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bonefall · 1 day

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how much of Stormpaw’s demon are Maple’s curse vs just things that happen (cause in canon it’s really vague about whether Maple causes all those tragedies or has the ability to see his future for some reason)

EVERYTHING that happens in Stormpaw's Demon involves her. It's not being so dramatically renamed for nothing, she's a major driver and cause of the plot! Crookedstar's young name is in the title; but really, his demon is driving the misfortune.

That said... It's been a while and I'm heavily considering retooling the narrative.

Since I last REALLY worked on it, BB has changed in the sense that I'm a lot more willing to alter canon than I used to be. While my driving mindset used to be "telling a better version of the original story," and that IS a value I still hold... I've lost patience with the misogyny within the original work.

I've spoken at length about the way Crookedstar's Promise grinds my gears (PLEASE follow this link for a full breakdown of why), but in summary; it desperately tries to keep every male character likeable when they shouldn't be, saying nothing about the fact they are complicit in or even enabling abuse, while giving Crookedstar TWO flatly evil maternal figures. Even Brambleberry, who's heavily praised for being "like a mom instead," has a weird moment where she starts giving Crookedjaw the cold shoulder because she finds out he's chatting with a demon.

So like... I'm not sure if I want to make the "better version" of that story. That was the one that I already had, which had Mapleshade be acting entirely out of just the malice of wanting to hurt a child, while Hailstar and Shellheart are the excellent people canon wanted to see them as.

(not that it's even a BAD super edition, it's actually a really good one, but if it's my kitchen that's not what we cook here. Man I really do always massively overhaul my favorite SEs LMAO)

I think, specifically, I want to make Mapleshade slightly more morally gray and Hailstar more of an enabler. Shellheart is getting significantly retooled to make him more of the heartwarming parental figure I think he should be; someone loving to help balance out a very heavy rework.

And of course Brambleberry, I'm going to tweak her some. Try to make her flaws more consistent, get rid of that odd cold shoulder moment.

Old regulars will remember an old AU which is also still a massive favorite of mine; it was called Better Call Mapleshade, and it was kind of a commentary on how an environment can shape a person. Mapleshade, as a demon in heaven, was essentially their best prosecutor and defense attorney.

You can actually see how a lot of ideas from that AU ended up in Better Bones with the expanded trial system! I'm thinking of taking another page out of it, by making Mapleshade more aware of "the game" of Clan culture's structural unfairness, while also using it like a weapon against people she wants to hurt. A powerful demon of revenge.

Under the cut, what won't be changing, the way it was, and Draft 2 of Stormpaw's Demon.

(MASSIVE CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL CHILD ABUSE including ableism. BB!Rainflower is WORSE than canon.)

WHAT WON'T BE CHANGING;

These are major details of Stormpaw's Demon that are different from canon. I'm working with these as givens and won't be changing between drafts.

Mapleshade does have a bone to pick with Appledusk's lineage specifically. One option might make her more discerning when it comes to her targets, but no matter what, she is going to have her eyes on this bloodline. She Haunts Applekin.

Rainflower is Hailstar's deputy. And I will make her downfall spectacular. If you were worried I was going to make her more sympathetic then you have no idea who I am LMAO

Shellheart is not Crookedstar's biofather While I want Hailstar to maybe be worse; I do want to fix Shellheart by making him a good parent. I've decided a good way to do this is to make it that Shellheart adopts Storm AFTER he's been abused by Rainflower. He didn't have authority over him before then. In general, I do want him to have a bigger positive role in this narrative. DEPENDING ON WHICH VERSION: Oakheart might also not be his bio-brother.

Crookedjaw is not a cruel name; it's an Honor Title. I've ALWAYS been frustrated by how canon treats scars and injuries as bad things. It's a BATTLE culture. Surviving brushes with death is their WHOLE THING. There is no "crookedkit" or "crookedpaw," he was Stormpaw until he earned his warrior name, with "Crookedjaw" commending the massive lengths he's gone to in order to survive, adapt, and honor StarClan.

Mentor change: Goodbye Cedarpelt, hello Magpiesky! I decided to repurpose one of the Barn Cats! Magpie from the books is a daughter of Perchshine-- the cat who killed Mapleshade. She joined RiverClan long ago. She's actually the one who points him in the way of the barn, and has to train him "as a punishment for teaching him disobedience" when he comes back. I actually have a couple of minor reasons for making this change but I'll spare them for now. He might start with Cedarpelt, but then run to the barn when Cedarpelt is basically refusing to train him properly.

Some family tree shuffles I need to update this tree to show Crookedstar's new situation with Shellheart (and also reflect some other changes I made like confirming Hallowflight fully being Lizardtail's honor title and Robinpaw being the apprentice who gets eaten by Ripwater), BUT, overall this tree is solid.

The ableism Storm faces is going to have a different flavor I have built BB in a way where him surviving his injury would be very respected, but he'd get badly coddled and pushed into early retirement. Him running to the barn is because he suspects he wouldn't have gotten training otherwise.

He kills a fox there because it's Cool. I might give him the tail to wear as a trophy of the kill because that's also Cool. The fox was very old and feeble at that point, which was why it was attacking chickens, but shhh

The Way It Was (Very Evil Mapleshade)

Darkstar's Commandment creating the Queen's Rights, that no queen would ever have to reveal the other parent of their kittens, wasn't enough to appease Mapleshade.

Nor was the damning of everyone that Mapleshade killed. In a fit of irrational fury at all the death, StarClan sent all her victims into the Dark Forest.

But she can't chase them. In the Dark Forest, you don't see someone unless you WANT to see them, not unless you're hanging out in a "land mar" (a sort of personal hell that all demons get).

on the off-chance she does see them, Frecklewish usually rips her to shreds...

Which is the next problem.

You can't DIE in the Dark Forest if you're a demon. You poof back into existence the next day, no injuries, no scars, nothing.

she's bored.

And vengeful. In spite of the wrong being righted, she still thinks she deserves MORE revenge, because what she wanted was really Appledusk.

She finds it unfair that HER legacy is snuffed out, that it's Darkstar's Commandment and not hers, that her babies were destined for greatness and by extension SHE should have been great.

So she takes up a hobby in tormenting Appledusk's descendants. She wants to eradicate them completely, but is spiteful enough that she'll just settle with hurting them.

The first one she managed to kill was Applefrost, Reedshine's son. Just by accident. She didn't know she had such power over the mortal plane.

After that, she managed to drown Duskwater. The daughter.

But she couldn't wipe out HER daughter in that storm... and she brought two more Applekin children into the world.

Stormkit and Oakkit.

So, naturally, Mapleshade turned her sight on the little fuzzball.

He would be an easy kill, in theory. She smashed Stormkit's jaw on the rock, but Oakkit pulled him out.

From there, it's similar to canon for a bit. His recovery is long and painful.

Rainflower is disgusted, and wants absolutely no part of helping him through this process.

That wasn't an injury gained in battle-- it's because he's careless and didn't listen to her. He's going through all this suffering, and for what?

To never become a warrior?

She's cruel to him, begins to neglect and distance herself from him. Discourages him from suckling.

Mapleshade LOVES this. It's worse than she could have imagined. Rainflower is horrible.

Gleefully, she realizes that Stormkit dying now is what Rainflower wants.

So, she kills two other kits in the nursery.

Fallowtail's only survivor is Willowkit, so she has plenty of milk. She starts suckling Stormkit.

(Graypool is now an older sibling! She's actually an apprentice at this time! Later, she encourages Willowkit to visit their father, who decides to just kidnap them completely)

Eventually, being the deputy, Rainflower had some kind of conversation with Hailstar.

During that conversation, she asked him to do something very cruel to Crookedkit.

And Hailstar LOST IT

He's the successor of Volestar, who was appointed by Darkstar herself to uphold the Queen's Rights and protect children.

How DARE you try to turn RiverClan into a place of disrespect?? To use my power this way?!

So, her power was stripped, and Oakkit and Stormkit were taken from her.

From there, Storm eventually goes to the barn as discussed, and Mapleshade continues to do things to hurt him.

This was my first draft, and now having thought about it a lot, I feel like it's not super cohesive. A demonic Mapleshade who's entirely malicious is neat, but I feel like this makes her flat. Shellheart's not tied in super well either, and Hailstar's stand feels kind of hollow because Rainflower hasn't actually used or leveraged the new authority I've given her.

But most egregiously? Rainflower's abuse being so close to canon tastes kind of bland. I feel like I can make it sooo much more intense, complicated, and painful.

Draft 2 of Stormpaw's Demon (Demon of Revenge Update) Essentially an outline for the first few chapters establishing Mapleshade by dealing with Rainflower and then fragments for the rest.

Mapleshade's still malicious, but this time, there's more to it.

Darkstar's Commandment, and the damning of her victims, DID appease this Mapleshade.

But is she satisfied? No.

She doesn't feel like she was wrong at all, actually. Without her killing those three in revenge for her kittens, StarClan's anger probably would have subsided.

She can't hunt her victims down again though, because, they don't want to see her. She fights Frecklewish every now and then but what's the point?

She WON already. She already GOT the euphoria of dragging them all down with her.

Punishing everyone who had ever wronged her was the highlight of her existence... but now it's done.

She's in Hell and she's bored. Her punishment is never seeing her kits again, but more importantly, her punishment is eternal shuffling through the leaf litter when she's SO GOOD at getting revenge.

Problem with revenge is, when you get it, it's gone.

She probably messed with Duskwater and Applefrost a bit, but if she killed one of them, it was accidental. It made her realize that revenge without a motive is just boring.

The prologue would probably open up with establishing her as a character. Who she is, what she wants.

Because the first chapter would dive RIGHT IN to Stormkit. The only child of Rainflower, the deputy.

Right along with Stormkit, you only learn in hindsight that he was born in a storm that killed his grandmother. It's clear that Rainflower reminds him of this often.

And that she's nasty to him. Giving him unclear instruction and finding things to critique, telling him to jump and then barking at him that he didn't ask how high.

She has great expectations for him, and reminds him of their family lineage often. Of who killed his great-grandfather, of what a fantastic pair of warriors Applefrost and Duskwater were

"I lost everything the night you were born. You'd better be able to make up for it."

Unfortunately, Stormkit is not the sort of child who's good at listening to those sorts of orders. He's stubborn and defiant; angry and oppositional.

When he doesn't understand why you do something, he doesn't want to do it

He "embarrasses" her a lot, and gets hurt for it.

In public, these are swats and whacks. The things you're "allowed" to do to discipline your child. In private these are a lot more severe.

So when Stormkit is given an order or a command, he obeys completely out of fear rather than respect. And sometimes he forgets his fear.

The other cats in RiverClan? Well... Stormkit is a problem child, and Rainflower is a fantastic, organized, respected deputy.

Hailstar especially, unfortunately. He feels bad... for Rainflower.

"It must be so hard for her to have such a little brat as a son. He never seems to learn his lesson. When will he stop wandering off? What's wrong with him? He certainly didn't get that from her."

His best friend, Oakkit, gets in the SAME trouble he does.

He's mischievous, fearless, and outgoing, and... never gets punished for it.

There's times where Oakkit does something and Stormkit physically recoils, just imagining what Rainflower would do if HE did something like that. Especially in how Oakkit talks to his dad, Shellheart.

For example, Shellheart will come to get his son for suckling time and Oakkit will tell him to his face things like, "I don't want to! I'm HAVING FUN!"

and shellheart doesn't flip out. He just. explains why it's important to eat on time.

"I know. But Fallowtail wants to go have fun too! She's waiting for you to come and suckle so she can go play."

"Well why can't she just play now and I suckle later?"

"When a suckler is full of milk, it makes their belly very itchy. She's uncomfortable when you don't come and eat on time."

"nnnh"

"Tough sell? How about I sweeten the pile with a badger ride back?"

"Hm. You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Dad."

Stormkit doesn't know why he hates it. He's all angry inside when he sees them acting friendly. He's polite because Oakkit's his best friend and Mr. Shellheart is really nice, but he just...

He's too young at the time to know he's envious. He wants what Oakkit has so badly it hurts.

Sometime after an exchange like that, Stormkit is visited by Mapleshade for the first time.

And they talk about Stormkit's anger and resentment. Stormkit lets it slip that he HATES his Mi.

Waits for Mapleshade to stop him and tell him, like everyone else does, that "she's still your mother."

...but she doesn't.

Besides Oakkit and Shellheart, she's the first person who doesn't tell him that.

She just lets him talk. Lets him go on. Starts making nasty jabs, which make him laugh.

"She says she lost everything the day I was born!!"

"What?! That's crazy! She got you that day!"

"Right?! It's like she's saying I'm nothing! Maybe she SHOULD lose everything, then she'd know what she's got!"

And then she asks, "Do you want her to die?"

Suddenly, there's a chill in the air. He's really shocked by the suggestion of that. He didn't... he didn't mean it to go THAT far. That's not what he meant... is it?

But she's fading back into the shadows, just her eyes visible in the dark. Tells him that she can see he's unsure. That's ok.

Holds up a budding sprig of sycamore, the maple she's named for. Its buds grow in a "deer hoof," with one large bud in the middle and two "toes" sprouting on its sides.

Teaches him that if he needs someone in his corner, all he has to do is call.

(to summon her, a bud is plucked off the sprig and thrown in the river.)

He wakes up with the sprig in his paw, panics, and shoves it under the nest he shares with his mother.

The experience shakes him. He probably ran to Brambleberry for the first time, who explains very seriously that he was contacted by a demon.

From the description... Mapleshade. The cat who killed his great-grandfather.

He BEGS her not to tell Rainflower. PLEADS with her. He can barely hear her already saying yes under the throbbing sound of his heart in his ears.

When he calms down, he hears her saying yes. On the condition she will need to smoke the nursery with sage and cedar, and that he will be needing a bath as well.

When he's still concerned that Rainflower will question him, she makes a plan to distract her for a day, long enough for him to do his cleanse and the smell to fade.

And, of course, that he will not follow any instructions that Mapleshade left him. He agrees. But does not tell Brambleberry about the sprig.

For a while he's very "well behaved." But it's not about him, never has been.

It really doesn't take long at all for Rainflower to get worse. Kids who are defiant like that are usually exercising a defense mechanism-- if they're not aggressive about their boundaries, their limits are pushed to a breaking point.

And after a big blowout like this, which was probably a public spectacle, Stormkit runs back to his nest and digs out the sprig, runs to the river, and throws a bud in the river.

Having calmed down from his shuddering fury, the dread begins to set in as a dead-smelling wind ruffles his fur. He can't help but feel like he just did something very stupid out of anger.

Looking at his reflection, he sees no cuts or swelling. The blows weren't "bad enough." He doesn't have the kind of injuries that anyone would do anything about. Equal parts guilt and frustration swell in him like a tide at full moon. How could he be sitting here wishing she hurt him worse?

So he tries to soften it, "I don't want her to die, I just, I... I just want her to lose everything like she says. Please..."

The wind whispers in his ear, "it will get worse before it gets better."

"I can handle that," he sobs, "I can do anything. Please. Make it stop."

After that, Oakkit probably runs to come find him. Stormkit doesn't want to be found. He makes up a childish plan, on the spot, to run away and join ThunderClan.

Oak says that's mousebrained, but Storm has DEVOTED himself to this plan he made just now.

And is crossing the stones.

Oak sighs, but if Storm's going to ThunderClan, he should really go with him because then they could totally fight off a small fox (Childish hubris)

Unfortunately, Rainflower found them. asks Exactly What He's Doing.

The kids freeze. Stormkit in particular has that horrible, twisting anxiety that you get when you hear The Tone that means you're in for an absolute wallop when you get home.

He's about to start running, but then the voice tickles his ear-fur again. Mapleshade tells him to go back. It'll be ok. She's on his side. She'll make her pay.

Oakkit is still frozen in place when, as if possessed, Storm's body stiffly returns to his mother.

There's a silence. The river trickling through the stepping stones. Storm looking with fear and anger up at her.

She's waiting for an apology, groveling. He doesn't give her one.

So she raises her paw and gives him an awful, hard blow.

His little body twists, flung off balance, trying to correct himself, and he can swear he felt paws pushing him a second time, whipping him downwards.

The feeling of falling fills his stomach, the water sloshes into his ears before there's a ring of a sound like CLUNK-CRUNCH, and then the river floods his nose and mouth.

It all goes dark.

When he wakes up, it's with a throbbing pain in the side of his jaw so intense that he can feel it all the way down in the tip of his tail. He learns from Brambleberry that Oakkit rescued him-- jumped right into the water to pull him out. And then Rainflower pulled him out. That was when Shellheart came and found them.

There's a LOT of arguing outside, but Storm can't ask what it is because it hurts to move his mouth at all. Brambleberry hushes and soothes him, telling him it's nothing he needs to know about.

(MEDICAL INFODUMPING: i do actually have a medical reason I want his injury to come from someone hitting him which causes him to fall. The injury he'd get in canon would actually be a really simple and common split in the front of the mandible, which wouldn't cause his mouth to have a dramatic twist and would heal very easily. He needs to come down on the rock at an angle to shatter the joint like that.)

From here, the tune about Stormkit starts to change.

Oakkit was distraught when they got back, telling everyone that Rainflower smashed him against a rock.

Rainflower's story is that he was running, and she chased after him. EVERYONE knows that he has a habit of doing this.

Then HE slipped and fell and hit his face on the rocks. His fault.

Oakkit was running away with him, he's lying.

Shellheart is FEROCIOUSLY taking the side of his son, furious that she would imply he raised a liar.

Hailstar is taking the side of Rainflower. It's two troublemaking kits against his deputy.

Yes, Rainflower's disciplined him before, but that's no indication she'd do something like this on purpose.

Brambleberry weighs in that the injury that Stormkit has isn't the sort of injury a kitten gets from hitting his jaw. The bone is shattered.

probably does some kind of visual to go along with it, using a stick and a stone

"The bones of a kitten are like the young shoots of a tree. When they fracture," she takes a young twig and snaps it in her paws. The fibers in the center are bent but unbroken, with the bark splintered around them, "they flay but don't snap."

She places the stick on the ground, "So for the injury that Stormkit has," and violently smashes the rock down onto it. It's shattered and pulped, the fibers flattened, "there would need to be a great force."

Shellheart hisses, saying that THIS is the evidence. Oakkit's story is consistent but Rainflower HAS to have lied.

Several cats are now on his side.

...But more are on Rainflower's.

"She's his mother. She loves him. Oakkit has to be mistaken."

"Why would she chase down her own son just to smash his face on a stone?"

"She wouldn't pull them out of the river if she really wanted to hurt him!"

Hailstar prompts if there's ANYTHING else that could explain this?

It comes up that Brambleberry cleansed the dens the other day.

She says that it's possible there is a demon's influence at work. She can't know for sure which one it is-- but it may have a grudge against Rainflower.

She allows them to reach the conclusion that it's probably Mapleshade on their own. She will be talking to Crookedkit when he's able, but she's not about to tell anyone about his dream yet.

She doesn't want him to have the extra scrutiny when he needs to rest and heal, but if she'd shared that an unnamed cat had a demonic dream, it would set off panic as cats accused each other of dark magic.

Rainflower manages to escape consequences by pointing out that it was likely Mapleshade that injured her son.

Oakkit is still trying to tell everyone SHE did it, he SAW it, Stormkit walked back and she hit him and smashed his jaw on the rock

But he's hushed. It's decided there's not enough evidence. And not enough reason to doubt the noble deputy.

She's never done something like this before, after all. It's more likely it was an accident.

There is a group of cats that are dissatisfied about this, though, and it only grows when Brambleberry explains that Stormkit's prognosis is not good.

There is a very high chance he will die. Even adult warriors can wither slowly from this sort of injury.

Recovery will be slow and it will be painful.

...but after that incident? Rainflower gets bolder. She got away with it in public. She got a taste of the leverage she has, how much they trust her.

Stormkit spends a lot of time floating in between his dreams and his living-world pain. There's at least one interaction where he speaks to Mapleshade, screaming at her that he TRUSTED her, he KNOWS she's the one who hurt him! How could she?!

She can't say much, kept at bay by a hazy smokescreen of sage. "You must live! You must survive!"

Her old words echo in his head; It Will Get Worse Before It Gets Better.

Throughout the recovery, Rainflower grows more cruel and more distant.

In public she likes to talk about how difficult this is for her, but he's strong, he will survive.

In private, she'll do things that hurt him, like repositioning his head in a way that "his jaw will heal better in." When he cries, she's unsympathetic.

"You brought this on yourself. This is for your own good."

Her definition of "private" is also changing. She's getting more comfortable with snapping at him in front of limited groups of people.

