all of her, just like this, one last time.

Then he came.

With a raw groan into her neck, his body tensed—hips jerking, hands clutching her waist, chest pressed to hers like he was trying to breathe her in. He was quiet, but the weight of it rolled through him like thunder. His mouth brushed her jaw, her shoulder, her mouth again. Every part of him shook.

And Asha… just held him.

Still panting. Still overwhelmed. Her limbs were jelly and her heart was water and her eyes filled with tears she didn’t fully understand.

A soft silence settled around them. Heavy. Sacred. Real.

Then her voice cracked open.

“I was so scared I’d ruin this,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his spine.

Roman didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. His forehead stayed pressed to hers, like moving would make the truth go cold.

“You didn’t ruin a thing,” he said softly. “You saved it.”

Asha blinked up at him, her throat closing. Her voice barely came out.

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“When I fall apart again… you’ll still be here.”

His kiss came then—slow and sure, like he meant it.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And neither was she.

The room held a silence so heavy it felt sacred.

Not empty. Not cold. Just still.

Only the hush of waves against the shore outside reminded Asha that the world hadn’t stopped spinning. A soft breeze from the slightly cracked window kissed her skin, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and night air. Somewhere in the hallway, a clock ticked like a heartbeat.

Roman hadn’t moved much. His chest pressed gently against hers, one hand cradling her cheek while the other curled protectively around her waist. His body—still flush against her, skin to skin—radiated heat. She could feel the soft rise and fall of his breath. His lips hovered just above hers, close enough that she could still taste him.

Her fingers stayed tangled in his curls.

He hadn’t said a word since whispering, “I’m still here.”

And he was.

Even now, when her body was limp with exhaustion and her ribs felt cracked open from how deeply she’d let him in—he stayed.

Asha closed her eyes.

For a long, quiet moment, she let herself be held.

Eventually, Roman eased out of her, slow and careful, pressing a kiss to her cheek when she whimpered at the loss. One hand lingered on her thigh, grounding her, as if to say, I’m not gone. Just give me a second.

She nodded without speaking.

Then he stood—naked, golden in the soft lamplight, hair tousled and damp with sweat—and walked out of the room.

She watched him go.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel abandoned.

Instead, she felt… still.

Safe.

Her fingers splayed across her lower belly, brushing the soft imprint of his touch. Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling.

And without meaning to, her mind whispered something she hadn’t known she needed to hear:

Peace didn’t arrive when I was perfect. It came when I stopped pretending I had to be.

Not when she had everything figured out. Not when she fixed all the broken pieces. But in the middle of the storm. In the most chaotic, messy, upside-down part of her life. It found her anyway.

And somehow… it looked like him.

Roman came back a minute later, quiet and barefoot, holding a warm towel and a bottle of water. He didn’t speak. He just moved toward her like he’d always belonged there.

She gave him a soft, tired smile as he gently nudged her thighs apart, settling beside her on the edge of the bed.

The towel was warm and damp, the cloth soothing against her inner thighs as he cleaned her—slowly, reverently, without a trace of hesitation. Like none of it scared him. Like he’d do it again and again if it meant she didn’t have to flinch when someone stayed.

Asha blinked up at him, her voice barely above a breath. “You don’t have to—”

Roman shook his head before she could finish. “I want to.”

He set the towel aside and offered her the water. She took a sip, then another. Her throat was tight, but not from pain.

“This is new,” she murmured after a beat, voice cracking despite herself. “Being taken care of like this.”

Roman looked at her for a long moment. Then he brushed a damp curl from her forehead and pressed his lips there instead.

“Guess I’m learning how to stay,” he said softly.

And just like that, the tears came.

Not all at once. Not loud or violent. Just quiet streaks down her cheeks, like her body had finally unclenched and decided to let them go.

He didn’t ask why she was crying.

Didn’t try to stop it.

Roman simply climbed into bed beside her and pulled the sheets up, tucking them around her with one arm while the other cradled her against his chest.

She let him.

Curled into the space beneath his chin and rested her palm over his heart.

His voice came like gravity.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And for once, she believed it.

Others called it a mistake.

Said she threw away her engagement. Her future. Her reputation. Whispers followed her like shadows: impulsive, reckless, naïve. And maybe once, she believed them.

But lying here—skin flushed, cheeks still damp, body molded to his like they were carved from the same ache—Asha knew the truth.

The real mistake would’ve been walking away.

Because Roman wasn’t her downfall. He wasn’t some drunken accident or broken detour.