Since she's deputy, the other two parents in the nursery, Shellheart and Fallowtail, do their best to care for Stormkit while she's away. He's pulled away from them when she gets back, any ideas or suggestions they have vetoed.

When they try to go to Brambleberry about this, she shakes her head with frustration and tries to make them understand she knows... and she's just as unhappy with it as they are.

She tells them she keeps going to Hailstar, but he's still hesitant. Even though she's trying to tell him that Stormkit's recovery is being undermined.

"Rainflower's son has always needed tough love. She's his Mi and knows him best... she's still taking care of him. Give her a warning before suggesting anything drastic."

In the other draft, I had Mapleshade kill two of Fallowtail's kits to free up milk for Stormkit. I'm not sure I need that anymore honestly, plus, this rework's heavy enough! She can just have Willowkit without any deaths, while Graypaw remains an older sibling.

When Brambleberry informs Rainflower and Stormkit that the jaw isn't healing straight and it will probably be at an angle forever, Rainflower reacts with disdain.

"His first scar and it's nothing he earned?!"

She's reminded he might not even survive. He's lost weight. He's eating less. Stormkit curls up quietly. He hates how they talk about him like he can't hear them.

"Surviving is the bare minimum," she scoffs reflexively. There's a silence so thick you can cut it with a claw. After an uncomfortable heartbeat, she continues, "What kind of a life will he live if he-"

"a life," Brambleberry cuts in, "he'd live a life. And it can be a good one"

Rainflower growls, spitting that the twisted jaw is a disfigurement. He'll never be able to open his mouth all the way. He can't chew and he can't suckle forever. Stormkit will never become a warrior if he can't even dispatch a fish with a killing bite.

"Scars are the sign that StarClan has mended our bodies after fighting a good fight, making any Clanborn cat worthy of being an elder" Brambleberry preaches, "Names are what mark us, calling upon our ancestors to look down at us and witness our actions, Rainflower. Don't say anything you wouldn't want them to see."

Rainflower flicks her ear, seething, a rumble in her throat, "was that some kind of threat? As if I've said something wrong?"

"If you feel threatened, look within."

Stormkit resents all of this talk. He can feel his mother tensing up next to him, hears the low rumble progressing into a growl. When adults play stupid games with his mom, he's always the one who ends up dealing it. Why don't they get that?

It's only Shellheart who seems to have it click, "Hey, this is the nursery. Can you take it outside, please?"

As Brambleberry and Rainflower leave, Stormkit lays curled up in his nest, cold and alone. Oakkit leaves Shellheart's paws to curl up around his best friend.

Shellheart stares at them, shifting, but ultimately stays where he is.

There's a lot of words I could write there, between Storm and Oak. Ones where Storm speaks about how he just wants the pain to be done with. Others where Oak comforts him, tells him how much he means to him. More where they end up running into the wall that they're just two little kids and they've both learned the truth that they have no control over what happens when Rainflower comes back into that den.

But I think it would be good to end there, at the lowest point. Because it gets better.

Pissed off by being gently confronted, after her warning from Brambleberry, this is the moment where Rainflower goes too far.

Hailstar is gradually losing his patience. Every time this issue comes up, he's making some kind of new excuse for her.

She's still a competent deputy who holds the Clan together, but this has taken a toll on her reputation.

Her biggest mistake was becoming more open with her abuse after being emboldened. And I think Hailstar is beginning to feel like he's got "egg on his face."

After standing up for Rainflower several times, getting heat from Brambleberry, and now the Clan also starting to murmur...

It's getting very difficult to justify why he's sticking his neck out.

and maybe, part of him is starting to feel a little self-conscious about the way that his deputy is acting about her injured child.

When she comes storming up on this fateful day, interrupting whatever he was doing to make a proposition, it's the breaking point.

Her suggestion: "I've realized that there's only one way to ensure my son survives his injury. He's being haunted by our demon, which only started threatening him when he disobeyed me for the last time. WE need to teach him a lesson, and make sure StarClan gazes down upon him to acknowledge his mistakes."

"...how do you intend to do that?"

"Stormkit must be given a Dishonor Title."

A Dishonor Title, one of the greatest shames that a leader can put onto one of their warriors. A punishment that ranks just below exile in terms of severity.

"you want to put a dishonor title... on your child? one with a life-threatening injury?"

"One that acknowledges his carelessness. To protect him from the demon."

Protect him from the demon. "I see now what must be done."

Previously, I'd thought of Hailstar as someone who would be loud and merciless when he does this. Now I'm thinking it was something he put a lot of thought into. He stands up, brushes past her, and goes to talk to some of his most trusted cats. Brambleberry, his mate Echomist, an experienced warrior such as Piketooth or Ottersplash, and lastly, Shellheart.

So it's not a surprise to anyone but Rainflower herself. He doesn't want this to be dramatic. He doesn't want it to be another big scene. Stormkit has gone through enough.

When he eventually has this Clan meeting, he calls it quietly. In his address to the gathered cats, a crowd that Shellheart and his family are missing from at his request, he says that his greatest regret is that he didn't do this sooner. He even doubts that Mapleshade is haunting her at all-- now having seen her behavior, he says it's more likely that Rainflower bashed her own child against a rock and simply lied.

First, he announces that Stormkit will be removed from her care. He will no longer be of the Applekin bloodline.

She is banned from the nursery at the request of Fallowtail, and will only see Stormkit when supervised by his new Mi, Shellheart.

Brambleberry has already agreed to this necessity, and is performing a ritual so that StarClan may approve of this choice.

He also strips her of her deputyship, and appoints Ottersplash instead. (I might change this to a different deputy eventually)

Not everyone agrees with Hailstar. There's an uproar from Rainflower's supporters.

She was a VERY popular deputy.

More that are just uneasy, feeling that this was a BRUTAL punishment that she didn't deserve.

Lots are happy and optimistic, though. But the mixed reception is exactly why Hailstar asked Shellheart not to be here.

This isn't something Stormkit has to deal with right now.

When Darkstar herself, who created the Queen's Rights, was on her last life, she appointed Volestar to uphold the law as her legacy knowing that Oakstar might try to break it again.

Volestar appointed Hailstar, in the hopes that he would uphold her legacy in turn, to protect kittens and those who can't protect themselves.

He was late, and can only hope he was not too late. He hopes that Volestar can forgive him for that.

Meanwhile in the nursery, Shellheart, Oakkit, and Stormkit are alone, far in the back, where the padded moss keeps out arguing voices.

Oakkit, bless his little heart, is babbling with excitement because his best friend is his BROTHER now. And it's gonna be THE BEST.

He's talking about how it's fine he can't chew because now they can have soup, and they're going to make the nest bigger, and they can stay up later because they can whisper quieter if they're this close together

But Storm doesn't really hear him. His head's swimming, thinking about the dull ache in his jaw, how MAD his mom's going to be because he can't imagine her not finding a way to hurt him, how this is all his fault because he called Mapleshade.

He can't stop it anymore and starts sniffling, which turns into weeping. Still, he's TRYING not to bawl, knowing, knowing he looks stupid when he does that

Shellheart just pulls him in close, so he can bury his face in his fluffy chest. Tells him it's going to be ok. He's safe now. No one can hurt him there.

Not on his watch.

Unfortunately, it's not the last he sees of Mapleshade. After this...

Mapleshade shows him everything she did for him. Yes, she did smash his jaw-- but it was to get him away from his mother.

And she planted an idea here and there, just little whispers into Rainflower's ear. Nothing she wouldn't do all on her own.

And now... Mapleshade believes she's earned some respect.

Stormkit can't disagree... she did exactly what she told him she'd do.

And now that he's not Applekin anymore, they can be Real Friends. They could even strike up a partnership, of sorts. After all, what did StarClan do to help him?

It wasn't StarClan that answered his prayers.

I'm still figuring out what, exactly, she's going to want from him. I have a scintilla that she wants to give him a life, maybe as some kind of bridge to StarClan to see her kits?

Some strange "attempt" at redemption, perhaps? Which she ultimately doesn't get.

Not that she didn't enjoy doing all that for love of the game, mind you. She's very good at getting revenge and it's fun and exciting to pull it off.

But hey, if you're good at something, never do it for free.

What causes Mapleshade to ultimately turn, and begin haunting the bloodline again + Oakheart, is Crookedstar rejecting her in some way.

She comes to collect on her end of the bargain and he refuses, breaking their partnership. He chooses StarClan.

And then from there, it's ON again. Now she has another EXCUSE to do what she wanted to do, and take out her boredom and malice on his family.

This time, it includes Oakheart as well-- because he was Crookedstar's brother.

It was also her curse that harmed Willowbreeze and eventually Silverstream. She's on the warpath.

Maybe she actually helped make him leader on purpose. Like he explicitly asked so she helped him by making the squirrel omen, instead of just doing it for him unprompted. Still figuring it out.

Shortly after the scene where Stormkit cries, he needs to have a confrontation with Brambleberry about Mapleshade I think. She needs to explain why Dark Forest demons are seen as bad.

She's biased, of course, but it's not like she's TOTALLY wrong either. Cats like Mapleshade ARE vengeful, in ways many other spirits are not.

If you're curious, Crookedstar's dishonor title from Rainflower would have been something comparing him to a parasite and referencing his ""accident"" like Fleaskip or Midgefall.

The point she's trying to make with the Dishonor Title is that her son is an annoying bug who didn't listen, as well as subtly erase she fact she knocked him off that rock.

She wanted his name to say "everything that happened was my fault and my mom did nothing wrong"

Not that Hailstar got as far as even asking lmao

#better bones au #Stormpaw's Demon #BB!Crookedstar #BB!Shellheart #BB!Oakheart #BB!Mapleshade #BB!Rainflower #Cw child abuse #tw child abuse #cw physical abuse #tw physical abuse #cw emotional abuse #tw emotional abuse #Stormpaw's Demon Draft 2

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jocelynscrazyideas · 17 hours

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It’s your name! | Quinn Hughes x reader

Summary: Quinn hates his full name, and you’re the only one who calls him Quintin.

Warnings: swimming, biting, only fluff, language? Idrk sorry

💭: Jack or Nico? LMKK ITS SUMMER I HAVE TIKE TO WRITE NOWE🩷

Italics are memories/the past

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You need to stop calling me that!” Quinn laughs. He begs for me to come sit with him on the boat. Right now, im spending the night at the Michigan house with the Quinner.

Jack is still in Michigan, but I’m sure he’s been out and about. Luke is in Ohio, he’s been hanging out with the umich kids for the summer.

“Come! Please just sit with me! It’s weird if I’m on the boat and you’re sitting on the dock. The wood is probably rotting anyway.” Quinn whines, his freshly shaved chin wrinkles in enjoyment. He smiles so big to the point I see all of his teeth.

“Quintin!” I scream at Wuinn, he just recently finished the season off from the playoffs, he finalized his last words in interviews and press conferences. He’s living the life as an athlete.

“I can’t help it! They asked me what I was planning for the summer!” Brock and Petey asked Quinn what he was up to for the summer, they were planning a party for the season closer.

Quinn replied with, “oh you know. Y/n and I are gonna have some fun. Probably sleep around, go boating, eat out, and skate around, work on the game when it gets closer to October.” How stupid can Quinn get?

“Quintin!” I giggle out as Quinn pulls me into the boat. His hands on my waist as he picks my butt off the wooden planks that set the boat dock. He picks me up and sets me down on his lap. He sits up on the couch the sits on the big boat. I’m on his lap, legs crossed over his legs, my head resting in his arms.

Quinn holds my head like he’s watching his whole world pause and sing to him. He loves me, and I’m not saying it in a cocky way, but the way where I can feel the spark between him and I.

“So, when is my ring coming in?” I joke with him.

“What ring?! How- what?” Quinn astonished, he looks around. “What cameras are you loookung for?” I laugh out. My smile hits my ears, my teeth shimmer, my eyes shine out the sparking colors, beaming into his eyes. My love bends into his heart, his eyes, his smile, his hands, and his love for mine.

We’re intertwined. An invisible force is literally connecting us, we’re never going to be torn apart. To much stories have been written.

“Seriously! Quintin?” He whines. Quinn’s wet brown hair flicks everywhere. He just jumped out of the lake. He knows my irrational fears of fish and leeches. So I don’t always swim with him.

“Jump in with me. I’ll hold you up. I promise.” He locks his finger in with mine. He rubs my feet with his free hand. Kisses lie on my open stomach.

My bikini looks like a swimsuit, it’s there for the tan, the looks, the beauty.

Just kidding, I love to show Quinn the possibilities of night swimming.

“Baby! I’m sorry. But was I supposed to lie?”

“Snuggie!” I cry out. I call Quinn Snuggie because he loves and lives for snuggles.

I’m not mad. I’m just upset, I was really looking forward for the Canucks after party. I’m the WAG that everyone either hates or loves.

It looks like I’m never at the get togethers the WAGS have, which is a lie. I’m always there, just never on camera. Everyone either hates me because I’m with THE Quinn Hughes, but I’m happy, and he’s happy.

“You’re the only exception, I have never cared about going out with people, until I met you.”

“QUINTIN!” I yell. I wave my arms up. Quinn pulls me down into the cold refreshing water. He jumps in from the boat leaving me alone on the cold seating of the white boat.

I grab my digital camera. I take a video. It’s waterproof so when I get dragged in, I have proof that I’ve been taken.

“That’s not my name!” Quinn hold my hands down as he pins me up a wall. He bites down into my neck. “Say it one more time! I dare you!!” Quinn walks me over to our bed.

Quinn pulls me into the cold water. I feel the freezing temperature hit my veins. I breathe. It’s like needles pecking into my skin. It feels good?!

“Quinn! Seaweed!” My foot is tangled in some seaweed and I can’t get up. It’s pulling me down.

“Hold on.” Quinn dumps his head down. He swims to the bottom of the lake. Detabgling my foot, I record him from.

“Ow! QUINTIN!-“ he cuts me off, “I said one more time.” He barks at me. Quinn pushes me down into my back ontop of our wake and fkuffy bed.

“Quintin, jerome-“ I look up into his beautiful blue- grey eyes. They freeze me. “I got you!” Quinn tickles me and I feel like im going to pee. I push him off of me.

“are you okay baby? Let’s get out.” Quinn carried me out of the refreshing lake. My foot red from the tangled seaweed. Quinn cradled me up to the kitchen.

“Towels are all used, most of them are washing right now. Let’s go shower so we can go out.” Quinn sets me down and takes my hand to shower with him.

We make it to our bathroom, he turns me over so he can untie my swimsuit. “You’re so pretty.” He smiles.

“Quintin? Why.” I laugh.

“Because, I love you. Duh!” He kissed my cheek form behind me. He wraps his arms around me.

I walk around with him glued to me. I turn the shower on. How steamy.

I walk away from the tickle monster.

“Do you want some yogurt? SNUGGIE?” I yell out, he never answered. Gosh. It’s beeen a long day but it’s only noon.

I grab two small bowls and fill them with yogurt, i add in some blueberries, vanilla granola, and more youvhet. Another layer goes by, I add in more blueberries and granola. I finish off mine and I head up to our room.

I grab a bite out of Quinnys because I know he’s probably knocked out.

“Baby?” I turnthe corner to our room. I see Quinn lying on our bed, starfished.

I walk over to him. The bowls in my hands. “Baby?” I tap him with my right foot.

I set our bowls down onto a nightstand. I contort myself into his arms. I snuggle into Quinn.

“Quinitin?” I kiss his open chest. “I made some yogurt.”

We jump into the shower and he washes my body. I scrub his back with his loofa that I made him buy. “You are going to smell so yummy quinny.” I kiss his back after washing the soap off.

“Wash yourself.” I point to his hard cock.

“We’re not doing anything.” I scoff and laugh. I push him away, “Quintin?” I look up at him.

He looks down, smirking, “what’s up.” He grab my left ass cheek, and he holds my upper back with his left arm. We sit knotted together in the shower.

“That’s not my name.” He points his laser blue eyes into mine. I’m stuck in this position. The shower is slippery, my eyes burn from water.

“It’s your name dummy. What else should I call you? Snuggie?” I suggest jokingly, and Quinn pulls me closer. He kisses my neck and behind my ear. He whispers, “you’re the only one who calls me Quintin. It’s weird of you don’t call me that.”

He washed himself, and he makes a good point. I am the only one that calls him Quintin, I’m the only one who calls him Snuggie, or bear, he’s mine.

“You’re the only exception, y/n. I hate when my mom calls me that, or when my brothers call me that. Only you.” Quinn bites his lip as he drys off from the shower.

#jocelynscrazyideas #nhl #hockey #umich hockey #umich #quinn hughes #vancouver canucks #Vancouver #Canada #captain quinn #captain huggy #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fic #🍇🍇🍇#Spotify

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thecapricunt1616 · 2 days

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Pink Pony Club (Richie Jerimovich one-shot)

♡ One-Shot Inspo: Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan "I'm up, and jaws are on the floor. Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door. Blacklights, and a mirrored disco ball Every night's another reason why I left it all" ♡ Summary: You're an Exotic Dancer / part time house mom at The Pink Pony, and end up falling for a man that is probably old enough to be your father. ♡ W/C: 2.9k ♡ Poste Date: 06/10/2024 ♡ A/N: Hello all! again, for the asks that are atp starting to mold in my inbox - imma get to you. This specific dirty old man in a suit has been making me feel things lately, so naturally I had to write some porn about it. Asks are still open even though I cant promise it'll be done snappy. Hope everyones week is off to a great start so far!! Tagged those who commented on the post saying this would be a good idea just so you could see how it came out, hope you like :) ♡ Warnings for BTC: Age gap relationships (R is in her mid-to-late 20's, mentions of sex work, Club environments, swearing, smut, rough sex (Richie likes to be slapped around sometimes, kay?) lowkey simp!Richie, no use of Y/N - pet names only, readers stage name is Pixie Polestar , unprotected sex, not edited, we die like men!

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had met Richie just about 2 months ago. It was safe to say, life had chewed him up and spit him out lately.

If he was being honest with himself, the dating pool wasn’t exactly rich at 46 years old. He could count on almost two hands how long it had been since he got his dick up for more than just the binightly pornhub browser.

That led him into the Pink Pony Club one fateful August night. You were working your usual shift, Pixie Polestar. You - unlike some of the other girls - really enjoyed your job. At least, the aspect of having fun on stage, doing cute, sexy little acrobat-like tricks on the pole while horny men paid you to take more of your clothes off?

Yes please.

You weren’t a back room kind of girl, usually. That was because the amount of money you made from tricks on the pole was more than a lot of the girls you worked with made in a whole shift while you just worked the 45 minute trick-filled stage set then would give a few $400 lap dances depending on your mood, before skipping on home, taking a hot shower, and slipping in your silk sheets with your air conditioner turning your bedroom something akin to an ice box.

That was how that night was supposed to go.

How the night really went, was some loud borderline obnoxious man at least 15 years your senior, had found his way into the Pink Pony. He was wearing a pressed navy blue suit, that complimented his pretty blue eyes. That was the second thing you noticed about him while he loudly whistled for Krystal who was currently doing her set.

You weren’t really supposed to be here anymore - well- you didn’t have to be here. You had found yourself a solution, a real career path if you will. But you enjoyed your time on the pole because it was art, and dancing was a confidence booster for you. In any regard, you were going to get older, you were going to pass your prime as the house mom was always telling you girls, so you needed another stream of income.

Of course, being a … *eh-hem* - exotic dancer was the word you preferred, stripper just sounded trashy to you, did come with its negative stereotypes, one of which being no where will rent to you - because you had terrible credit. So, naturally, being the resourceful woman you are - you walked your happy ass to the open house of a for sale by owner showing, and told the nice realtor you’d take it.

Boom. Done, you had a place to live in 3 weeks, when you closed on it. Then, it dawned on you. The other girls you worked with had the same issue you did. So, you found another house, saved another 25k for the amount to put down, and rented it to your coworkers.

It was the perfect system, because you knew you’d get your rent. You knew exactly how much money each girl made because you watched them make it, you knew where they lived, and they had to look you in the eye every night. So it’s easy to say no one ever tried you. The only real reason you hung around The Pink Pony anymore was because you wanted to keep an eye on your girls and dancing was fun too.

When he first laid eyes on you, it was something akin to a cartoon character when their pupils turn into hearts. It wasn’t too abnormal, you were one of the more bombshell-esc dancers at the club, and that isn’t to say that you outdid anyone it was all based on preference. Some men loved plain Jane’s, and the plain Jane’s were just as beautiful as any of the other girls, but the reaction of men basically tripping over their feet to try and come talk to you was more likely going to happen to you then anyone else.

But he…didn’t come over, that was interesting to you. So, you being the master of customer service you were, took your drink and kept your eyes locked on his as you made your way across the room, and plopped right in his lap. “Never seen you here before sweetheart” your manicured hand found the back of his neck, gently caressing over his skin.

He tried to play it cool, but your tits we’re basically in his face, he could smell your perfume perfectly, fuck he genuinely can’t believe that a girl so beautiful just sauntered over and sat in his fucking lap. Was he dreaming? He found his mind racing, and for once in his 46 years he was dumbfounded and couldn’t find anything to say.

“Cat got your tongue honey?” You smirked a bit, gently cupping his stubbly cheek and rubbing your thumb over his bottom lip, pulling it gently before letting it snap back into place. He swallowed thickly, his hand resting on your bare thigh, just below the white glittery mesh coverup you were wearing.

“I’m Richie.” He blurted out, his cheeks felt like they were on fucking fire, any blood that wasn’t rushing there was rushing to his cock and he found himself wondering when the last time he’d gotten hard so easy was.

“Well hello Richie. I’m Pixie, what brings a handsome man like you in on a Friday night mm, no big plans?” You absentmindedly played with his chain, pretending to pay no mind to the long length that was hardening in the curve of your ass. All you would have to do is shuffle just a tiny bit and his cock would be nestled between your cheeks and the itty bitty powder pink g string that you wore beneath the tiny mesh piece of fabric that was basically for show and no use to cover anything.

“I guess I was lookin’ f’some entertainment. Think I found it” he spread his legs more, causing you to sink further into his lap and his hand found the curve of your waist, his thumb rubbing little up and down strokes over the smooth skin. He never believed that the sheer triple x rated porn movie he was creating in his mind would become a reality that night but man did it.

It was also his first night taking the dreaded viagra prescription his doctor had given him when he got real about his … shortcomings as of late. The man isn’t what he used to be stamina wise, okay? Nonetheless - he still rocked your shit - well, more like you rocked his.

Who knew this foul mouthed, old school, borderline toxic masculinity-entrenched motherfucker would get so much pleasure from your palm coming across his cheek just hard enough it left a yummy sting and telling him “My eyes are up here you old pervert” as you bounced on his cock with a rhythm he couldn’t bring to the table himself anymore, and that in turn causing your tits to bounce like a fucking hentai film less then a foot from his face.

Something about a younger girl calling him old and smacking him around all while using his cock to get herself off, babbling about how good he makes her feel made him more confident then he had been in years.

He often would find himself feeling a little pang of sadness after you started seeing eachother, in moments where you two were laughing a way he only ever did with Mikey before you came around, and making him feel like he was in fuckin’ High school again with how giddy he was to see you after every shift. All of it would just remind him how bad he wishes you could have met Mikey, and how bad he wishes he could tell Mikey.

Richie knows, he would be so jealous, but in a brotherly way - that such a young hot piece of ass, a young smart, hot, funny, piece of ass was calling him daddy, told him he was ‘her mans’ whatever the fuck that meant. He assumed girls today call their boyfriends that, there were a lot of little phrases and lingo you had to explain to him and would always make fun of him for being old after doing so.

He would tease you too, having some late 80s early 90’s radio station on (because the old head didn’t understand what streaming was) while he drove you around of course since he had learned from you that you were his ‘passenger princess’ and saying something like ‘oh babygirl this is before your time, this is from my day” before cranking up the radio and serenading you with Bad Girl by Madonna, belting it in such a silly, dramatic way between drags of his cigarette you couldn’t help but burst into giggles and kiss him at the next red.

You had told him that when you used to do private dances that Like a Virgin was one of your favorite to dance to for the ‘older’ gentleman, he spanked you playfully when you said his crowd was older as he usually did, and of course later that night he had you perform for him and you ended up getting your back blown out to material girl since you had been streaming the song from your phone and didn’t care to find it and turn it off.

When Tina had played it jokingly at family dinner one night, he couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips at the memory. Funnily enough, she was the first person to find out about you. Of course, he didn’t divulge anything other than he was finally seeing someone consistently, nothing about your age or profession. Based on the way Tina had reacted with clapping and kissing his cheeks, gushing “I’m so proud of you papa! That’s so good, this is so good for you! You need to get out there more” he was reevaluating his social life or lack there of and telling himself he needed to get out more, which lucky for him you were young and bubbly so you could get him out of the house.

The next person he told, he really told, was Carmy. Well- technically Syd too, but she just happened to overhear.

“W-wait wait” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose how he did when he was baffled and confused, brows knitting together as he shook his head. “Lemme- lemme just get this straight - y’datin a…..”

“Ex-o-tic dancer, cousin. It’s 2024, fuckin hell. Women dance and get paid for it - no big deal.” He repeated, emphasizing each sound as if what he was explaining was the most casual thing in the world, which - you had explained to him it should be so he took that and ran with it.

“You’re fucking…a stripper- a stripper that’s what they’re called when they dance naked - and how old did you say she was?” Syd questions.

“Hey- she leaves her panties on she’s only naked top up, and plus she doesn’t even have to anymore she does it for the art.” He points the spoon he was wiping down at Carmy “this new NOMA bullshit we’re doin’ here isn’t the only art, Cousin. Shes an artist” he dropped the spoon in the bucket with the rest of the pristine ones he’d worked on.

“Sure- and she’s fuckin younger then me” Carmy replied. “She could be y’fuckin-“

“Yeah, yeah - whatever she could be my fuckin daughter where’s your girlfriend huh? I don’t see anyone linin’ up to fuck you. She’s nice, and into me - and - and she’s funny and smart. So see already 2 qualities named that I don’t see much of around here so excuse fuckin me f’wantin to be happy when I’m not in this shithole” he teased

“So- this not even 30 year old, she is gonna be y’date to the thanksgiving friends and family night - the one your daughter and ex wife are attending - and you think that will be a good idea considering tiff’s track record with girls you bring around” Syd questioned.

“Yup” was all he said before taking the now finished bin of spoons to be put away, glad for the conversation to have finally been over.

He rehashed the whole conversation with you later that night as you slowly rolled your hips into his, your skin sticking to his, both of you covered with a thin layer of sweat. You had his hands pinned next to his head, fingers interlaced with yours, practically speaking into your mouth as you kissed him sloppy and open mouthed, obsessed with eachothers taste. You always tasted of bubblegum, a habit you’d carried with you since childhood, he always tasted of cigarettes, a habit he had carried since high school.

“Baby with my job I’m used to people not understanding me - I didn’t expect your friends to like me. My job - it can make people uncomfortable. But fuck them. You know how we feel huh?” You picked up the speed of your hips, using the curly deep brown patch of hair at the base of his cock to cause the most delicious friction with each thrust on his cock as you chased your orgasm.

“Ye’ fuck em baby- shit- so fuckin tight- all mine right?” He breathed, mouthing over the bruises he’d left on your breasts a few nights ago. That was one thing about your job he had a bit of difficulty getting past, but you assured him you had no feelings for any clients and that you weren’t doing lap dances anymore only your stage set and otherwise you were just there to be more of a second house mom. But still, he was a man after all. He was possessive, a little jealous sometimes. So he loved to hear that you were only his during moments like this.

“Yes daddy- all yours. You own this- you own me” you kissed his hand before bringing it to your breast and then using his shoulders as leverage to bounce further up and down, the action causing his head to fall back and jaw to fall slack.

“Just like that - god- fuck - holy shit baby- shit-shit- y’fuckin close? How fuckin long has it been?” He pinched your nipple lightly, causing your pussy to clench around him and a pornstar like whine to leave your lips

“It’s been 15 minutes- Christ you’re like a teenager. Can’t even last 30 minutes?” You teased, leaning in and kissing his neck, biting and nibbling the skin as you circle your hips, essentially jutting the tip of his cock into your g spot and that floaty feeling sneaking up on you as you feel him shoot rope after rope of arousal, painting your pretty, gummy walls a milky white and his stomach muscles clenching at the overstimulation.

The grunts and moans that left his lips when you got him here were some of the hottest noises you’d ever heard a man make before, you were always sure to file them away in a special little folder in your brain for a rainy day he wasn’t able to get you off himself. “Feel good daddy?” You asked sweetly, sitting up and resting your hands on his hips so you could look down and watch as your mixed arousals gush out of you and around him, thick strings breaking with each slow, purposeful roll of your hips

“So fuckin good baby- Jesus gonna finish soon? Dunno how much more I can do” he said, voice breathy, blissed out, nearly whiny.

“Mmhmm few more minutes daddy- god we’re so pretty, I bet we taste so good mm?” You swipe the pad your forefinger over your clit, gathering the sweet and bitter white, making a show of rubbing it over the hardened bud of your nipple “feels good, too, wanna tell me how it tastes?” You leaned in and he nearly groaned as he took your breast in his mouth, crystal like eyes seeding into your own gaze as he flicked his tongue gratefully around the sensitive nub.

You whined hotly, the sight of your tit in his mouth mixed with the feeling of his pants huffing through his nose and fanning over the swollen flesh as his tongue swirled and licked and flicked and drove you over the edge. You cried out, hips stuttering as you rode out your orgasm. His hand found your heat, rubbing with scissored fingers over your clit and meeting around his cock before dragging his fingers back up to repeat the assault.

The action had you gushing around him, the contractions of your heat getting stronger causing him to groan into your skin and that vibration just added more stimulation. “Fuck yes- god daddy- always make me feel so good, no one understands how good we make eachother feel hm? Nothing else matters, baby, as long as you feel good, right?”

You pulled him in for a sloppy, hot, passionate kiss. A kiss that made his heart do flips, and his stomach flutter, and made him feel way lighter.

Richie thought to himself in that moment he may be falling in love again, and he was equal parts fucking terrified, and excited to see where things with you went.

He just had to get over ripping off the very last bandaid, and then you could really be together -

And that bandaid was Tiff.

@aestheticaltcow - @myszie - @wtfsteveharrington

#CapriCarmy Oneshot #the bear fic #the bear #borders & banners by saradika #the bear 🐻#the bear fandom #Richie The Bear #richie jerimovich x fem reader #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich smut #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #Richie Jerimovich x fem!reader #richie jerimovich imagine #Richie Jerimovich blurb #Richie Jerimovich drabble #Richie Jerimovich fanfiction #Richie Jerimovich the bear fanfiction

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kydrogendragon · 3 days

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Five times Dream failed at being a normal human around Hob and the one time Hob learned why (by Fall Out Boy)

Relationship: Dream/Hob Rating: Teen Words: 5641 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

For square A2 of the Dreamling Bingo. Masterlist can be found here.

Upon entering the cafe, Dream is met with two realizations. One, this place is, by far, the coziest place with reviews that promise excellent coffee in walking distance of his flat. The second, that Dream is never going to set foot in this building again due to the sheer beauty of the man behind the counter.

The man moves with well-worn grace, pulling shots of espresso and chatting with customers with ease. His longer chestnut hair is pulled up into a quintessential messy bun, a few strands stick out and frame his face from where they escaped confinement. Then, there is his smile, rich and wide, with lines and crows-feet at his eyes that give away how often he uses it. And when his honey eyes swipe across Dream, he can feel his heart stop in his chest.

His body moves on autopilot, queuing up in the ever-growing line as it would be socially unacceptable to leave as soon as one entered, after all. He has at least a handful of people in front of him. It gives him time to gradually coax his brain back into something functional rather than something that only revolves around rapidly growing fantasies of the man whose name he does not even know.

He watches, enraptured, as hands and arms, dusted with lovely dark hair, reaches into the case of pastries and plucks a delicate, golden-brown croissant from the shelf. There is strength in his build, yet tenderness in his touch. This does nothing but fuel images of how this man’s hands might feel upon his own skin instead. How he might wrap Dream tight in his arms, yet cradle his face with the delicacy of a freshly baked pastry.

“—can I get you?”

Dream blinks. He is standing in front of the counter and the man that now occupies every fantasy in his mind stares down at him with a friendly smile. There is a shadow of hair upon his jaw and chin and Dream wonders how it might feel brushed against the side of his face. He takes a breath. Dream was supposed to have more time to pull himself together. He swears there were more people ahead of him, when did they all leave?

He doesn’t even know what he wants. He has been spending far too long gazing at the man, who is even more enticing up close. The soft, golden lighting in the cafe reflects in the depths of his eyes and Dream feels himself falling into the pools of earth and warmth inside of them.

Then the man raises his brows in question and his smile falters. And Dream realizes he has yet to speak and this is where he is supposed to order something rather than gawk at the man like some infatuated teen.

“Black coffee,” he says.

Why the fuck did he say black coffee?

“Sure thing! What size for you?” The smile returns as his hand hovers over the stacks of paper cups of alternating sizes. Dream’s eyes are drawn to the movement like a moth to fire. Not an unfitting metaphor given how he feels he is close to burning up in the man’s presence.

“Medium.”

That is better than him saying large, at least.

“Perfect! I’ll get that right out for you. That’ll be two pounds even.” The man says, fingers lifting a cup off of the stack. His voice is, perhaps, even more charming than the rest of him. It sings, happiness in each note. And perhaps it is simply that the man is excellent at customer service, but Dream likes to believe that it is also just how the man is.

He blinks and fishes through his pockets for the cash to hand over to the man. He sets the coins in his outstretched palms and fails spectacularly at not cataloging how the pads of this man’s fingers feels against his palm.

“Name?”

“Pardon?”

“Name for the order? There’s a few black coffees so far,” the man says with another easy smile.

Again. Why did he order a black coffee? He hates black coffee.

“Dream,” he says and his heart flutters as the man smiles so wide his eyes crinkle.

“Dream,” his voice says, honey sweet. And now Dream knows how his name sounds on the man’s lips. “I like it. Well Dream, should be just a tick and it’ll be ready down at the end!”

Dream nods and slowly makes his way towards the back wall near the end of the counter and takes a breath for the first time since the encounter. His hands shake, even with their placement in the pockets of his trousers. He has, he thinks, not completely ruined that transaction. Not with the way the man smiled at him. He’d even…even said he liked Dream’s name. The only thing that would make it better is if he’d been cognizant enough to catch the man’s name.

Dream plays back the interaction in his mind when he’s dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of his name upon the man’s lips once more. He looks up and sees the man smile as he sets down his drink onto the counter before flitting back towards the nearly empty queue.

He smiles, grabs his drink and takes a sip.

And immediately spits it back into the cup. Why. Why did he order black coffee? Why couldn’t his brain panic and say literally any other drink?

Dream looks up and sees the man looking at him with concern in his eyes.

His blood runs cold as he stares back, wide eyed. Surely the man must hate him now. He’d wasted a perfectly good drink, insulted it even, and insulted him.

Dream rushes out, drink abandoned on the counter.

He can never come back here again.

~~***~~

It’s two weeks later before Dream dares to venture back to the White Horse Cafe again. Two weeks too soon, he thinks, as he steps through the doors. This time, for better or worse, there isn’t a line. There are a few patrons scattered in the mismatched, but charming seating. Most with either a book in hand from their own collection or freshly bought from the adjoining book store, or tapping away at laptops or tablets alike.

Dream takes a steady breath in before stepping up to the counter. The man’s back is to him at the moment, arms moving in gentle motions as he works on another’s drink. He takes this time to both mentally prepare himself to order something that’s not black coffee as well as to take in the sight of the man’s form. His clothes are dark this time around. A simple black tee is all that covers his upper body with sleeves loose over his biceps.

His breath hitches as he notices a grouping of small, black lines peaking out from both the collar of the man’s shirt as well as out of the sleeve of his left arm. The man is inked as well. It truly is as if he was plucked straight from Dream’s deepest fantasies. The universe is cruel.

Honey brown eyes meet his and part of Dream prays that he does not recognize him. But of course, he does.

“Hey, good to see you again! Decided to give us another shot?” the man calls to him with a smile. He places a lid on the cup he’d been working on and sets it on the counter before meeting Dream at the register.

“I—” He was unprepared for such a question. He’d prepared himself for what he would drink or what he may eat, yet somehow he hadn’t prepared himself for the man joking around with him. He’d thought he would have been viewed with bare minimum politeness, not…this. “No.”

No?

The man cocks his head. “No?”

“No! I mean—” Dream panics. Nothing good comes from him panicking and yet…“—Yes, just not with regular coffee.”

“Mm, that bad?” There is still a smile on his face. That is a good sign.

“Yes.”

Yes!?

“Ouch, brutal honestly. Refreshing, though. Most people just suffer through it if they don’t like it then tell me it was great. Doesn’t help me out much, though. What didn’t you like about it?” the man laughs. Dream’s eyes dart down away from the cheery gaze that’s aimed at him. Then he spots the mysterious nametag he’d missed the first time.

Hob.

The man’s name is Hob. It is a name he has not heard before, though he is not one to judge. Suddenly, he now has a name to the face that has featured in 65% of his waking thoughts and 90% of his dreaming ones. This is both a curse as well as a blessing.

“Hob,” he whispers. Which only draws the man’s attention to him. And then he panics, yet again. “Black coffee is an excellent choice to establish a baseline of quality for a business. It is hard to achieve a truly exceptional one.”

“And ours definitely didn’t meet your standards, I take it?”

“No.”

Why does he keep talking? It is not as if he is an expert in coffee. He comes more for the rush of sugar rather than caffeine. Now Hob is surely going to think he is some sort of coffee snob like his sister. Why does he do this to himself.

The man taps his fingers on the counter top in thought. “Well, any suggestions on how to improve it? Maybe a better coffee bean distributor or roastery? Or maybe you’ve some good tips on the preparation—”

“There is nothing you could do that would end in a cup of black coffee I would enjoy.” He should never speak again. While he wasn’t incorrect, it is for no fault of Hob’s nor any roastery or individual coffee bean. He is tempted to race out of the building right this instant, especially as the easy smile falls completely from Hob’s face. He has ruined this. He had come back, intending to fix things and he ruined it.

“Right,” Dream tries not to die on the spot at how the cheerful tone in Hob’s voice vanishes. “Well, anything that’s not coffee that I can offer you?”

Dream swallows against the lump in his throat. “A small vanilla latte.”

Hob nods. “Coming right up.”

Dream is never coming back here again.

~~***~~

Dream is back at the White Horse Cafe, though not by his own will this time. His sister insisted upon catching up—something he is not disinclined to—but she picked the location this time and chose here, due to it’s proximity to his own flat. Kind of her, in theory, though disastrous in truth. Dream could have, theoretically, asked that they meet elsewhere, but he knows his sister. Telute would not have dropped the subject as to why Dream didn’t want to meet there and then he’d be forced to explain the disaster that is his interactions with Hob. And there is no way that he is doing that. So he steps into the cafe and hopes that his sister is already there.

The cafe is empty of her presence and Dream can feel his shoulders tense. Slowly, he turns his eyes towards the counter and sighs out in relief at the lack of the handsome man. Instead, a woman with short curly hair stands in his place. Dream approaches the counter and manages to order his usual large (not small) caramel (not vanilla) latte from the woman he now knows as Peggy. The drink doesn’t take long and he grabs it from the counter once it’s ready and finds a seat, tucked back into the corner, away from the crowd and view of the register.

He waits, sipping at his drink as he stares at the screen of his phone, waiting for his sister’s arrival. Then, a few minutes later, her face appears beside a text.

Dream, so sry, work got craaazy! Raincheck? <3 — T

He sighs and rests his head against the top of his phone. He has risked yet another terrible incident (far too soon for Hob to forget Dream’s existence, at that) and for nothing.

Dream looks down at his bag and considers, given that his drink is still full and the place is currently Hob-less, that it would, perhaps, be safe to stay here for a time and work. That had been his initial plan when he’d first come here, after all. The atmosphere of a cafe, especially a quaint and quiet one such as this, is unbeatable for his productivity. Words fly from him with ease that he struggles to achieve in many other places. And, as he looks around, there is even an outlet beside this table. Such a perfect opportunity may never present itself again.

So, Dream retrieves his laptop and charger from his bag, plugs himself in, and opens his word document and the words fly.

He’s pulled forth from the world spawned to life with fingers and keyboard by the sound of a mug on his table and a shadow falling across his face. Dream looks up and freezes when he sees familiar chestnut hair and warm eyes.

Hob stands beside him, hands now resting in the back pockets of the denim he wears. His hair is set free, the longer locks falling in front of his face as he smiles. Saliva pools in his mouth (he’ll blame it on the smell of pastries later). Looking up at him at this angle was one he was wholly unprepared for. He has imagined such angles before, though in manners he is certain Hob would ban him from the premise for mentioning aloud. He hates that he knows this knowledge will feature heavily in his imaginings tonight.