He was the only thing that ever felt like choosing herself.The only man who held her without asking her to be smaller. The only one who didn’t flinch when she gave him everything.

And God help her—

He was the damn miracle she never saw coming.

Author’s Note ✍🏽

I’ve been quiet the past few days—giving myself space to breathe, to feel, and to not rush back before I was ready. This one-shot came from that space. It’s softer. Heavier. A little more angsty than I usually write… but it’s honest. And sometimes, honesty is all I have to offer. We should all have a place where we’re allowed to be soft and vulnerable.

I wrote this on a night when everything inside felt too loud. For a while, I didn’t think I’d ever post it. But this moment between them deserves to live on its own.

It’s part of a messier little series that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while—emotional, dramatic, chaotic. But this one needed to come first.

If this story held you—thank you. You didn’t have to read it, but you did. And if you liked, reblogged, or especially commented… your words mean more than I can explain. You give me courage just by showing up and supporting.

My master taglist is always open if you’d like to stay connected. Links to the rest of my work are at the top of the post. There’s more softness there. More chaos. Always more heart.

And if something in this lingered—if a line stayed with you—I’d love to know what echoed back.

My inbox is always open. Whether you want to talk, share, or just need a soft place to land—I'm here. (hugs)

With love always,

Mikayla 🖤✨

✧ What line or moment stayed with you?

✧ Have you ever felt like Asha—caught between love and fear?

✧ What does honesty in love mean to you?

✧ How do you think this fiasco started?

current taglist (love yall down bad)🖤✨

@star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03 @justazzi @fearlesschimera

@skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox @reginawhorge01 @purplementalitybluebird @jeyusosqueen

@brianochka @diamondlifeee @perksofbeingbeautifulyetsobroken @cyberdejos2 @transparentphantomface

@sayyestoheav3nn @kianaleani @sxvual @vebner37 @sexyblacksimper

@dopematicdiamondz @behavior619 @annfg8 @ayeeeitsmiracle @ariiaellbtheedonn

@romanreignsluver1 @ashykneee @fame-ass-ers @baybehkay @queenofklonnie22

@blackchickinthedesert @thekittysmeow @faialii @sassginaswanmills @keenagurl

@tribalchief2112 @emotionalhottiee

[pitchsidestories]

Good girl gone bad II Ingrid Engen x Mapi León x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1886

a/n: hi, it's based off this request here, enjoy.

warnings: minors dni, 18+, smut at the end, toxic behaviour from OC, jealousy, please don't take this too seriously !

“Ingrid, you played fantastic!”, Mapi waved enthusiastically her little flag, before she jumped into the open arm of hers and your Norwegian girlfriend.

“Oh, thanks.”, the tall woman’s face lit up at the Spanish defender’s compliment.

“Seriously, you filled out the defensive role so perfectly,  I couldn’t have done a better job.”, the smaller player couldn’t stop gushing about her lover’s great performance.

“Just wait until you can play again.”, Ingrid muttered cheerfully.

“Not that long anymore.”, Mapi answered giddily.

“I’ll miss you and your little flag though.”, the younger footballer admitted.

“To be honest, I’ll miss that too.”, she agreed wistfully.

“ I know but there’s no better feeling than playing.”,  Ingrid mumbled, her teammates still running around with the CL trophy in her hand, taking pictures in between the celebratory moves.

The defender who has followed her girlfriends gaze added grinning:”Playing and winning.”

“Exactly.”

From the sidelines you’ve followed their conversation, you were hurt about the fact that you weren’t a part of it as it usually was you three together and not as a pair like in this particular moment.

With every fibre of your being, you felt like the other woman who wasn’t in this relationship even though you were up until now.  The loneliness crept under your skin; jealousy clung to your heart and wouldn’t let you go until Alexia started talking to you.

“Don’t let your head down, beautiful. After all we won.”, she reminded you, while pulling you into a encouraging hug.

“Um, what?”, you gave the midfielder a quizzing look, her words haven’t reached you as you’ve been too busy to listen to your girlfriends’ sweet nothings which didn’t include you in them.

“I can tell you’re disappointed.”, Alexia stated earnestly.

“I didn’t play much tonight, so it’s not really my win, Ale.”, you told her miserably. You hated that tone in your voice. Where was your confident self?

“We’re all in this situation at one point. Someone is always on the bench. But we always win as a team.”, the blonde tried to cheer you up.

“Right.”, you said even though you turned away when you saw your girlfriends were kissing ignoring everything around them as if they were in a movie in which they played the leading roles, while the rest of you were the supporting actresses to help the lovers get to their happy ending.

“Oh, hey, babe. We’re going to the party later. You’re coming too, right?”, Ingrid asked you later in the changing room, finally realizing you were still there after all.

“Yes, of course.“, you nodded.

Ingrids gaze went back to Mapi as she smiled: “Great, I’ll go shower.“

“Me too.“, you said, walking past both of your girlfriends into the showers that were adjacent to the dressing room.

You had hoped that the steaming hot water would clear your mind but the calmness that usually came with a warm shower never set in.

Instead, the pictures of what happened after the game kept repeating in your head. You were never the jealous type, you could not be jealous in a relationship like yours. But you also knew that you deserved better than to be ignored by your girlfriends, so you came up with a plan.

For the party, you decided to slip into a a pair of suit pants and a button-down vest with nothing underneath, drawing attention to your arms and chest with your outfit choice. You curled the ends of your hair and put on some make-up. You looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your looks.

“Are you two ready to go?“, Mapi asked impatiently, looking effortlessly cool as usual.

Ingrid appeared next to her, wearing a tight dress and radiating ethereal beauty: “Yes, we’re ready, love.“

Mapi nodded towards the door: “Let’s go then, babe.“

You reluctantly followed them, already disappointed that none of them had commented on your outfit. You were not exactly pouting on your way to the party but you also refused to talk much.

Arriving at the location, your two girlfriends retreated to a table in the corner with their drinks. They were lost in each others eyes. You were sure they noticed nothing of what happened around them.

As you were nursing your drink at the bar, Alexia appeared on your side: “What are you thinking about?“

“Me?“ You looked at her in surprise.

“Yes.“

You first inclination was to tell her that you felt like your girlfriends did not need you in their lives but instead, you swallowed down the thought and forced yourself to smile: “They’re playing Rosalia. Want to dance, Ale?“

The captain looked at your for a second before giving in: “Only because you look so unhappy.“

“Dancing always helps with that…“, you promised.

“Come on then.“ Alexia reached out her hand and pulled you towards the dance floor.

You immediately fell into an easy rhythm with her. You deliberately pushed close to her during your dance and she let you.

On the other side of the room, Ingrid tapped Mapis arm frantically: “Mapi!“

“Yes?“, the defender could barely tear her eyes from her Norwegian girlfriend.

“Look!“

Only then did she look over in your direction, her eyebrows knitting together: “Y/n is dancing with Ale?“

“Looks like it…“, Ingrid whispered.

“That’s not her usual good girl behaviour.”, the Mapi observed through gritted teeth. Sawing you dance with one of her best friends in the way you did, so intimately and sexy was driving the older woman insane.

“No, it’s not.”, the Norwegian player nodded, she wasn’t able to take her eyes from you and your team’s captain.

“We’ll see and give her a little time to redeem herself otherwise if she keeps behaving naughty like that over the night we’ll take actions.”, the older woman thought out loud.

“Take actions`”, Ingrid looked startled at the smaller footballer.

“Y/n is needy and bratty in front of everyone, so we’ll punish her at home.”, she explained seriously.

“Punish her?”, shock was written all over the younger woman’s pretty face.

“Yes.”

Meanwhile, Ona tipped your shoulder making you turn around to her to look into her eyes, which glanced concerned back at you:” Can I take over?”

“Sure.”, you agreed enthusiastically to her offer, feeling the alcohol more than you wanted to admit. After a dance with you Alexia had returned to her girlfriend to engage into a passionate conversation which involved mostly kisses.

“You’re in a party mood. How many drinks did you have?”, the defender asked you, damn her, she really did notice everything.

“Uhm maybe two.”, you replied, your cheeks immediately turning red.

“Two?”, Ona raised an eyebrow at you. Her voice was full of scepticism.

“Don’t worry about it, Oni.”, you answered with a charming smile on your lips.

“I don’t.”, she quickly reassured you.

“Good.” But you realized your teammate’s her hands were still on your upper arms contradicting what she just said.

“Something’s up with you.”, Ona stated firmly.

“Let’s just dance, please.”, you shook your head heavily.

With a sigh the defender said:” Alright.”

“Thank you.”, you mumbled relieved, that the questioning was over for now. Sweet, innocent Ona was the last person you wanted to trouble with your worries.

“You’re welcome.”