"Sorry for interrupting,“ Hob says, nodding towards the newly made drink. ”Just wanted to say I was glad you gave us another shot. And to give you a refill, on the house, as a thanks. I know we're still new so if there's anything you think needs changing, let me know!"

Dream’s gaze finds it cannot move from the sight of Hob standing over him. The way the light shines behind him, casting a near halo around his head. He is bathed in the now late afternoon glow that shines in from the front windows. He is truly beautiful here. The fact that Hob works here is more than enough (if only Dream was capable of being normal then he would be a regular here), so there is very little he could imagine changing.

Though…

The thought of Hob changing, specifically how he would shed his shirt, tacky with sweat built up by working in the heat and steam of pastries and coffee, is one Dream has no problem imagining. How his hair would look splayed out on the dark sheets of Dream’s bed, how his stomach would flex under his hands. How Hob would beg for more as Dream slowly eases his jeans down further and further. Yes…the only things Dream wishes to change is—

“You.”

Fuck.

Hob’s jaw tenses and Dream can watch in real time as his face closes. This smile, this new smile, is one he has witnessed on many underworked retail workers. It is impersonal, disingenuous, and as Desire often describes, dead inside. And Dream has placed it there with his inability to be a functional human.

He is a disgrace.

Dream watches, frozen in place, as Hob simply nods and walks off without another word. If he had not ruined things before, he most certainly has now. No longer would there be a chance to fix things. No longer would he be welcome in these walls. Hob surely thinks Dream hates him. If only he knew…

He slowly turns back towards his laptop. He saves his document, turns it off, and packs his bag. He gives a look back to the offering Hob had given him. It is still warm in the ceramic mug, and wafts with scents of caramel and cinnamon and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. It looks heavenly. Dream’s stomach churns.

He slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves, vowing that this time, he will never return.

~~***~~

Dream is beginning to think the universe is out to spite him personally as he stands in line at the White Horse Cafe yet again.

This was, once again, not by his own choice. Rather, Lucienne had insisted upon grabbing a drink during their lunch break and claimed she knew of a lovely spot a few blocks down. By the time they turned on this street, Dream knew where she was taking them, but it was too late to suggest anything else. He spent the few sparse minutes he had left before the walked through the doors to prepare himself.

He determined—given that any other reaction would result in him needing to explain the issue to Lucienne which, like his sister, was unacceptable—that he would simply ignore Hob to the best of his abilities. It was hard, not following the man as he worked with efficiency behind the counter alongside Peggy, but he willed himself to focus on what Lucienne was saying to him instead.

He felt proud for catching 75% of what she said.

But now, they stand just two people away in the queue from the register and Hob has been primarily handling transactions thus far. This means Dream will have to speak with him. And order. And not mess things up yet again. All the while, not cluing Lucienne into his constant internal debate he’s had going since about two blocks down from here.

“—should expect to have a new shipment in by tomorrow. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind dropping by and signing a few copies on the shelves?” Dream blinks away from where his eyes were latched onto the pastry case and definitely not Hob’s backside.

“Mm.”

“You’ve been quieter than you usually are. Are you alright?”

Dream sighs and turns towards his friend. “I am fine, Lucienne. I am simply…tired.”

She gives him a soft smile as she looks up at the sprawling drink board. “Well, caffeine will do you some good, then. What are you getting? My treat as a congratulations for signing that contract.” As much as he does not wish for her to spend her money on him, Dream is glad that this means he will not need to order the drink himself.

“A large caramel latte.” He turns his gaze towards the floor. “Please,” he tacks on to the end.

It does not take them long to reach the front. Hob is there; he hears his voice directed toward Lucienne. Dream purposefully stands off to the side of her and clenches his teeth lest his mouth betray him for a fourth time in front of this man. It is a unique form of torture, forced to listen to the sound of Hob’s voice and knowing he is not allowed to see him. If Hob sees him, if Dream meets his eyes, then he will be forced to see the hatred that surely lies inside. And he cannot handle that. It is bad enough he is here in the cafe, thankfully he has Lucienne as a buffer, but the next time she asks if he wishes for a coffee, he will have to ensure this is not a repeated destination.

The order is complete and Hob directs them towards the counter as usual, though Lucienne steers them towards a table first and Dream’s heart sinks. He should have known they would stay here to drink. Part of him is tempted to ask Lucienne if she would prefer a table outside, though she would see right through him. He has never been one for outdoor dining in any form.

It doesn’t take too long before their drinks are ready. Dream stays seated as Lucienne stands and fetches them. He wants to look up, to see where Hob is, if he’s ignoring Dream’s presence as well, but he knows he shouldn’t. It would only torment them both.

And yet.

Dream looks up from the table to see Hob cheerfully taking orders as if nothing is wrong. And there isn’t, he supposes. There is only something wrong with him. Then Hob looks over. And their eyes meet. And Dream’s breath stops and Hob holds his gaze for seconds longer than normal, but he does not smile. Hob breaks contact first, looking down before turning away.

Dream feels sick. He should not have come. He should have insisted that they meet elsewhere and save Hob the trouble that is Dream’s existence. But all that is left is to get through their time here and then he will leave Hob alone in peace. As he deserves.

~~***~~

His sister insists he is an idiot.

This is not news to Dream. He is well aware of his faults and failures as a functioning human, but he tries. And, after listening to her hour lecture followed by constant quips at his expense for the rest of the night, Telute successfully convinces Dream that, at the least, he should go and apologize to Hob so the poor man does not think he is hated for no reason. So, after having sworn he would not go back to the White Horse for the fourth time, he finds himself inside the White Horse yet again.

There is a decent queue already, which surprises him for how late in the evening it is. With a sigh, he lines up, mentally rehearsing the apology he would give Hob. He will explain…well, maybe not why he has been as rude as he has to the man (as that would entail explaining how Hob’s charm and attractiveness has removed any shred of normalcy and logic from Dream’s mind), but he would explain how poor he is with social functions in general. And that, while he does not expect Hob to forgive him, he hopes Hob will understand.

Peggy, he notes, is here again as well as another employee. This place is growing. Or, perhaps, this employee has always been here and this is simply the first time Dream has seen her. It is not as if Dream is a regular, after all. As much as he had initially planned on being such.

The queue moves quickly. Hob handles the register while the other two handle the drinks and food. It is efficient and, much to Dream’s dismay, makes the line move faster than he wishes. Before he knows it, he is standing in front of Hob for the fifth time.

Hob gives him a weak smile—not a standard service smile, nor the bright ones he had first received from the man, but rather something close to pained or tired—and speaks. “What can I get you?”

To which Dream eloquently replies with, “I—your coffee is decent.”

Hob’s lips quiver as the weak smile he’d worn threatens to grow. "Going to attempt a black coffee again? We've changed our distributor since then and lots of people said they like the stuff better.”

"No. The black was disgusting.” Hob's smile falls once more and Dream winces. This is not going as he had planned.

"Right. No black. Your usual then?”

"I…yes…Yes, just the usual.” Dream digs for his card as Hob rings him up. The words he wants to say feel trapped behind his teeth, all mixed up and wrong. He clamps them down tight, afraid of what terrible concoction would be released if he dared speak. All that waiting and rehearsing, nothing but a waste. He cannot even apologize correctly. He should have never listened to his sister. He should have stayed far away from Hob and the White Horse. He does nothing but cause hurt.

When Hob hands him back his card, rather than a polite “thanks” his brain decides to say, “You are not disgusting,” and he proceeds to die inside.

Thankfully, Hob looks more confused instead of being offended further. “...thanks? I think. Um…your order should be ready at the end of the bar here shortly.”

So, Dream goes. He waits diligently for his order. He watches Hob smile and chat with the other customers in line and lets himself pretend that is him that Hob talks to. He watches, and catalogs, and when his drink is ready, he leaves with a final glance behind him at the White Horse.

And then is immediately greeted by the heavens opening up the moment he steps outside the door.

Thunder rolls in the dark clouds up above. Rain slams into the pavement and the chill in the air slices him to the bone. Had this been literally anywhere else, Dream would go back inside and wait the storm out. But he knows he cannot. He should not. So instead, he sits at one of the tables sheltered away from the rain by the canopy above him and sighs. At least his drink is warm.

~~***~~

Hob wipes his hands off on a paper towel and tosses it into the trash. Sweat still gleams on his forehead and his legs ache from standing so long, but he’s glad to finally be off for the day. As much as he enjoys owning this place, it can get really fucking tiring.

He sighs as he exits the employee bathroom and nods towards Peggy and Jo who are currently manning the cafe. He’s grateful that Jo agreed to help part-time. Lately, they’ve been getting busier and busier and as much as Hob loves the extra business, it was getting to the point that he and Peggy couldn’t keep up. Eventually, he predicts, he’ll need to hire someone else full-time. Maybe a designated baker. He’d do it himself, but he loves chatting with the customers too much to give that up. Well, save a few. And save a very specific man who he’d unfortunately seen again today.

Dream.

Hob has no idea what he did to anger the man so much, but the contempt he’s got for Hob is plain to see. Christ, and that glare of his. Downright bone-chilling at times. And he doesn’t treat Peggy that way, either. He’d asked. When Hob had seen him in the line, he was tempted to swap out with Peggy for a bit just so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever insult the man would spit back at him. But today wasn’t an insult…he didn’t think. He was, apparently, “not disgusting.” Which, maybe for Dream, is a compliment.

With a sigh, Hob steps out and is greeted by both a massive downpour of rain as well as the man that’s been haunting his working life for the past four months. There Dream sits, back turned to the cafe, with his hands curled around his coffee like a life-preserver of warmth in this chilly weather. He’s shaking, even. Christ, the man ordered almost an hour ago. Has he really been here the whole time? Why the hell didn’t he come inside?

He moves before his brain can think and sits himself in the chair across from Dream. He folds his hands atop the table and stares at him. Clearly Dream didn’t hear the door open over the thunder and the rain as his eyes are wide as they stare back. Fuck, he looks cold. There’s barely a hint of red in his face. Was being even in the same building as Hob so terrible?

"Did I do something to you?“ he asks, brows furrowed. ”You keep coming back so clearly it's not the place or the coffee that you hate, it's just me, so…" Hob bites his lower lip and shakes his head as he trails off. He doubts the man would even give him an answer. Probably just huff and ignore him like he had last time he was in.

Instead, Dream flounders, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish out of water. It’s so far from the stiff, almost regal air he always carried with him before that it takes Hob aback. Maybe the man’s brain was going from the chill.

He sighs as his face falls, hiding behind the drink in his hands. Hob has to strain to hear the quiet words over the sound of rain, but he does manage to catch, “It…is not you. I am…bad. With people.“ Hob blinks. “I am…sorry. For the—for everything.”

Suddenly, each past interaction flashes through Hob’s mind with haunting clarity as the missing piece of the puzzle slots into place. Christ, it’s obvious now. The man was clearly just shite at interacting with people. And knowing Hob and his overly personal manner of service, he’d probably made it ten times worse on accident. And then proceeded to worry over it, thinking it was something more personal than it was.

"Fuck,“ he says, his head collapsing into his hands. ”I'm sorry. I just…I've been trying to figure out what it was I did so I wouldn't annoy you in the future. Got so wound up in myself I didn't even think…and now I'm accosting you while you're just trying to enjoy your coffee. Christ, I'm sorry. I'll leave—"

"No!" Hob blinks in surprise. "I mean…I…" Hob raises a brow, but waits, trying to give time for Dream to speak. He gives the man a smile, hoping maybe it’ll ease any fears. Dream takes a breath before speaking again. "I would. Enjoy your company. If—if I have not made you hate me."

Hob chuckles and lets himself relax. "Not at all. Why don't we start over, huh?“ He holds out his hand and smiles. ”Nice to meet you. I'm Robert Gadling. Friends call me Hob."

Dream stares at his outreached hand, but Hob waits and is rewarded by Dream reaching out to shake it in return. “My name is Morpheus Endless. My friends call me Dream.”

“Nice to meet you, Dream.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Hob.”

“What do you say we go back inside where it’s warm, yeah?”

Dream smiles—actually smiles—and then stands. “I would like that.”

~~***~~

A year later

“Here you go, dove,” Hob says, setting his boyfriend’s favorite mug—black with rainbow speckles like stars—beside his computer, next to the half-eaten pain au chocolate. He’s since perfected the recipe after Dream had, lovingly, critiqued that the croissant suffered from not raising as much as others due to it’s fillings. Now, it’s equally as fluffy (and buttery) and filled with perfectly melted chocolate. They’re his favorites and he’s been told a few times since that they’re the best ones in the neighborhood by other customers. He may or may not have added the croissant and caramel latte to the menu as a “Dream Special” as well, in Dream’s honor. Dream pretends he hates it, but Hob has learned to read his expressions by now.

“Thank you,” Dream says, leaning up for a kiss which Hob indulges him in. It’s rather strange to think that over a year ago, Hob thought Dream had hated him, though he’s since learned that it wasn’t simply Dream’s anxiety with strangers that caused him to be as brusque as he was. No, Hob learned the truth behind their early interactions.

Apparently, and much to Hob’s chagrin, Dream had been too busy drooling over Hob to form any sort of polite response. It was a fact he lorded over his poor boyfriend for a good few weeks after, but he feels he earned it. After all, Dream made him question their interactions for days after each one. He’d earned a bit of retribution.

Now, it’s just a thought that makes him smile every time he catches Dream’s intense gaze on him as he works. And if he wears a bit tighter shirts on warm days, or makes sure to flex his muscles when he knows Dream’s watching, well, it doesn’t hurt anyone, right? And if he enjoys knowing that his boyfriend used to jack off to the idea of kneeling before Hob when he’d brought over that free refill all those months ago because he learned what Hob looked like from that angle, well…okay. Hob’s just a man. He might tease him about that a bit more than Dream really deserves, but it’s incredibly flattering, okay? Can you really blame him?

“How’s the next book going?” Hob asks, peering down (and maybe purposefully pressing his chest against Dream’s ear) at the laptop. Dream’s finger’s twitch above the keys. He hears his lover takes a deep breath and Hob can’t help but smile.

“It…is going well. I am nearly finished with the first round of edits.”

“That’s incredible, love. So proud of you.” Dream hums and leans against Hob. His eyes flutter close and Hob wonders how he manged to get so lucky as to keep this ridiculous creature.

“Does this mean,” Dream says, tilting his head up to peer into Hob’s eyes. “That I have earned a reward?”

Hob smirks. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”

Dream’s eyes narrow in that predatory fashion that gets Hob’s blood racing. “Perhaps…dinner. At the Italian place we like. And then…dessert at home?”

“Mmm, sure you don’t want dessert first?” Hob teases. He watches as Dream’s eyes darken and he thinks to himself that it’s a bloody good thing that he owns the place and can cart Dream away into the storage closet with him because he’s not sure if he’ll make it through his shift.

“Perhaps we can be indulgent and have dessert twice?” He feels Dream’s hand reach up the back of his thigh and squeezes the globe of his arse. Christ, he’s definitely going to need that storage closet.

“For you love? Anything.”

#dreamling #dreamling bingo 2024 #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes

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boothillssugarmomma · 2 days

Text

🎤Dιϝϝҽɾҽɳƚ SαႦɾιɳα Cαɾρҽɳƚҽɾ Sσɳɠʂ Aʂ Hσყσ ɱҽɳ🎤

🎀 A/N: I've been SO OBSESSED with Sabrina's new song 'Please Please Please' and omfgg I just love her music all around! So here's some of the boys as a few of her songs

ALSO I KNOW TEYVAT DOESN'T USE PHONES BUT IDC DEAL WITH IT (respectfully)

If I mis categorized anyone lemme know 🙏

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 🙏

'𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝑔𝑜'𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇

𝐼 𝒷𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓊𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇, 𝑜𝒽

𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒'

Dating your new boyfriend was such a dream, he's so kind...so precious...BUT...he wasn't exactly a ROLE MODEL or an amazing guy to everyone. But you have a great sense of judgement, and you obviously have great taste...or at least you think so. Dating him was one thing...but telling people? WHOOO boy...when you did end up telling your friends about him...it stirred up quite a lot of drama.

"You sure he's good for you?" Your best friend sighs deeply as she holds your shoulders. Your friends were gathered around you hoping to knock some sense into you.

"I promise...he's sweet and a great guy..." You sigh softly as your best friend stares disapprovingly.

"We're just saying...he's...not exactly...what we thought you'd go for..." Your other friend hesitates as she talks, glancing at your third friend for him to back her up.

The quiet friend grimaces before clearing his throat. "He's...a...interesting guy...(Name)"

Your eyes narrow before you scoff. "You guys just don't know hi-" You cut off as your phone dings.

Your best friend grabs it and rolls her eyes at the message. "Oh get a LOAD of THIS!" She hands the phone to you.

It's your boyfriend...your wonderful...lovely...man who you'd never give up. Even if your friends think you should.

'Hey babe...sorry but I'm running a little late...ran into a little problem. But don't worry... I'll be there. Wouldn't wanna make your friends dislike me more than they already do...'

'Oh and I love you'

'See you soon ❤️'

You sigh at the text, face flushing a bit.

"Don't prove them right..."

-Aventurine, boothill, SAMPO, Gallagher, SUNDAY, Danslief, blade, CHILDE, Wanderer, itto, Lyney, Kaeya, SCARAMOUCHE

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

ᏋᏕᎮᏒᏋᏕᏕᎧ ☕

'𝒩𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃' '𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝑜𝒽...𝐼𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉? 𝐼 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝑜...𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅, 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒, 𝑒𝓈𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜'

Waking up in the morning without your boyfriend was hard...but sometimes he just was busy and couldn't stay over that night.

But waking up to his little messages? His love paragraphs or his small thoughts about you?

And even throughout the day, he also sent messages.

Those were the best...

You could say you had him wrapped around your finger to be honest. He could never get enough of you.

'God I wish you were here honey...'

'I miss you already ❤️'

'I want to skip (work, travels, missions, etc) and just come home to you...'

'I can't sleep...'

'I can't stop thinking about you my love...'

'I keep thinking about you every night and all day...'

And finally after his long day, he enters your shared home with an exhausted and fairly pouty look.

"You ok honey?" You hum softly as you get up from the couch where you were sitting.

His eyes meet yours and immediately soften.

"Cmere...couldn't stop missing you!" He whispers with a bit of desperation as he quickly rushes to hug you.

"Feel so much better already...so energetic..." He mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck.

"You're like a little shot of espresso~" He teases softly in your ear before kissing your forehead.

"That's me, your espresso..."

-ARGENTI, dan heng, Gepard, JING YUAN, diluc, CHILDE, XIAO, Neuvillette, aether, chongyun, Zhongli, Bennett, WRIOTHESLEY, THOMA, freminent, Gaming

☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕☕

ƒεαƭɦε૨ 🪶

'𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 (𝒶𝒽), 𝐹𝓁𝑜𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 (𝒶𝒽)'

Dumping him was the BEST idea you've ever had when it came to him. Not having to worry about where he is every night, why he was always so busy, even when you knew he wasn't.

The lies, the coverups, his pathetic excuses.

All

Gone

And you couldn't be happier. You didn't have to pretend he was the best guy in the world, you didn't have to pretend to like whatever he did, didn't have to pretend you were ok with his lies.

It's been over a year now, you're dating one of your best friends, and you knew your life was set!

But your ex wouldn't leave you alone!

He's STILL calling and texting and trying to get back in. He shows up everywhere, your work, your house, your boyfriend's house, your friends houses, trying to get you to take him back.

He just KNEW you were making a mistake, it has to be, he loved you so much...just realized it a bit too late!

"(Name)! We're meant to be together it has to be now stop acting foolish!" He catches up to you one night after work on your walk home.

You scoff softly, ignoring the male as he pants beside you.

"Then tell me why I feel lighter than a damn feather without you on my mind?" You hum, a bitter tone in your voice.

His eyes show a flash of hurt before he huffs. "Because you just don't understand how you feel!"

You roll your eyes, continuing to walk, trying to get away from him.

"Baby I want you back, please!" He whimpers a bit.

"I've told you multiple times, we're done!" Your patience is running thin, and this it not how you wanted to spend the evening.

"But I miss you!" He tries to reach for your hand.

"No duh, you should've thought about that!" You growl.

"But honey think about us...all the memories...how much we cared about each other?" He pleads.

You stop walking before turning to him.

"Thinking about our memories would be a waste of time..."

-VENTI, Kaeya, Boothill, Aventurine, gallagher, Kaveh, ITTO, xingqiu, dr ratio, Ayato, albedo, CHILDE

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

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bookuce · 2 days

Text

Change My Mind

SUMMARY: Josh and Alina are great friends most days. Other days, they want to tear each other apart. Some days, they’re in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, and Alina is Alina. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC

TROPE: Friends to Lovers

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 2,574

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

(1/2)

TWO WEEKS LATER

Wedding days were always hectic. When Cassie got married, it seemed like everything that could go wrong was going wrong. It rained on the day of her wedding, and it was outdoors. Lucky for them, they were able to find another venue nearby to get married. Though it wasn’t the dream wedding she had planned, it was unique to them—making the day even more special. Today’s wedding was sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The only issue now was that the hairstylist who was supposed to do Tasha’s hair today had to cancel—sick kid, she says.

Finding a credible, available hairstylist in the metropolitan of Atlanta on short notice would be challenging, but lucky for Alina, Cassie was in charge of that. Alina was in charge of making sure everything stayed on schedule. With a clipboard tucked beneath her arm, she and Josh walked towards the Gentlemen’s Hall, where Michael and his groomsmen were. “I’ll come get you when I’m through talking to the decorators.” She says as they cross the yard to a small white house on the side of the winery.

“You do not have to worry about me,” Josh starts. “I’m a big boy; I can handle myself.” He promises. They stop on the porch steps, Alina now turning to him.

“I know,” She says, glancing towards the door. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” Josh knew none of the men outside of Michael; he and Michael had only spoken a handful of times.

“I’ll be fine.” He assures her. They exchanged stares for a moment before Alina slowly began to nod.

“Okay,” She breathes, moving up the steps. Josh was close behind, his hand reaching out to open the door for her. Blaring music poured out of the house, with loud laughter following behind. She walks in, instantly greeted by the smell of cigars mixed with expensive cologne. She fans her hand in front of her face, looking at the Eight men peering up at Alina with grand smiles on their faces. A chorus of whistles would come in for the woman, but she ignored them. She was too distracted by the fact that the air was too damn thick in this room. “Damn, can y’all breathe in here?” She asks, making a face of disgust.

Josh stood close behind her, his eyes scanning the room. For someone who interacts with strangers on a daily, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. He wouldn’t admit this to his girl; she hoped he’d make friends with these men. For her, he would try. After all, they’ll have to get used to him being around for a long time. He wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s to keep the ladies out.” Samuel, Michael’s brother, says, making the men laugh.

“You’re doing a great job then.” She mutters. “Y’all need to make sure yall have this smoking shit wrapped up soon though. Tasha will throw a fit if she smells anything but cologne on y’all.” She says, pointing at the glass of liquor in Michael’s hand. He glances down at the glass, a slight grin on his face.

“I can’t calm my nerves?” He asks.

“With one drink.” She tells him. “You can get fucked up after the wedding. I don’t care what happens after, as long as my best friend is happy.” She tells him, earning a few groans from the men.

“Can always count on you to keep us in check.” A man says, his eyes finding Alina’s. There was a flirty grin on his lips while he spoke, his eyes trailing down her body. Josh notices the look, his brows furrowing slightly. She would peer over to that man, an unreadable expression on her face. She’d take in a breath, reaching behind her to grab Josh’s hand.

“This is Josh. I’m leaving him with y’all.” She points her index finger at the men, allowing it to go around the room. “Play nice.” She says before turning to her man. “Be nice.” She whispers to him. Before he could say anything, she leaned in to peck his lips. “Love you.” She says.

“I love you too.” He replies. With a wave, she spares the room one last glance before exiting the house. Josh watched as Alina left before turning his attention back to the men in the room. They were all quiet, staring at him. “What’s up?” He greets them with an upward nod of his head. Michael steps forward, his hand open for a dap up. Josh would close the gap, their hands coming together for the greeting and hug.

“Make yourself comfortable, man,” Michael says, pulling back to look at him. “You want anything to drink? We got a cigar left.” He says. Josh shakes his head at the cigar offer. He didn’t care much for cigars.

“I’ll take a glass, Uce.” He says, moving to sit in an open seat next to the man who eyed his woman. Josh and the guy briefly exchange glances before he returns his attention to Michael. The groom turned to the mini-bar behind him, pouring Josh a small glass of bourbon from the decanter on the counter. When he finishes pouring his glass, he turns to pass him the drink. Josh takes it, saying a small thank you to him.

“No problem. Let me introduce you to everyone.” Michael says, lifting his hand. He points to a guy seated in a red recliner seat. “This is my little brother, Sam,” He moves on to the next. “My fraternity brothers, Calvin, Malcolm, Shawn, Kenny, Nate, and Theo.” He finishes, ending with the man sitting next to him. There was something off about Theo—Josh could tell, but he wasn’t sure what it was just yet.

Josh nods once at everyone, giving them a slight smile. “Ay, nice to meet y’all.” He says.

“So you and Lina, huh?” Shawn asks.

“Yeah, she’s a great woman,” Josh confesses. “I’m lucky to have her.” He adds. The eight men in the room looked after Lina, always ready to protect her. She was like a sister to most of them.

“How long have y’all been together?” Theo asks suddenly. Instead of looking at the man who asked him such a question, Josh glances down at the glass in his hand.

“A few weeks,” Josh answers. “We’ve been friends for two years, though.” Theo hums at the answer. Michael and Sam would exchange glances at the interaction, the brothers sharing some unspoken agreement. “How do you know her?” Josh asks.

“Ex-fiance.” Josh becomes incredibly still at the answer. “Dated all through college, engaged for two.” Theo finishes. In the two years Alina and Josh have known each other, she had never mentioned that she was engaged. Josh swirled the brown liquid in his glass before bringing it to his lips for a sip. Michael and Sam both knew this conversation was going to happen eventually. It didn’t cross Alina’s mind that it would happen today. Josh was for sure going to bring it up to her later.

The brown liquid warmed Josh’s chest, causing him to clear his throat slightly and clench his jaw. He sniffles before turning to look at Theo. “I didn’t know she was engaged.” He says. Theo and Josh watched each other in silence for a bit.

“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.” He says.

“Must’ve not been important,” Josh replies, his gaze becoming cold. Theo continued to stare at Josh, a faint grin on his face. The room became silent while everyone watched the two men tied to Alina McLemore stare each other down. The grin on Theo’s face made Josh’s blood pressure rise. He could feel his body warming by the second, his ears getting hot.

Kenny’s eyes flickered between everyone before he leaned forward on the sofa he sat on. “So, Josh, what do I gotta do to get a few tickets to Smackdown?” He says, pulling Josh’s attention from the man next to him. Theo stands to his feet, walking to the kitchen. Josh’s eyes would flicker in his direction before moving back to Kenny.

“Nothing, what show you looking at?” He asks, giving him a grin.

“Y’all got a show coming to Savannah later on.” Kenny answers.

Josh answers with a shrug of his shoulders and shakes his head. “It’s done. Just text Lina when the time gets close, and we’ll make everything else happen.” He instructs him. Theo walks back into the room, sitting down next to Josh again.

“So you’re a…wrestler?” Theo asks, chiming into the conversation.

“Yeah, I fight,” Josh says, looking back at him. It was a subtle warning to the man next to him. Theo peers over, a smile coming to his face again. Warning received.

“And you and Lina work together?” He continues. “Wouldn’t that complicate things?” He asks, insinuating the relationship was due to fail. Theo was on a mission to piss Josh off to the point of no return, it seems. These are typical ex-boyfriend fiancé shenanigans. Josh and Theo would begin another stare-down before Josh looks away from him. Slowly, he put down his drink. He didn’t need that anymore.

“You want to elaborate, Uce?” He asks, turning his entire body to face Theo. Samuel and Michael looked at each other once more before the youngest brother stood. He glances at his phone before glancing over at Josh.

“I think the DJ just got here. Josh, you want to come with me to grab him?” He asks.

Without breaking eye contact with Theo, Josh stands to his feet. “Yeah, I’ll go.” He says, finally looking away from the man. He looks over to Sam before heading out the door. Sam points at Theo.

“You’re an asshole, I hope you know that.” He says before following the man who just left. Fresh air hit Josh like a ton of bricks, making him close his eyes and gather himself. He wasn’t going to get out of character today. He will be on his best behavior, but that Theo character? Ooh, he ought to kick his ass. Alina had some explaining to do. “Ay, let’s go,” Sam says, appearing beside the man. They’d stepped off the porch together and headed towards the pavilion where the reception was taking place. “I’m sorry about that, man. Theo’s a jackass.” He says.

“It’s all good,” Josh says, his eyes fixated on the ground. “I’m sure he was just looking out for Alina—trying to see if I’m a good guy.” That’s what he planned to tell himself. Theo wasn’t grilling Josh because he was jealous and wanted his ex-fiance back. No, he just cares about her a lot. It’s not because he still loves her—he just cares about her like he does. Yeah, that’s it. Delusion is the solution.

What he doesn’t see is the expression of concern on Sam’s face at his words. If he would have noticed, there was no telling what he’d do. Sam looks down at the ground briefly before looking off at the vineyard. “It’s not my place to speak on that,” He says finally. “But to my knowledge, Lina ain’t paid that man any mind in years. She just tolerates him because he’s in the friend group.” He explains. Lina is notorious for putting distance between herself and others when she doesn’t want to talk. Josh knew it firsthand. There had been plenty of times she had ducked and dodged him when she was upset.

“I get it,” He sighs. He had nothing to worry about, really, but still. Four years is a lot of history to have with someone—especially when you almost married them. “I’ll have to ask Lina about it later,” Josh says.

“Ask me what?” Sam and Josh stop walking, their eyes meeting the woman standing on the steps. Alina had just stepped out of the side doors of the winery when she spotted Josh and Sam walking towards the pavilion. They hadn’t noticed her yet, but she spoke up when she heard her name.

“About your ex-fiancé.” Josh says immediately. Sam looked away from her, his hand going to his neck.

“I’ll get up with you, bruh,” Sam says, tapping Josh on the arm. He rushes off towards the pavilion, not wanting to be in earshot of that conversation. Alina glances down at the ground. She tucks her bottom lip in between her teeth before taking a deep breath.

“Josh—.”

“You set me up.” He says, pointing at her. “You knew damn well that man was in the wedding party, and you ain’t say a damn thing.” He says, louder than he should have. Some of Tasha’s relatives had walked by, their eyes now on the couple. Alina glances around them before reaching to grab his hand. “Nah, man.” He pulls his hand back from her grasp, causing her eyes to widen.

“Can we not do this here?” She says through clenched teeth. She snatches his hand up, now pulling him inside the winery. They’d march through the halls of the old building, her eyes darting from left to right for an open room. When she finds a room, she pulls him into it, closing the door behind them.

Josh leans against the desk, his arms clasped tight in his lap. “I should’ve known something was up with his ass the moment he looked you up and down.” He says, shaking his head. “If I would have knocked his ass through the wall,” He gestures to himself. “I would have been in the wrong.” Alina rolls her eyes at his words, moving to stand in front of him. She grabs his hands, unclasping them to fill with her own. He allowed her this.

“Me and Theo haven’t been together in over ten years.” She explains. “We don’t see each other, we don’t talk to each other. He doesn’t know me anymore, Josh.” It was true. Who she was at twenty-two was not who she was now. She has grown and lived an entire life since then.

“Shit, I didn’t know strangers look at each other like that.” A mix of jealousy and insecurity was getting the best of him. Even if it’s been ten years, there’s still something there. He saw it with his own eyes. Delusion has reared its ugly head to work against him.

Alina drops his hands, taking a step back. “Alright,” She chuckles. “You can go home.” She says, moving towards the door. “And I don’t mean my house; cross that state line.” She wasn’t about to argue with someone who wasn’t trying to listen to her.

“Lina—.”

She spins around. “Don’t Lina me! You just accused me of having feelings for someone who cheated on me. That man got a woman pregnant behind my back and defiled my trust! He broke his promise, Joshua! I don’t give a damn about that man! I love you!” And there it was, the truth he wouldn’t allow her to speak. “That man—hurt me!” She says, her voice breaking. There was a lump forming in her throat, a sign that sobs were soon to come. “And you’re hurting me right now. I–I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t—.” She was not about to ruin her makeup over him.

“Lina, I—.” He starts once again. Before he could finish, she had already run out the door, leaving him alone in this office. “Shit.” He hisses, running his hands over his face.

He fucked up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Welcome to the Chaos! There are two parts to this chapter! So be on the lookout for the next half of it soon! I would like to attach what Theo looks like!

His name is Lance Gross for those who don't know him! Fiiiiine actor. Anywho, if you need an idea of what Alina's bridesmaid dress looks like, it's a spaghetti strap brown satin dress ruched on her left hip. I don't have a picture bc I imagined this lmao sorry

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT. LETS CHAT

JOSH WHAT DID YOU DOOOOOOOOO!!!

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland

#jey uso #main event jey uso #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x oc #jey uso fanfic #Spotify

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leothil · 21 hours

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fic recs: archive edition 29

Too tired yesterday, but I'm back today with some more fic recs from late 2021!

Previous rec posts can be found here!

Home Is Where You Are by @dancer-me Belated Christmas fic, but I missed this one last week. Right before Christmas they find asbestos in Buck's apartment building, so he goes to live with Eddie and Christopher until it's fixed. Very cute, and leads exactly where you'd think! 10.3k words, rated T

eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by @mmtions The PTA at Christopher's school are all enamoured with Buck, which for some reason makes Eddie want to throw a hissy fit. Eddie working to recognize his jealousy for what it really is is a glorious thing to behold! 19.7k words, rated M

Close Enough for Comfort by allyasavedtheday (@littlespoonevan) Touchdowns in Buck and Eddie's relationship from S2 to 5A, and how their physical relationship evolved from casual friends to seeking comfort in the other's touch. Manages to be both longing and comforting at the same time! 14k words, rated T

Your Name A Promise In My Mouth by @kitkatpancakestack An unspecified time in the future, married Buck and Eddie attend couple's therapy, and we get to see them in a time of struggle through the eyes of their therapist. Devastatingly lovely (and don't worry, they never doubt that they love each other). 7.6k words, rated T

love is the dawn by @renecdote Rounding off this recommendations list with a sweet little early morning established relationship smut! 1.1k words, rated E

Happy reading, and remember to leave kudos and comments for the authors!

#fic rec #911 fic rec #buddie fic rec #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #911 fic #buddie fic #911 fanfiction #buddie fanfiction #frida's archive project

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delicatebarness · 1 day

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the manuscript | ecstasy

Summary: The submission from the chapter three.

Warnings: Age Gap. (Dr Barnes: late 40s & Reader: early 20s). Smut Implied.

Word Count: 591

Spotify Playlist | Pinterest Board

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is the submission that Dr. Barnes and Miss Spector met about in Chapter Three. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @mostlymarvelgirl | @mrsnikstan | @angelbabyyy99 | @kaithesimps-blog

Lost in my thoughts, I stared at the headboard amidst the distant thud of music. His touch lacked the depth I craved, his whispers filled with satisfaction that I could not reciprocate. I felt myself drifting further away.

I felt a profound sense of emptiness as his body pressed against mine drifting off into a contented slumber.

The drive for a deeper connection gnawed as I slipped beneath the covers. Careful not to disturb him, I tiptoed across the room.

Finding an escape into the bathroom, I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Slowly, my hand traced a path down my body, tentatively, seeking an intimate connection with myself.

Wandering, my mind focused on an older man—a figure of authority, experience, knowledge. Commanding respect, his touch promised an understanding that someone my age had never encountered. His strong hands and wise eyes filled my fantasies, a stark contrast to the reality I faced.

This disconnection grew more pronounced each day. His attempts at intimacy felt shallow. The allure of someone older became an irresistible pull. Longing for the maturity and confidence that came with age, I craved a reconnection that went beyond the superficial.

Exploring these fantasies, I imagined the feel of his hands. Rough, and callous from his years, yet gentle in their own right. His deep, soothing voice guided me through the reverie, a safe haven in my mind, escaping inadequacies.

Fading into the background as my imagination took over, the music became the rhythm I would follow.

Closing my eyes, I imagine him drawing me close, exploring my body with a knowing touch. Unlike the fumbling attempts I had grown accustomed to, he was deliberate. Without uttering a word, he understands my needs, showing the evidence in every caress.

“Trust me,” his whispers reassure me as my pulse begins to quicken. “Let go,” his breath warm against my ear. His words were simple, yet they held onto a promise of fulfillment.

I envisioned him taking control, as my fantasy deepened, guiding me to new heights of pleasure. Tender but firm in his actions imbued with purpose. His expertise created a symphony of sensations, he knew how to elicit his desires. I became breathless.

The line between fantasy and reality blurred in my mind. My desires clashed with a potent mix of longing and frustration. I yearned for what this man represented, his maturity and confidence. Drew me closer to the edge.

His voice whispered my name, his touch ignited a fire, and I was consumed.

I surrendered completely, lost in the depths.

He was becoming my refuge.

As my mind painted vivid scenes, a nagging voice reminded me of the impossible. He was nothing more than a fantasy– a figment of desire.

But as I grappled with my desires and imagination, the sensations coursing through my body were real. Undeniably. Each movement and each moan sent waves of pleasure. Radiating through me, the doubts drowned out.

I felt myself teetering on the edge of euphoria– spiraling higher and higher with every caress.

Ecstasy crashed over me, as the universe conspired in my favor, granting me a moment of pure bliss. I arched my body with the intensity of pleasure, and a cry released from my lips, silenced by the thudding out yonder.

My world fell away for a fleeting moment, I was left breathless, spent. I had never experienced fulfillment like that before.

With a heavy sigh, I blinked away the remnants as I opened my eyes. My own reflection looming before me.

---

Series Masterlist

#the manuscript series #professor!bucky x student!reader #professor!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes x spector!reader #spector!reader

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fiona-fififi · 3 days

Text

Seven Sentence Sunday

Well, I wasn't going to post anything else from this fic until I was sure I was going to finish it, but then @inell tagged me (thank you for the tag!) in Seven Sentence Sunday, and the chunk I just finished writing was exactly seven sentences, so it felt like fate.

Anyway, here's a little more of the smut fic I may never finish that I previewed at the end of this ask.

“You're still so pent up, huh, baby?” Buck's words are slow and sweet as they wash over him, thick like honey as Eddie tries to process the pet name, and he can't help the gasp that falls from his lips or the way his thighs spread just a little at the quiet promise in Buck's words.

“Buck.” He means it as a warning. It comes out more like a plea.

At the desperation in Eddie's voice, Buck shifts closer, eyes darkening with want in a way Eddie's never seen on him, as he lets a hand fall heavy on Eddie's thigh, fingers digging in gently, and Eddie wants him to touch. Feels himself lift his hips to try to shift Buck's fingers closer to where he needs them, and he knows he should feel ashamed and embarrassed, but Buck's wearing the prettiest smile and pinning him with that wanton gaze, and Eddie just wants more.

Tagging (no pressure!) @messyhairdiaz @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz and anyone who wants to participate. (Also, I am so sorry, I know I am forgetting half my tag list, but it's late here and my brain isn't working.)

#i don't usually write smut this might be terrible but fuck it why not #buddie #buddie fic #seven sentence sunday #fic snippet #the untitled smut fic i may never finish #my wips #wip games #tag games

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pxrty-crxsher · 3 days

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Rosekiller

Tw: suic!de

Heard of Call Me By Your Name? Yeah well get ready for two boys who love each other in the dark of the night and cannot bring themselves to say it. Get ready for the fights and jealousy that ends in insults and then sex. But never end in “I love you.” Get ready for the promise that when one of the boys gets out of jail, they’ll go elope in a place where they’re accepted and can love each other outside of their bedchamber.

Get ready for the now man who leaves prison for the first time in more than a decade, only to find that his one reason for breathing was buried 6ft under, with a tomb stone that didn’t even have flowers on it. The sun didn’t shine on it to make the grass grow. He was one without his other and he didn’t know how to live without the hope of waking up next to the boy one day, his arms wrapped around him, his hair in his face and the warm sleepy kisses he once knew and loved. He ran, but the hurt only followed. Back to the hotel, the bathroom, the knife that he held between his fingers, and the blood that filled his senses.

Through the darkness and death, swimming through the light, he reached the end. Barty banged his fists between the wall that separated the good from the evil. Seeing his love on the other side, he screamed his name, crying out for him and scratching his nails down the thick glass. The boy looked his way and walked to the glass, holding his hand against it and the evil boy’s fist on the other side. Evan was talking to him and he couldn’t hear his voice, he couldn’t feel his warm embrace and he couldn’t scream out that he loved him. He didn’t hear him.

Only Evan did hear him. But it pained him too much to acknowledge him. Because he could never kiss him again. He could never tell him all the things he wanted to say those many years ago.

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cokoweee · 10 hours

Note

The end is here.

She really doesn’t want to dwell on what he told her. Quite frankly she doesn’t want to see him for a solid week and deal with the awkward greetings that would surely come from this conversation, but she promised food and Kendra always delivers. So she pours herself into kneading the bread and shaping the dough into a perfect loaf.

He’s sitting on the couch staring into nothing again. She calls his name to let him know dinner is done but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. So she tries again. And again and again and again. Rolling her eyes she walks into the living room, a steaming bowl of soup in hand.

“ If you don’t get over here I will pour this soup all over you.”

No response. She debates chucking her shoe at him before deciding she didn’t feel like getting punched. Instead she opted for nudging his shoulder. He jolts, eyes wide as he looks at her.

“ Wha-“

“ Dinner is done” she interrupts, pushing the bowl of soup into his hands. “ The bread will be done cooking in a few minutes if you want to wait for that. Or you can eat the soup now and the bread when it’s done. I don’t care.”

He blinks slowly before nodding slightly and getting up slowly. Still looking a bit dazed as he walks back over to the kitchen to sit on a stool. He’s not leaking tears anymore so that’s good. They sit in a semi-comfortable silence eating their soup before he gets up.

“ Dinner was nice.” He says, his voice barley above a whisper, “ Thanks ” and heads toward the bathroom.

Kendra just sits. This was way above her level as roommate. Aside from the fact that he had made most of the meal and definitely did not need to be thanking her, she seriously did not need to be dealing with his trauma. That’s what she gets for accepting free rent. Beggars can’t be choosers she supposed.

He kind of wanted to die. This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. Sighing he looked into the mirror and froze. The mask she put on was nearly the same shade as his skin. It covers up his markings leaving him looking 16 again. Just how he looked when he lost his brothers. To make it worse his hair was wrapped in a purple satin bonnet. A reminder of his past decisions. He laughed, slightly manic, at the pure irony of it all. The leader of the clique he abandoned his sister for was living in his home. And he was more than fine with it.

The world crumpled around him as he stumbled away from the mirror sinking towards the ground. He couldn’t face himself. He couldn’t move. He failed them all. A sob erupted from his chest as he curled himself into a ball. He was dimly aware of the footsteps that signaled someone had walked in, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In all her years Kendra has never heard a sound like that. She’d heard people break down as in juvy or as they left the therapy office, but not a single person managed to shine a light to the broken sobs coming from Othello. She had no idea how to handle the situation. But she really really couldn’t just leave him here shaking and huddled against the wall, boarder line hyperventilating as his eyes didn’t focus on anything. Apparently living with someone long enough gets you caring for them.

Gently wiping the mask of his face she runs through her options. She could offer a hug, or gentle words, or she could leave. She wasn’t sure how he would respond to anything seeing as didn’t seem to know quite where he was, so she opted for holding his hand and rubbing circles into his palm. He didn’t respond. Great. Just great. She sat there for a moment, holding his hand and trying to pretend this wasn’t happening to her.

She kept rubbing circles into his palm even as she pulled her phone out and pressed play on the music he had chosen earlier. Careful to keep her voice low and even as she started to sing along to the first song on the playlist, something from Frank Sinatra. She hated singing, but it wasn’t like he was aware enough to know it was her.

“ You ready to get that mask out?” She half whispered once the song finished, motioning toward the shower.

He didn’t seem to notice that she had even spoken at all. If anything the tears got stronger as she watched him. Ok fine. Words don’t work, but he can’t resist physical force… Hopefully.

Tapping him on the shoulder she managed to get him to be present enough to be guided/ shoved slowly to the shower. He sunk into the tub and curled up again, his tail wrapping around his legs like a vice. She turned the water on and rinsed the mask from his hair. He made to reaction, even when she accidentally pulled some of his hair as she was wringing the water out. It was almost scary to see him act like this. Almost.

He was soaked from head to toe and made no move to dry himself. But there was no way she was going let him leave the bathroom and make a mess of the floor. She didn’t want to leave him alone but she also wasn’t too keen on sitting next to a wet turtle until he calmed down or tired himself out enough to fall asleep. She was wet too, seeing as she had to crawl into the tub to make sure she actually cleaned his hair properly. Sighing she left to the laundry room in search of clean clothes. She loves her dad but being raised in the mindset of gotong royong was really coming to bite her in the butt.

His hair was braided into two long braids and then tied into little buns at the top of his head before a pair of overalls were thrown at him. He hadn’t even noticed that his clothes has been soaked in the shower. He wasn’t exactly sure where the overalls had come from, but anything was better than the now overstimulating feeling of wet clothes. The door was clicked shut as he stared at the fresh set of clothes. Silently thankful wet hair wasn’t cascading down his back he shed the layer of sopping wet clothes and pulled the fresh ones over himself. Then he sat back down. He didn’t want to move. He was still sobbing. He felt sick. The door opened again and he was nudged away from the wall and led toward the living room. A warm blanket was quickly wrapped around his as he was guided to the couch.

His hand was removed from the blanket after a moment and placed in hers as she carefully painted each nail a shade of his signature dark purple. He reached up to rub the tear stains from his cheeks before a hand stopped his. She tutted something about needing his nails to dry before reaching up and wiping his tears away herself. He felt like a child again and curled his legs to his chest as she grabbed his other hand. His nubs lacked a nail bed so she improvised, sticking a fake nail at the end of each one. She painted those too. He watched the whole time, his chest hitching as it tried to catch up with his disgusting display of emotion. It was getting kind of tiring.

You don’t deserve this. You aren’t deserving of love.

You stood there cradling your twin in your arms as he died. You watched your younger brother rip himself apart to bring a what was left of your twin through a portal. You did nothing as you watched your older brother waste away into nothing, didn’t even try to call the Baron, so sure you could fix it. You are the reason they are gone.

It was all his fault.

Sobs rip through this chest as he spirals. He’s not done, but his body decides that it’s done when he heaves. His dinner threatens to make a reappearance as he somehow manages to sob even harder. Clutching a hand to his mouth he manages to lift his head high enough to look at Kendra. She’s terrified, a hand hesitantly reaching out, not touching. He jerkily shakes his head and tries to ask for a bucket. The word seem stuck in his throat and he ends up just making garbled nonsense. She doesn’t make a move to grab anything until he makes an audible heaving noise. Her eyes widen larger as she runs to grab a bowl. It’s thrown against his stomach, the force of it causing him to gag. He ducks his head into the bowl as his stomach releases his dinner.

His throat burns as his stomach continues to try and empty itself despite already being empty. Bile dribbles from his mouth and drips into the bowl, the sound indistinguishable from the sound of his tears hitting the bottom. He wheezes again as thoughts continue to berate his mind.

Worthless. Pathetic. Stupid. What are you five? Grow up and get a grip. Go back to your lab and suffer alone.

He’s ripped from his spiral as he hears a familiar tune. A Jupiter Jim movie is currently blasting on the TV. He laughs a little, but it turns into a broken sob , as the fact that his brothers will never experience the movie with him again invades his mind. Determined to make himself invisible he wraps the blanket around himself as tight as he can.

Go to sleep. Relax.

It’s an aggressive switch from hatred to care and he wonders dimly just how much of the voices he heard were himself. Too tired to really care, he sinks into the corner of the couch. His head rests against the arm rest as the tears finally begin to slow. He tries to get them to stop completely, but ends up making annoying little noises that make it obvious he was trying to stop. He stops trying after a few minutes and condemns himself to the constant waterfall of tears.

His eyes are horrifically puffy and it was getting hard to keep them open. So he doesn’t try. He slowly nods off, tears and his favorite musical number washing over him.

When he startles awake he’s confused. This is definitely not his room. The day’s events come crashing down on him and he groans, dragging his hand over his face. A headache beats at his head as he glances around at the living room. A water bottle was placed on the table at the edge of the couch, as well as a bottle of ibuprofen and another bowl. He notices suddenly that his mouth still tastes like bile and takes a long draw from the bottle before swallowing the pills. His face is miraculously clean though. Guilt rips through him as he realizes Kendra must have cleaned the mess from his face while he slept. Trying not to dwell to much on that, he looks over at the table again. There’s a slice of bread there too, and a bottle of Gatorade, which he gladly uncaps and downs.

He’s about to get up when he notices a pressure shift against him. Kendra is asleep. She’s wearing one of his hoodies for some reason. It’s so big it practically swallows her, but she looks comfy. Her head is nestled into his side, her arm wrapped loosely around his middle, tightening slightly as he shifts. It’s a wonder he hadn’t noticed her against him sooner.

His chest tightens as he looks down at her. The way she’s curled against him reminds him of the way Mikey used to cling to him when they had sleepovers.

Was it selfish of him? To act like this? To cling to the past? To shut himself away while everyone else suffered? To force other people to care for him because he was too broken to help himself? To allow her to become a mirror of what he wanted more than anything? To force her into a mold she didn’t know she was even a part of all because he wants his brothers back?

He knows she’s not them, so why does he want her so close? It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t know how to feel about her. It’s not like he loves her. He loved his brothers, he loves Draxum and Cas to an extent, so it would make sense that he would learn to love Kendra too, in his unique familial bond way. But this is new, different, something he’s never felt before. How strange.

He probably needs to get Sheldon to run a health check because his heart is way to fast and he feels way too hot and it’s a getting a little hard to breathe.

He hates himself for even thinking it, but he wants her to feel the same way about him he feels about her. He knows it’s will never happen though. He’ll never be enough for her, and she’ll never settle for a husk of a man. Not even as a friend. She’s made that bit clear.

Part of him wants to go back to his own room and turn off the lights and lay there as he tries his best not to think. But the thought of leaving Kendra keeps him rooted to the couch. He doesn’t want to move away from her. So instead of fleeing to the safety of his lab he chooses to slowly remove the blanket he’s wrapped in and drape it over of her sleeping form. There’s a pause before he before gently lays his arm across her. She shifts again as he adjusts the blanket over her and he freezes. But she settles down again and buries her head closer against him. He likes it, he likes her so close to him, and he hates that he does. He doesn’t deserve this. His arm seems to have a mind of its own as a nub of a thumb absently strokes the skin on her cheek. The motion is soothing and he slowly drifts back to sleep. She’s going to kill him when she wakes up.

Fun fact : gotong royong is the concept of bearing burdens among members of a community/ family common in Indonesian cultures.

Well I hope y’all had fun, I know I did.

You

YOU

Amazing motherfucker. Now I GOTTA draw more of the comic you sicko

You monster

YouuuuuYOUUUUU RARARARARARARARARARARARRARA

#side note I very much love this #so much #ur very good with writing hot diggity damn homeskittle #asks and replies

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f1nalboys · 2 days

Text

Reunion - Frank (Adam Barrett)

Frank x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hiiiii guys >:)) i promise ill get to requests soon!!!!! i just was mentally being attacked by this freak and Needed to write something super quick for him!!!! lmk if anything is ooc for him, i did my darndest writing for him!!!! i hope u all enjoy and lmk if youre interested in me writing more for him!!!! ALSO!! i know his real name is adam but to make it easier for myself i just called him frank in the fic, lmk if u guys prefer that or using his actual name 😝 <3

WORD COUNT: 3190

WARNINGS: nsfw, vampire!frank, human!reader, oral (afab + amab recieving,) choking (to the point of nearly passing out), biting, slight blood play, slightest bit of scent play??, degradation and praise, handcuffs, restraints, face fucking, multiple orgasms (afab,) creampie, this was meant to be short and then i was attacked...., pain play, mating press, implication of more sex, brief mentions/threats of being fucked until you pass out but you are fully concious the entire time, proofread but u guys know me by now

Frank tilts his head, tongue gliding across razor sharp teeth, a sinister grin gracing his normally soft features. You watch him from your spot on the bed, handcuffs tight around both your wrists and the bedframe. Tugging at the restraints, you wince as the cool metal digs into your warm flesh, squirming when you feel Frank's gaze finally land on you.

“Keep struggling and you’re gonna make yourself bleed.” Frank grins, the bed shifting with his weight as he sits down beside you. He’s still fully clothed, a far cry from your bare skin still covered in healed-over bite marks and a layer of sweat. He leans in, hand trailing up your stomach lightly, too lightly to feel good, his nose brushing against your wrist. Frank breathes in deeply and you watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck. Y’know what? Keep doing it. I want you to bleed.”

You whine, shaking your head. “Frank, c’mon, please!”

“C’mon, please,” Frank mimics, fake pouting. You stay silent. When he was like this, all sharp teeth and sharp tongue, it was better to take whatever he was going to give you. A fight wouldn’t stop that. His hand trails up your chest, fingers calloused and rough, before landing on the base of your throat. His grip is loose, for now. “You always been this damn whiney or did this vampire shit give me better hearing?”

You swallow heavily. “I’m sorry.” You squeak and he grins, shaking his head. His hand grips your throat a bit tighter, feeling your pulse pumping heavily under his fingers. You watch his face as his eyes close. His breathing, which you learned he had to pretend to do after getting turned, matches your own. He stays like this a while, feeling your heart beat and the air fill and leave your lungs, feeling the humanity and life pump through your body on instinct.

Frank didn’t miss many things about being human. He was stronger, faster, more agile, smarter, more ruthless, and so fucking powerful it could make your head spin. The things he didn't have anymore he could, for the most part, recreate it well enough. Breathing was now a conscious decision, one he only did when around other people. The sunlight thing didn’t bother him, only resulted in him moving to a city where the nightlife was more important than the daytime. The bloodlust was easy to satiate with his job.

The one thing that he couldn't ignore or replicate, however, was a heartbeat.

His chest felt empty, a dead thing lying there doing nothing but rotting away, maggots and fungi eating away at the carcass that was his humanity. On occasion, he’d find himself laying down, eyes closed, hand over his heart, imagining the thump of it, vibrating his chest, telling him and anyone who touched him that he was something, that he was alive. Your heartbeat was the closest thing to his own he could get to anymore. Frank loved to hear it quicken, skip a beat, change in its normal soothing rhythm, all due to him. Him and his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his words.

Him.

Frank’s eyes open again, blue eyes dark, and he sighs, letting go of your throat. “Spread your legs.” His voice leaves no room for argument and you listen, your face growing hot from embarrassment at the wolf whistle he lets out. “So fuckin’ sexy, you know that? S’why I keep comin’ back.” He murmurs, leaning over and kissing you roughly.

It’s too much, but everything Frank did was too much; he sprayed cologne until you felt like you were suffocating, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, he went down on you until you couldn't remember your name, he killed until he was covered in blood, he betrayed anyone and everyone who was dumb enough to trust him. Everyone but you. The only person he had stayed (mostly) gentle with, loyal too, was you.

Sure, he wouldn’t ever call himself your boyfriend, but he’d kill any guy you talked to and leave their decapitated head on your doorstep, fucking you into your mattress till you couldn't walk, and tell you that you were his. For now, that was enough.

Frank kisses down your neck, sharp teeth nicking at the thin flesh, a low moan being pulled from your lips. He loved the noises you made, could get drunk off them, could pull them from you for hours, and he has. “I need you,” you whimper as his mouth latches onto your nipple, his warm tongue flicking over the hardening nub. He hums around it but doesn’t stop. You can feel him relax over top of you, his free hand squeezing at your other tit, the days stress melting away. “Please?”

“I’m takin’ my time.” Frank says, narrowed eyes flicking up to meet your own, but he lets go of your nipple, sliding down the length of the bed. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked though, aren’t you? That’s why you’re begging me.” You can’t deny it even if you wanted to because his hand is cupping your cunt, thick finger prodding at your slick opening to see, and you’re moaning so loud you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, you are. Guess it has been a bit, hasn’t it? Missed me or something, sweetheart?”

“Missed your cock.”

“Just my cock?” He asks, rubbing your wetness on your clit, a shiver going down your spine. “Not my fingers? The ones on your sloppy fuckin’ pussy right now, you didn’t miss them?” He asks, a smug fucking grin on his face, his fingers moving expertly against you. “Not my mouth? Bet your pussy misses my mouth. Shit, last time we fucked you didn’t seem very happy when I stopped tongue fucking you, so what changed, huh?”

His voice is sharp, working himself up the more he talks, his eyes focused on yours. He loves the microexpressions you make when you’re trying to hold back; the furrow of your eyebrows, the twitch of your lips, the flare of your nostrils. It's so incredibly human, so incredibly sexy, he wants nothing more than to bite into your neck and drain you, keep you inside him forever. But, he can’t. He’d miss you. Instead, he slips two fingers inside your hole, the stretch making you gasp, eyes widening, heartbeat picking up. “O-okay, okay…missed you.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did.” He says, sliding down the rest of the bed, strong hands on your thighs, tongue swiping across your clit. Your legs try to close, your back arching off the soft mattress, the clang of the handcuffs bringing a smile to his face. Frank moans against your cunt, his fingers massaging your thighs as he enjoys himself.

You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair and tug, bringing him closer, but these damn handcuffs keep digging into your wrists and it hurts and his fingers won’t stop pumping and scissoring inside your cunt and his lips are wrapping around your clit and he’s sucking and suddenly you can’t think of anything as you cum. Your legs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head and all Frank can do is laugh against you as he draws it out.

“S-stop, hang on,” you stutter after what felt like hours, your body going limp. Frank listens for once, moving his face off of your cunt but he leaves his fingers inside you, curling them just to pull a whine from your throat. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth and lips, tasting you, cracking his neck to stop himself from bending you in half and shoving his cock inside you. It’s been a while, almost two weeks, and he wants to savor this. Or, he wants to try. Self control has never been his strong suit. “Can you take the handcuffs off?”

“They hurt?”

“A little.”

“Not yet.” Frank crawls over top of you, pressing his lips to yours. He’s gentle now, but you know he’s holding back. Despite how rough he gets with you, he’s always holding back from the primal urge to rip you to shreds. When he pulls away, he moves forwards even more, his knees just under your armpits. You stare up at him and he knows you’re nervous. His smile is gone, his eyes dark as he works on undoing his belt. “I’ll take ‘em off you real soon baby. I just need you to earn it first.”

You swallow heavily, your heartbeat spiking as you watch him take his belt off. He tosses it to the side, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to his thighs. His pants rub against your bare chest, scratching you, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way your mouth was filling with saliva at the sight of his bulge. Frank laughs as you try to sit back onto your elbows, an annoyed whine stuck in your throat, and he pulls his underwear down, sighing as his cock springs free.

His cock is hard and he strokes it slowly, just out of reach. “Fuckin’ look at you… you ain’t embarrassed acting like this?” He asks, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning at the sight of you. You didn’t know it, or, at least, he hoped you didn’t, but he was addicted to every fucking thing you did. Your voice, your facial expressions, your movements, your back talk, your anger, your sadness; he was obsessed with it all. It was all for him, even when you were alone.

Smiling slightly, you shake your head no. “Were you embarrassed eating me out?” You counter and he smirks, rolling his eyes slightly before leaning his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. Your mouth opens, your eyes laser focused on his dick. Frank teases you, rubbing his cock across your wet tongue.

“Mmm, fuck, I wasn’t,” he answers, tilting his head as he watches you strain your head forwards in an attempt to take him into your mouth. “But I wasn’t doing that.” You roll your eyes and look up at him, doing your best to look doe-eyed. His eyes narrow; he knew what you were doing, and he knew it would work. “So slutty, aren’t you, sweetheart? All for my cock.” As he talks, his voice low, he uses his hand to press his cock against your cheek, thrusting shallowly. His precum smears across your cheeks and you moan softly, your tongue rolling out of your mouth to slide against his shaft as he does so.

Finally, Frank pushes his cock down your throat. He does so slowly, hissing as he savors the heat of your mouth as your lips wrap around him. Your eyes close and you hum, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue. His cock was perfect for you; long, thick, and curved upwards, it always filled you to the brim, hitting that spot inside you to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“There you go, Y/N,” he grunts, his hips flexing. The rhythm he sets is slow and deep, making you gag each time and giving you enough time to recover before he repeats it. “Fuck, your mouth is so good, you know that? Just wanna, fuck,” his hand comes to rest on the headboard behind you, leaning over your head, plunging his cock deeper into your mouth. You hear the metal headboard creak and you know the grip he has on it is nearly enough to break it. “Just wanna fucking shove it down your throat till you pass out.”

You gurgle around his cock, heart jumping at the thought, and he grins. “You want that, slut? Huh? Missed me so fuckin’ bad you want me to fuck your tight little throat? Make you take it even after you’re fuckin’ knocked out, using you like my own little fuck toy, my little puppet to do whatever I want with?” His thrusts get harder, deeper, and now you really are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t want him to stop. Not yet. You have no way to stop him even if you did, and the realization is almost enough to send you into a panic. But you know Frank. He knew your body better than you did, knew what you could handle and what you couldn’t, knew what would make you cry in pain or pleasure; you were safe with him, even if he was bruising your throat.

The edge of your vision begins to blur, the lack of oxygen making your head spin, and right when you swear you’re about to pass out, your tugging at the handcuffs finally stopping, he pulls out. You suck in a harsh breath, sputtering and coughing, not registering as Frank gets off the bed and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. It’s only when you feel his hands pressing your knees to your chest that you realize what he’s about to do. “Wait!”

“What?” He grumbles, swiping his cock through your folds, focused on the way you coat the tip. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna fuck… that’ll be cruel...” You respond by tugging at the handcuffs again, clanging them against the bed frame, and he nods, tsking, a grin on his face. “Ah, right, right. Forgot about that. My bad, baby.”

He grabs the key from his pants pocket, wetting his bottom lip as he unlocks them, tossing the handcuffs and keys to the side. Your wrists are raw, a few droplets of blood bubbling up along the skin. “You made me bleed.” You say softly, no venom in your voice. He grabs your hand gently, bringing it to his mouth before he licks the cut. It tickles.

“Fuck, your blood…” Frank says, giving you a look you can’t quite place before he’s back at the task at hand. Your knees are pushed to your chest, your hands positioned to hold them back as far as you could, and before you know it his cock is bullying its way into your hole. “So fucking tight.” He grunts as he sets a brutal pace, each noise of pain you make only fueling him onward.

He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but it’s hard not to when you sound and feel and taste so fucking good when he does.

“My cock too much?” He leans over your body as he fucks you, using his weight to keep your legs trapped above his shoulders. Frank's face hovers above yours, his eyes locked onto every twist of your face. “Too fuckin’ big, too fuckin’ thick, it hurts, Frank.” He mocks, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. Your arms, now free from the restraints, wrap around his shoulders tightly. “Too fuckin; much but you don’t want me to stop, fuck, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, don’t stop, please!” You cry out, the pain of being stretched out finally beginning to melt away into toe curling pleasure. The fire in your stomach is burning white hot, his stomach bumping against your clit with each thrust, his grunts replacing your own thoughts. Every word he said, every name he called you, it all blended together perfectly.

He begins to kiss at your neck, sucking marks onto your flesh only to soothe them with his tongue. “Missed you too, y’know?” He whispers against you. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy, the way you get so god damn tight. Couldn’t, shit, couldn’t even play with my cock ‘cause it didn’t feel as good as when you do it.” He laughs at this, shaking his head at himself for admitting it. He missed the other stuff too, like your smile and your laugh and the way you smelled when you were curled up in his bed asleep. He’d never tell you that, though.

Franks thrusts grow sloppy, his patience finally snapping. “You better fuckin’ cum on my dick, Y/N.” He grunts, lifting his head for a brief moment to look you in the eyes. When he sees them squeezed shut he growls, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ look at me.” Your eyes pop open, your gasp of shock stuck in your throat. “Your greedy little cunts gonna milk me dry, you understand, bitch?”

“F-fuck,” you gurgle, your hand grabbing onto his as he tightens his grip again. You do your best to nod, feeling spit collect at the corner of your mouth, your heart beating so quick you think it’s going to burst. You can’t breath but he’s fucking you so well you don’t give a shit; you just hope if you pass out he’ll hold off on cumming inside you until you were awake again so you can feel it.

“There you go, baby, fuck, cum for me.” Frank grunts, feeling your orgasm just before you do. His hand lets go of your throat as you cum, shoving your head to the side to sink his teeth into your flesh. Somehow, someway, he’s able to hold off for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of your cunt spasming around him before he cums, the sweet taste of your blood pooling into his mouth tipping him over the edge. He doesn’t let go, groaning into your shoulder as he spills inside you.

Your gasps come out shaky as he feeds. He swallows a few times before finally letting go, your blood covering his mouth. He kisses you roughly, his hips flexing, making sure your cunt gets every drop. “Gross,” you tease when he pulls away, your tongue swiping over the blood he had left behind on your tongue. Your face screws up at the metallic taste but Franks changes to be softer. He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, taking the sight of you in. “What?” You murmur, feeling your face grow hot.

“I did miss you. For real.” He admits, corner of his lip twitching upwards at both the look of shock that crosses your face and the way your heart skips. He never admitted that to you before; it was always about how much he missed your cunt or your mouth or your hands, how he missed fucking you and making you his, and you always accepted that this was the way it would be. Sure, you dreamed about this moment time and time again, but you never actually thought it would happen. “Being away, you know, made me think some things through.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well…” He tilts his head slightly, surveying your face. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you joined me.” His hips flex again, pushing his cum deeper inside you, and you gasp, back arching off the bed slightly. Frank moves your legs down off his shoulders and you wrap them around his waist. “Hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” Frank purrs, kissing you gently, his cock plunging in and out of you slowly. He pulls back, lips hovering just above yours, a smirk on his face. “You want me to turn you?

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #abigail #abigail 2024 #frank abigail #adam barrett #frank abigail x reader #adam barrett x reader #adam barrett x y/n #frank abigail x y/n #vampire x reader

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jooniperbonsai · 1 day

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Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Four

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 19.5k

Release date: June 11, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: As you spend more time with Seokjin, the threads seem to be even more tangled than before. Memories of the past threaten to ruin everything that the two of you have. Are you sure this is what you really want anyway?

Chapter Warnings (Oh god bear with me in this): angst, miscommunication (sorry sorry sorry we need it for the plot), cursing, alcohol, insecurity and self doubt, sexual harassment online and offline, pet names, fat!reader (we love to see it), sexual fantasies in the form of oral sex/face riding, Seokjin gets hard like 3 times (pretend to be shocked), masturbation, references to menstruation and first time sexual fantasies/masturbation, lingerie, sex toys, boundaries & lack of boundaries, references to poorly written novels (derogatory), verbal abuse from family members, gaslighting

a/n: Hi. I know it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. This week especially has been rough as my family lost one of our pet cats unexpectedly, but I wanted to put my best foot forward and share this chapter with y'all to enjoy our Seokjin's return! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that its length will tide you over. I have a special festa treat planned with another chapter for y'all this week, and I promise it'll have been worth the wait. Enjoy! -h

SpringDay: He didn’t leave a note

Wonu15: Was he supposed to?

SpringDay: No, but…idk

Wonu15: Then why are you upset if that wasn’t in your agreement

SpringDay: IDK!!!!!! Because we talked about things? At least, a little bit? And he saw me cry and he held me.

Wonu15: But did you ask him to stay the night? Did you ask him to leave you a note?

SpringDay: No

Wonu15: Well

SpringDay: I know!!!! I get it!!!

Wonu15: Maybe you should tell him

Wonu15: That you’re in love with him

SpringDay: Fuck you

“Ugh!” You exit your chat app and toss your phone across the covers as you roll over in your bed, inhaling the pillow that now smells of Seokjin.

He was here. Last night. He held you in his lap on your bed. He moved your furniture around for you. He stayed until you fell asleep. And even after that for a bit longer. You’d felt a chill, possibly as he left the bed, and it was enough to wake you.

It was still dark, but the sun was creeping in slowly. Enough that you could see his slightly mussed hair sticking up in the back, a yawn escaping him with a sigh as he idled in the doorway, almost like he was hesitating before he left.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think you dreamed it all up, but as soon as you heard the door click shut behind him, you found yourself curling around that warm spot in your sheets and falling back asleep.

And that’s where you’ve been for most of the day, savoring the feeling of him in your bed or standing in the kitchen slightly hungover as you finished off the rest of last night’s pizza. You’ve apologized to your followers for skipping last night’s stream, promising that you’ll make up for it tonight.

Your stomach clenches a bit at the idea of an encore performance from the last time you were live. Maybe Seokjin could come over and hang around while you get started? At least for a little bit?

He probably has better things to do than hang around your place.

True. You had monopolized so much of his time last night, and it didn’t even amount to an actual stream. It’s selfish to assume he has nothing better to do than to sit around and monitor you to make sure you don’t succumb to peer pressure.

You need to be an adult and do this on your own.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up out of bed and over to your computer. Everything you went over yesterday feels like a blur. At this point, you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do. You remember he mentioned something about utilizing wishlists as a monetary solution to some of the more unhinged followers.

If they have money to spend, let them spend it. But don’t compromise your morals to do so.

Is that something he encounters often? It has to be. You wonder what streaming was like for Seokjin at first, all the ways he compromised himself for his followers. Is the dominant persona he exudes even authentic? What if he’s more submissive or even plain vanilla and just doing all this for the money?

You can’t say you’d blame him. That last stream had you feeling as though you were sitting on the blade of a knife as you debated what the extra cut of money could bring you. Your heartbeat pounds more heavily in your chest, a few beats feeling like they’re piercing into your throat.

It feels awful to know the way money has made you so powerless. And now here you are, about to force yourself onto a stream for some extra bucks in this month’s payout.

How does Seokjin do it, really? You don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. Not when you two aren’t intimate like that. But you can’t help but wonder why and how streaming, much less streaming sex, doesn’t tear him apart each time.

You wish you could ask him.

Your reminder on your phone alerts you and you groan, forcing yourself away from the desktop and into the bathroom to shower. In your hamper, you spot Seokjin’s pink button down that he’d lent you last night.

It felt like a piece of armor then, shrouding you from the chill of anxiety. Even now, as you lift it up to your nose, that comforting and fresh smell of his detergent begins to settle the sourness of your gut.

Maybe you could do this alone, after all. Just, with a little encouragement from a friend.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone said.

“I am not!” Another voice. A deeper one.

“You asked her if she wanted to fuck!”

“I did not! I asked if she wanted to come over and eat ramyeon! That’s all that it means!”

“No, no hyung, he’s right. That’s not at all what it means.”

Words. Seokjin was hearing them flurry around him, picking up the tail end of whatever story Namjoon was telling the group. But he wasn’t really listening. He was too tired. He had napped for about an hour in his office earlier, though it was unintentional. He was sitting at his desk, placing a produce order when he felt one of his eyelids shut. Then the other. The next thing he knew, someone was banging on the door saying the register was jammed and they needed the key.

He had left your apartment late. Right when the sun was beginning to rise. And he probably wouldn’t have even left then if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally had rolled off of him after about an hour of you sleeping heavily on his chest.

You talk in your sleep, he learned. Not a lot, but in little murmurs, usually yes or no spilling out of your mouth with ease. He was grateful for them, because otherwise he would have fallen asleep with your body slotted against him perfectly, the weight of your head and arm on him just enough to tumble him into a state of safety.

Both too late and too soon, you moved, rolled onto your other side. And then Seokjin left.

He debated leaving a note so you would know he wasn’t bailing, going so far as to find a pen and notepad from the kitchen fridge to write on, but then he knocked sense into himself. Notes were for people who left after hookups when unsure whether or not they were welcome to stay the whole night. You’d invited him over, sure, but as friends. You would have of course expected him to leave after you fell asleep, as that was the agreement. Right?

Seokjin had danced around your living room for ten minutes, pacing back and forth, looking like a crazy detective searching for clues. What would he even say in it? If he left one would you think that he’d expected you guys to have sex?

So he didn’t, he tossed the notepad on the side table as he grabbed his things, aware now that his button down had gone missing since you changed into your pajamas, but he didn’t have time to look for it, and didn’t want to further snoop through your stuff to reclaim it.

By the time he left, the sun was up, and he had just enough time to rush the few blocks to work. Besides that nap, he hadn’t slept at all last night.

And now he was on Jungkook and Taehyung’s couch, a beer magically in his hand that he didn’t remember getting while his friends apparently talked about…ramyeon?

“–clearly your fault you choose to pretend you’re so old and stay out of touch. Seokjin-hyung knows what that means, don’t you hyung?”

Who was talking to him? He grunted, hoping whoever it was would let that be enough of an answer.

“Hyung?” Jungkook. That’s who was talking to him.

Seokjin blinked. His contacts felt like sandpaper in his eyes.

“Don’t bother with him. He hasn’t had a single sip of that beer since he got here and has been zoned out staring at that wall for about thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, moving from Seokjin’s periphery into full view.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked gently, clearly concerned but also possibly using this moment to help redirect whatever teasing he was facing.

“Just tired,” Seokjin responded.

“Oh yeah, you had to work today. And you were at Y/N’s to help her with her stream last night, right? How did that go by the way?” Jimin asked.

“What stream?” Seokjin asked, confused. And then he remembered. That was the whole point he had gone over there in the first place.

“Um, you know, the one that you went to her place for?” Jimin’s eyebrows knit together. The rest of the group craned their heads in Seokjin’s direction, curious.

“She, um, she didn’t end up streaming.”

“Then, what time did you leave?” A broken, awkward silence fell over his friends as Seokjin shifted in his seat.

It suddenly felt oppressively warm in here, and heat creeped up his neck as he tried to string words together.

“I think like…7?”

“So you got there, only to turn around and leave? So why didn’t you sleep last night? You look like shit,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Is everyone really this clueless today or are you all fucking with me?”

He pushed himself up from the beat-up leather armchair, his usual space during their hangouts and sauntered over to the small bar Taehyung and Jungkook had right off the dining area. He took his time, uncapping the bottle of whiskey Seokjin presumed they kept mostly for Yoongi’s benefit, and filled one of the highball glasses left out for him.

Once Yoongi started drinking whiskey, everyone knew to prepare themselves for an evening of his contemplative and sometimes unfiltered ranting. This was when his self-proclaimed ADHD seemed to shine best.

“Honestly, you guys still don’t see it do you.”

“See what exactly?” Seokjin asked, finally awake enough to formulate sentences.

Yoongi studied his glass for a moment and in a final decision plucked the entire bottle from the bar and brought it back to his group of friends. He groaned as he sat back in the chair, like it was painful to do so on his bones, like he was the age of Seokjin's father and not merely thirty.

Yoongi knocked back his first glass of the whiskey, smacking his lips afterward.

In the corner of his eye, Seokjin saw Jimin roll his in annoyance.

“Can we get to the point?” He asked.

Yoongi shot him a look, and then placed the glass down on the coffee table.

“First of all, Taehyung-ah, he didn’t leave early. Hyung here left late. As in this morning. He was obviously out all night.”

Namjoon snorted. “Hyung, this isn’t a detective drama. We all kind of figured.”

“I didn’t,” Taehyung objected.

“We know,” Namjoon chuckled and turned his attention back to Yoongi. “Ok, oh wise one, what is it that we all seem to be missing?”

Yoongi pouted, but he recovered his dramatic flair. It was something everyone knew to give him the space to perform, the odd pause in his quiet nature usually a sign that he needed attention and didn’t know how to ask.

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I won’t say.” A slight smirk cracked through Yoongi’s façade.

“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Hoseok blurted, which had an immediate rush of blood to Seokjin’s head as he flooded with embarrassment.

“No! God, no we didn’t!” He didn’t want to mention that yes, technically you slept with him, just not in that way.

“Pfft, relax. Of course he didn’t. You think this guy will be looking all mopey after he finally gets laid again? No, he’s going to have that stupid dopey grin he always had with…you know,” Yoongi recovered the attention of the room, Soon Yi’s name unsaid but stirring a bit of unease among his friends. Yoongi and her had been particularly close during the period of Seokjin and her dating, having been his roommate for quite some time. He’d learned to weave his life around Soon Yi’s presence, over time warming up to her during the days he returned from class to find her studying on Seokjin’s bed and waiting for him to come home. Since the breakup, he’s always refused to say her name.

“Ah, the dopey grin, I almost forgot about that.” Jimin’s warm voice filled in the gaps where Yoongi’s sudden coldness cast, sitting himself on the edge of the leather armchair as he plucked the glass of whiskey Yoongi had just poured from his hands and gulped it down.

Yoongi glared at Jimin, but it faded quickly as Jimin winked back at him. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Yoongi took the bait, softening back into Jimin’s outreached arm that began rubbing circles down his back.

“I’m right here,” Seokjin said lamely, but his friends ignored him. He put the beer up to his lips and let it flood into his mouth. It was warm. Gross.

“Do you think he’s going to start doing that thing again where he’s late for everything because he’s too busy having sex with Y/N all the time to manage his time better? Because that was annoying,” Jungkook complained.

Seokjin spluttered, choking on the beer. “Wh-what?!”

Everyone laughed, including Namjoon, who gave Seokjin a sympathetic look. “I think now that he streams all the time, his time management skills have improved.”

“Besides, it seemed more like it was Soon Yi who was causing that issue. She was chronically late for everything. Is Y/N late for things?” Hoseok added.

Seokjin blinked. How did this conversation even get to this point?

“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, exasperated.

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back into his guiding elder persona with ease. “You’re down bad for Y/N, obviously. We are just trying to be supportive.”

“I am not!” He argued, the heat of embarrassment now turning into anger.

“You are too,” Taehyung argued. “I’ve seen you at work with her a few times. You are always staring at her like she’s the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. You want her so bad, hyung.”

Seokjin glared at Taehyung. “Just because I look at her sometimes doesn’t mean I am in love with her.”

“Okay Namjoon, I take it back. You’re not a fucking idiot. Or maybe you still are, but Jin-hyung takes the cake as the biggest fucking idiot here.” Hoseok said, a humorless laugh flying from his chest. “Wow. No one said you’re in love with her.”

Seokjin’s face flushed.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed hyung!”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us all your secrets.”

“Did you have sex though?”

“Taehyung-ah!”

“What? You’re the one who asked in the first place!”

“So?”

“So, I know you’re curious too. I want to know which one of his porn star moves he pulled out of hiding. Did he Full Nelson her or was it purely missionary? Nah, nah, he’s too dirty for that. Hyung, did you Full Nelson her?”

“Wait, what’s a Full Nelson?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Namjoon said.

“It’s a sex thing!”

“No. You’re making that up!”

“Hyung, is that a sex thing?”

“Yah! Shut up!” Yoongi said, and four pairs of eyebrows shot up as Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook broke away from their conversation to come back down to Earth.

Seokjin’s hands were sweaty and he jostled his leg anxiously as his friends composed themselves.

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin sighed, finally pulling his hand away from Yoongi’s back.

“Maybe we should let Seokjin-hyung speak,” he suggested, gesturing to his anxious friend.

Everyone nodded sheepishly.

Seokjin took a deep breath, not even sure where to begin.

“Well, I…First of all, Y/N and I really didn’t have sex. She had a panic attack over the possibility of me being gay for some reason. Er, well not me being gay but asking the question. And that seemed to be something for her that opened the floodgates to an entire larger panic attack. So, after I cooked us jeon, we just kinda hung out and ditched the idea of the stream. And then, she did fall asleep on me for a bit.”

The memory of you this morning flooded his thoughts, how your hair skimming across his arms as you shifted your head gave him goosebumps. Or that your scent had invaded his clothes, his nose, so much so that he could just picture you and the soft, sweet smell would manifest around him.

“Oh, oh hyung.”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Seokjin shrieked as Jimin frowned.

His friends all sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Taehyung awkwardly stood up, stating he needed to use the bathroom before he exited the room.

“When did it start getting this serious for you?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t serious. We aren’t even together.”

“He means when did you start having feelings for her hyung? I know we said that none of us were accusing you of being in love with her, but are you sure that it’s just about sex, or friendship, or whatever it is you keep saying it is?”

Love. That word felt like fire in his brain. He couldn’t possibly love you. Not when he barely knew you. Not when he only just stood in your apartment for the first time, saw you asleep on him. What Seokjin knew about love was something faded and dusty, shoved under his bed in an old shoebox and hard to name. It had been so long since he felt the early feelings of life with Soon Yi.

Soon Yi. That was love, wasn’t it? The hot poker of constant chaos, being whisked away from one thing to another with pleasure and delight. Wasn’t that supposed to be what love was? He remembered ripping apart magazines with her in her dorm room to make a large collage that she created from top to bottom. All the colors swirling around them as they shredded page after page and refit together. Things clashed, patterns divided themselves into a kaleidoscope around her room. That was how Soon Yi was. A kaleidoscope of every color Seokjin had ever thought imaginable.

And she was like that for him too, when she laid underneath him that night, her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable, thrown from the bed to the floor as they christened every surface of that space imaginable.

With you, things weren’t able to be defined by colors. Instead, all Seokjin knew was that the heaviness and the intensity of first love wasn’t at all how he experienced you. No, you were like a fire that ignited in him, and he knew it. Scorched away every faded bit of that box under the bed and licked your flame along every part of him.

The way he so easily complied with you last night, despite the fact that he knew it would be bad for you both to be so close. Letting you lie on him while he sat there hard just by breathing in your sweetness. How his body responded like this was some first love despite the fact that it wasn’t, and he found himself changing the rules of his life every single time a sigh left your lips. That couldn’t be love, only fascination, only primal, sexual curiosity.

He’d admit his crush, but love? There was no way this could be it.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

“But–” Jungkook began, but Jimin silenced him with a look.

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not in love with her. I have a crush. And we’re friends. And yeah, I am really really ‘down bad’ for her like Yoongi said. But it’s not like that.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists, sighing in clear frustration.

“Alright, hyung,” Jimin said gently. “Alright.”

Just then, Seokjin’s phone pinged, and his heart plunged right into his stomach.

You were live? Now? Without him there?

That wasn’t in your agreement anyway. You agreed to help her stream. You helped her. Now she doesn’t need you.

That little bit of knowledge felt like a twisted knife, but he ignored it anyway, rapidly tapping the alert on his phone that led him to the app.

“What’s that about?” Hoseok asked.

His other friends repeated the question, filling the room with a hum of curiosity.

“Shut up!” he snapped, clicking the side button to turn up the volume.

“–and yeah sorry about not streaming last night. Time kind of slipped away from me. But I plan on making it up to you guys, I promise.” Your voice echoed throughout the living room, hushing Seokjin’s friends as they hunched forward to see what was the cause of his sudden irritation.

“Is that…?” Yoongi began.

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he waltzed back into the room, patting his damp hands on the back of his pants. “That’s her.”

“Oh, oh okay I get it now,” Namjoon said. “Leave it to hyung to be down bad for someone who dresses just like him.”

What? Seokjin squinted at the screen, taking in your appearance: your hair was loosely curled around your face, some juicy pink lip gloss that he knew tasted like strawberries (he’d smelled it on you before) glazing your mouth, and a black lace bustier that was barely being covered by a pink linen button down was peeking out. One that looked exactly like the one he was wearing last night.

“Because that is my shirt,” he replied, dazed.

“What?” Jimin said, hurling himself across the coffee table and yanking the phone from Seokjin’s hands.

Jungkook followed behind Jimin, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder as he squinted at you on the screen. “Can we make it any bigger? I can’t see shit from here.”

“No!” Seokjin protested, but it was clear he wouldn’t win this argument.

“Wait, why does she have your shirt?” Yoongi asked as Jimin and Jungkook fumbled with the television setup to cast the stream.

Seokjin glared at his friend. Hoseok laughed, sliding into the spot next to him and offering him some shrimp chips.

“Who cares? The better question is why is she wearing it on her live stream over her lingerie?”

“Ah, true.”

Yoongi turned to Seokjin expectantly, like he would somehow know the reason. Honestly, he wondered the same.

You weren’t ready for this. You two had barely covered the basics yesterday. Why were you streaming when the arrangement was between the two of you to do this together? Did you just not want his help anymore? Or did all the talking and your panic attack yesterday make you rethink things?

What if you had really wanted him to leave last night or your emotions got the best of you and you regretted everything? Seokjin could feel the spiral of his thoughts starting to unwind as he tried to figure out what the explanation for this stream was.

“A-ha! Ok, we got it,” Jimin said as he clicked through the series of menu permissions to cast a larger version of you onto the screen.

You were reading your comments, lightly gnawing on your lip. Nerves, he realized.

“Oh, uh, yeah, we can play the same game as last time. We didn’t quite finish, did we?” You said, rolling your neck and flexing your shoulders. As you did, your breasts thrust further toward the camera, plush skin Seokjin dreamt of shoving his face into so many times now fully on display for all his friends.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook said from somewhere in the room. Seokjin had no clue. He couldn’t break his gaze as you giggled at something in your comments. He felt heat head south from his face.

“Jesus hyung.” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how you get through a workday with her without getting hard.”

“He doesn’t,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

He heard the air behind him shift, before a soft thwack and Taehyung’s responding groan informed him that someone had thrown a pillow at him.

“Okay, so new rules,” you said.“From now on, if any of you say something super perverted, you’ll be unable to comment until the next stream. I’ll have my mods ban you from commenting. The only way you can get on my good side again and get yourself unbanned during a stream is if you fulfill something off of my wish list I added. You can type #springwishes and see all I’ve put on there. Sound good?” You smirked at your camera, a little bite of confidence spreading through you.

Seokjin’s chest clenched, a tiny bit of relief washing over him as he saw you get your bearings, the comments spamming that hashtag for the link to your wishlist, which he’d advised you to make as a form of incentive and distraction during moments when you felt overwhelmed. If people were getting into deep waters with a topic, you could always redirect to the wishlist, making it more of a prize for your viewers to partake in versus punishment.

“Alright, so let’s do this,” you said. “Game on.”

Maybe he was overreacting. In the last hour he and his friends spent intently watching your stream, you seemed to navigate your chat a little more with ease, or at least with redirection.

Yoongi had nodded off in his chair despite the earth-shattering moans your game was crying out as you tripped different combos. You were getting better at the game, and as you finished another level that gave you the prize of some more very not safe for work photos by your “girls”, a heavy yawn escaped through your lips.

Maybe you didn’t need his help after all. For what it’s worth, you seemed to be settling in comfortably to your performance aspect of the role, sometimes twirling bits of hair in your fingers, earning yourself half a dozen new subs and a few new things from your wishlist.

“Wow, we’re making good progress,” you said, reaching for your water bottle and pouting at your screen as you sipped from the straw.

The comments had become more mild during the game when you were fully immersed. Seokjin had been monitoring them closely, seeing your mod Wonwoo diligently screening spam out of the comments.

But now that your attention had shifted, they were being flooded once more with people vying for your attention.

Str3amballzak: Wanna fuk those tits

(Str3amballzak has been banned from the chat room)

Lickemup: sit on my face

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

“And so it begins,” you said sarcastically, sipping more water from your straw as you switched your camera view to just you instead of the game.

(Str3amballzak has fulfilled wish list item number 7: new streaming headphones)

Str3amballzak: worth it

“You guys are working hard at getting yourself permanently banned,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But thanks I guess.”

Str3amballzak: ur welcome baby

Str3amballzak: ever do private streams?

“No, I don’t do private streams Mr. Ball Sack. Or Ball Zak? Anyway, do you want to go in time out again?”

Str3amballzak: fine ill behave.

Str3amballzak: daddy just wants to spoil u

Str3amballzak: u should put some other toys on that wish list ;)

Heat flooded Seokjin’s face as he read the chat messages fluttering by. This was going south quickly.

“Not your baby,” you said with a scoff. “And no thanks daddy. I’m good.”

“God, these dudes are gross. Is this the same kind of comments you get, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asked.

“At first, kind of. But not much anymore. On occasion someone will try to dom me from the chat, but there’s a tip feature for that,’ he responded, eyebrows furrowed as he studied your face for any discomfort. Annoyance, sure, but you could handle that. His hands still hovered over his phone, ready to intervene in a moment’s notice.

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 3: electric kettle)

Lickemup: something to keep you warm if it’s not my tongue in your pussy

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 0: mystery gift)

Lickemup: loophole?

“Oh,” you said, eyes going wide. “I…I didn’t know that was an option.”

Seokjin didn’t either. And he certainly didn’t know what a “mystery gift” was. What he did know was that this wishlist would mail you anything without giving away your address. But that meant it could be anything.

Uh oh.

User27271: wanna cum on your face

(User27271 has been banned from the chatroom)

(User27271 has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User27271: hope you like pet play

(User27271 has been banned from the chat room)

User8008s: stroking my dick to your pretty face rn

(User8008s has been banned from the chatroom)

(User8008s has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User8008s: 💦

“Jesus Christ, guys,” you said weakly as the chaos of the loophole began to take over your chat, dozens more accounts flooding the comments to do the work around, plunging into the raunchiest of comments before being banned, then fulfilling some mystery gift before being banned again, this time for good. Seokjin looked at the view counter in the corner. It was rising exponentially.

He could see how quickly your control was leaving you, the glassiness of your eyes and shakiness of your voice as you fought to reel in your chat leading you toward the verge of a breakdown.

“Is there any way to turn that feature off?” Jungkook asked helplessly, his eyes wide as another onslaught of cyber attacks began.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know it had this option,” Seokjin said, his voice tight as he helplessly watched you begin to shrink away from the spotlight he had spent hours with you yesterday practicing to do the exact opposite in.

You pulled the shirt tighter across your body, and that seemed to spring him into action: you there in his shirt, this chaotic chat undoing the work you’d done in a matter of minutes. Fuck those people.

“There has to be something we can do,” Jimin said, and Namjoon whipped out his phone, searching up the parameters of the wish list site you had used.

“Tell her to just have her mods turn the entire feature off in the meantime,” Hoseok said, tapping his foot anxiously.

Seokjin nodded, typing the message into the chat box.

JokeJinSeokjin: Turn off your the gifting feature

But his comment was lost in the slew of the chat. He knew there was no way you would see it.

“She definitely isn’t going to see that!” Taehyung groaned.

“Call her, hyung. You have her number,” Yoongi said, his voice gravelly from just waking up.

Right, a phone call. He could do that.

Seokjin opened his contact list and dialed your number. He knew you kept your phone on silent during your stream, but in a moment of luck, you looked down, where he assumed your phone was at and hastily pressed the accept call button.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded like a wild echo through the TV; the sound delay was just enough to warp you.

Seokjin stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, something about the isolation away from his friends and the darkness feeling like a comfort, like you two were in your own little world and not being put on blast in front of thousands.

“Turn off your chat commands. Now,” he ordered.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” you said, then groaned. “Guys please I don’t want any of this. Get it the fuck together.” You paused. “What do you mean who am I talking to on the phone? It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin warned. You needed to stop engaging.

“I know! I know, okay?” you snapped, and Seokjin nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. You took a shaky breath after a moment. “Are you watching?”

“I was but I needed my phone to call you so I’m not right now. Why? Is something happening?”

“No it’s just–never mind. I have set myself on away and muted so I can unlink this option. Wonwoo is turning off the chat completely for me.”

“Good,” he responded and opened a browser window, typing in his query. “Okay I looked it up and you need to click the right toggle in your stream settings and scroll down until you see ‘outside links’ and then–”

“Slower, please!” You said exasperated.

“You can always turn the whole stream off,” he said gently and you huffed in response.

You paused for a beat. “I don’t want to. I was fine before this whole thing started. I want to do this.” You sounded like you were on the verge of crying. He knew this meant a lot to you. So much of the first few stream’s success determines your future. He knew this. Saw it happen in his own online presence. If you lost a lot of followers tonight, you’d probably not regain them. And then your payout at the end of the month would be a fraction of what you were receiving.

“Okay. Yes. Then let’s take a deep breath,” he said, taking a deep breath of his own for you to follow. He heard the soft inhale through the receiver, and smirked.

“Now let’s get you all set up. See that toggle on the right?”

You hummed a response. “I think so.”

“Okay, now go down. You see the external link options?”

A pause. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You whined and Seokjin laughed.

“I could but I’m across town at a friend’s house. It would be easy if you do it yourself.”

He wanted to kick himself for saying that. Because he would be out the door in a heartbeat, would Uber or sprint toward you. But by the time he got there, it would be too late. Too much chaos was happening at once, and this needed to stop now.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you—“

Seokjin clicked his tongue. “None of that, now. Focus.”

If he did show up at your house to help, he also knows what would happen next. After the momentary panic was over, you would be pissed that you didn’t handle things on your own. At work, however big the mess, you were always insistent on doing it yourself. Here was no exception.

After a few clicks he heard a gasp. “Got it!”

“Good job, princess. You did well.”

“Oh…thank you. Not without your help though,” you said meekly.

He knew you were running out of time. In a few minutes, you’d be back to kick ass in your stream, and life would go on. So he chose his next few words carefully.

“I thought you wanted me to be there for your first stream.”

“I..well…I did, but I felt guilty and like I had to stream tonight. I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like I did that anyway, huh?”

“You’re not bothering me, ever. You asked for my help with this.”

“And you did! You helped so much.”

An awkward silence fell between you two as Seokjin thought. He exhaled roughly.

“So, what now? Are you just trying to get rid of me or something? Did I do something wrong?” His voice shook, the hurt he tried to conceal penetrated through the evenness of his tone.

“No! No it’s not like that,” you said quickly. “I just, I feel like I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Stream. I felt bad and like I owed it to them today.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know really,” you said softly. “Because I’m desperate for the cash. And that sounds awful I know. But I want to make sure that when summer term comes around, I am ready for it financially. And my parents have been calling me a lot and I just…I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

He could hear the edge of your voice as you got more worked up, your last word cracking slightly like you were trying not to cry.

“No, no I’m not mad, Y/N.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you are helping and you already are spending time with me and it’s not like you don’t have other things to take care of! Like you had to work this morning and I got a text from Mino saying he caught you asleep in your office snoring. I didn’t tell him it was because of me, but god, if I could get this shit together, your services wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I’m not mad. Really, I think you’re trying to find reasons for me to be mad at you but I’m not. And don’t worry about my sleep schedule. It was one night out. I’m not that old for one night not sleeping in my bed to ruin my entire life.”

You hummed in response.

“Listen, Y/N, I chose to stay out all night knowing I had to open today. You might be persuasive but you aren’t that good to manipulate me into anything. I was there because I wanted to be there. Okay?”

You hummed again.

“I need some kind of verbal acknowledgement other than ‘hmm’.”

“Sorry. Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I was listening!”

“I know you were, that’s not why I’m asking.”

You sighed. “Fine, okay I am not manipulating you. You wanted to be here.” You paused. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I can go back.. Like, what do I do? I’ve already been gone for ten minutes and Wonwoo is blowing up my texts and…” Your voice broke, and he could hear the quiet sound of you crying.

“Hey, breathe, princess. It’s okay. You can always just turn your computer off. The people watching were assholes.”

“Not all of them,” you muttered back. “God what is wrong with me?”

Seokjin turned on the light to the bathroom. His clothes were crumpled, heavy circles under his puffy eyes and disheveled hair making him look like some washed up finance guy. Honestly, he looked a lot like how he used to back when he did work in finance.

“Nothing is wrong with you, and you know it. You’re perfect. A mess, and really bad at remembering to put the pickled radishes back in the fridge when you’re done with them, but that’s still pretty great all things considered.”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m such a winner. Ugh, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Let me help, then,” he offered.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do?”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to decide that for you. That’s something you need to figure out. But, I’ll give you a few options. First, you can just shut your computer down completely and not apologize, not explain yourself. Your chat and any good subscribers that you actually want to have around will understand. You’re forgetting that there were thousands of people watching, and the loudest ones were the trolls, but they weren’t the only ones there.

“The other option,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Is that you can go back out there, finish the stream, leave your comments off, and do what you want to do. I can’t guarantee it’ll be as lucrative but you will at least won’t be engaging with those idiots anyway.”

He let you mull it over, opening the medicine cabinet and rifling through his friends’ things. Eyedrops, god, his eyes were on fire from these contact lenses. He had a pair of glasses in his work bag, but they were a little old and frankly kind of stupid looking.

“Okay, I think…I think I want to try again. And like you said, I’ll keep the comments off this time.”

“That’s my girl,” Seokjin sighed as he squirted some solution into his burning eyes. Then he paused. “I mean, uh, you know. Good job.”

You chuckled on the other end. God he really needed to monitor himself better. Something about his conversations with you were becoming less careful by the hour.

“Thanks, I know what you meant. And thank you again.”

You paused again. “Is there something wrong, Y/N?” Seokjin asked.

“Well, it’s just. I want to do this, I do. But I’m not. God I don’t know, it's like I’m frozen in place. I just feel like there’s so many things I need you to show me before I get good at this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. How to be sexy without ruining my career, how to just dust everything off and get back out there. That’s what you do all the time! With uh, with work and everything.”

Seokjin chuckled a little. Dusting things off was hardly something he was good at, but he did know how important it was to get back out there. He wasn’t quite sure what you’d meant in relation to work since that wasn’t really a space for it, but that wasn’t his focus. Instead it was on something else.

“You…think I’m sexy?”

“Oh, uh…yeah duh. Don’t let it go to your head though, everyone thinks that.”

Seokjin could think of quite a few people who didn’t think that, actually.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide. And you’re right, it is important to just dust things off and move on. But that’s just one thing that I want to show you. There’s so many other things for you to learn.”

So many things. He felt proud knowing that you were doing this on your own, even after this hiccup; it meant that you were doing exactly what he’d tried to teach you yesterday. Even if you faltered once. It was impressive. And he couldn’t help but think of how much you were going to grow from this experience, how many doors it opened up for you, for both of you to forge a stronger connection. He wanted to show you all sorts of things, not just with streaming, but with him. How after seeing your apartment and couch with a dent in it, he wanted you to create a dent in his couch as you read books from your collection. Or that even in his large chef’s kitchen he had in his luxury apartment, he could stand side-by-side next to you prepping more carrots for other foods.

Maybe cake this time. And when you inevitably spilled ingredients all over the place like you did at work, globs of cream cheese frosting on your cheeks, he’d laugh and find it endearing as you always were, and try not to think about your tongue doing more naughty things to him as you lick it off of your fingers. How you clearly had a little stubborn bratty streak in you that liked to tease and tempt him, and without a doubt you would spend an extra long and thorough job making sure he had a front row seat to you sucking your fingers into your mouth. Just like how you knew you were sitting in that apartment of yours right now, his pink shirt wrapping around your large perfect tits. What were you wearing on the bottom of that ensemble, even? That bustier that was so goddamn tantalizing. Did it have matching panties? Were you wearing those too? He knew you well enough to know you were probably wearing some kind of jogger bottom since people didn’t get to see your fantastic ass in the camera view.

Good. That was something Seokjin didn’t have to feel jealous of. They could get their fill of your breasts on this stream, but he knew what that soft tummy looked like, how those strong, thick thighs looked in leggings and joggers and most recently, tiny pajama shorts. Thinking back to last night, the way those hiked up your thighs to your little panty line, how soft the skin looked. Would your thighs be just as soft if they were straddling his head? He could only imagine how delicious they would look after he left little nip-marks on them, suckling the flesh just enough to hear your breathing increase, to get you shifting all needy and antsy as you got more needy and impatient. Just as he would want you so that you would rub that wet pussy right on his face and–

“Are you still there?” you said, and Seokjin’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cough.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He heard you chuckle low in response, and fuck. Something about how sexy your voice sounded had his cock throbbing. “I got, uh, distracted. What did you say?”

“Oh….uh, never mind.” You paused. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but your voice flooded through the receiver again. “I don’t want to take you away from your friends any longer. I think I’ve got things for now, but thank you again.”

His heart sank with disappointment that absolutely should not have been there. “Ah, right. Of course. Well, then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um, on second thought,” you said suddenly, and his ears pricked up. “Do you…do you think you could come by just in case things get out of hand again? Do you want to? If not it’s okay but––”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” he said eagerly.

Seokjin was already throwing open the bathroom door and barreling down the hall, his friends all shifting from the TV where your away message was cast and onto him. Jimin’s eyebrows raised in question. Taehyung grinned at his friend devilishly, winking and nudging Jungkook.

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhmm. See you soon.” Your voice sounded lower, huskier. If there was any ability to think anymore, he would think you were trying to sound sexy and flirty.

“Yes, okay. See you.” As he hung up, Seokjin felt himself smiling at his phone, his heart feeling a bit fuller, more awake.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go over there. There’s some stuff she wants me to keep an eye on,” he announced.

He looked over at his friends. Namjoon attempted some form of polite nodding and understanding, but it quickly broke as everyone else erupted into laughter.

“Yah! What is it now? Were you guys eavesdropping or something?”

“We were,” Yoongi said between breaths, “but it wasn’t like you were having a particularly interesting conversation.” He dabbed tears from his eyes.

“Except the part where you called her princess. Phew you’re whipped.” Hoseok added.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, reaching down into the couch to find his keys that had been eaten by the cushion upon his arrival. “It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to take a breather before you head out, hyung.” Jungkook avoided eye contact with Seokjin, a blush rushing to his cheeks.

“And why is that?” Seokjin asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because your Big Dick Daddy boner is so incredibly obvious right now that I’m not sure it’ll be you keeping an eye on Y/N when it’s more likely she’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Seokjin looked down and as if on cue, his dick twitched. He tried to adjust himself. His friends roared around him, even Jimin trading his careful composure in for hilarity as he threw himself to the floor.

“Fuck you guys.” Seokjin said as he headed toward the door.

“Not us, but maybe you tonight!” Taehyung called. “I’m sure Y/N will be singing ‘Hey Daddy’ when you walk in!”

Seokjin was already out the door, but he could hear the first few bars of the Usher song playing, and despite himself, he smiled.

When Seokjin arrives, you have already explained to your chat