The mix of alcohol and changing teammates made you forget that time was passing by. You were confused when you found the home you shared with your girlfriends was already dark without any lights on.

Nonetheless, you let them know that you arrived:” Hi, I’m home.” A familiar shadow was pressing on to your legs, being clearly happy about your return.  

“And hello Bagheera.”, you added, as you stroke the cat softly who purred loudly to your touches.

“About time.”, Mapi announced sounding very displeased, you shrieked as she appeared from the darkness, her moves scarily similar to Bagheera. Elegant but lurking, why you didn’t understand. Maybe your behaviour had worked out?

“Mapi, Ingrid, here you’re. but why didn’t you turn the lights on?”, you questioned them irritated.

“We were about to go to bed.”, Ingrid responded calmly.

“Great, me too. I’ll just go to the bathroom quick.”, you sighed.

Mapi raised an eyebrow and said cooly: “You have two minutes.“

“What?“ Confused, you opened the bathroom door. Whatever that was supposed to mean, you were now determined to take your time.

“Go.“, Mapi ordered.

You rolled your eyes, disappearing into the bathroom. You only heard Ingrid say: “Good girl.“

You sat down on the toilet and took out your phone, scrolling through pictures of tonight. Only then, you slipped out of your nice suit and left the bathroom in only your underwear.

Ready to go to sleep, you were about to go into your shared bedroom but Mapi blocked your way.

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest: “What did you think you were doing all night?“

“Partying?“, you replied, playing dumb and trying to move past your girlfriend.

“Dancing with Alexia and Ona? You might as well have given them a lap dance.“, Mapi scolded you.

Ingrid appeared next to her, eyeing you closely before turning to the Spanish defender and mumbling seductively: “Our good girl’s gone bad tonight…“

You shot Ingrid a deadly glance: “You think you’re funny? You ignored me all night. I was just having fun.“

“We saw everything.“, Mapi said, her jaw set.

“I’m sure you did, the way you stared at each other all night.“, you rolled your eyes.

“Y/n.“, Ingrid said softly, while Mapi shook her head: “Don’t distract.“

“I don’t!“, you exploded.

Mapi continued: “You were trying to make us jealous all night.“

Ingrid nodded: “Exactly.“

Before you could protest, Mapis hands were on your body and pulled you towards the bed: “Now come here.“

You could feel your back hit the mattress. Your girlfriends climbed onto the bed as well, one on either side of you.

You had no idea what happened but suddenly, Ingrids mouth was on your neck and sucked on the sensitive skin. She slipped a slender hand over your mouth right as you wanted to start to complain. Mapis hands in the meantime rested on your hips.

You were too focused on Ingrids kisses to realize that your Spanish girlfriend had started to pull your panties down with her teeth. Only when she dipped her tongue in, you started to moan into Ingrids hand. She already knew how she had to move her tongue just right.

While Mapi was busy stimulating you, Ingrids mouth wandered across your upper body. Kissing and licking her way towards your breasts. She circled your nipples with her tongue before starting to suck on them. You squirmed under her touch.

Mapi had switched from licking to using her fingers and you could not contain yourself any longer.

Impatiently, you removed Ingrids hand from your mouth. “Stop!“, you whined.

You could see Mapis lips turn into a smirk: “Say please.“

“Please stop.“, you begged impatiently.

And then you finally climaxed, a firework bursting in every part of your body. You moaned.

Mapi rested her head on your stomach as she watched you breath heavily.

Ingrid pressed a kiss to your forehead: “Good girl.“

You knew that this was supposed to be a punishment but right here on the bed, you finally felt seen by your girlfriends again.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter One - The Perfect Gift

Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.

~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.

"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."

"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."

"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."

"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."

Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"

Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"

"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."

"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."

Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."

"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."

"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."

You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.

It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.

“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”

You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”

“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”

You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”

“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”

Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.

As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.

The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.

You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.

Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.

There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”

You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.

“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”

Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.

You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.

You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”

So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.

“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”

He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.

Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”

You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.

And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.

The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.

You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?

Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”

“You drugged me,” you accuse.

“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”

“I like my apartment,” you protest.

“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.

You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.

He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”

They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”

“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”

“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.

“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”

“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.

“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.

You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”

“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”

The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”

“Terrified,” you admit.

He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”

You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.

“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.

Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.

He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”

“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.

“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”

“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”

He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”

You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.

As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.

He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.

Or worse, to play with.

You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.

Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”

So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.

“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”

“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”

“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”

“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”

I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune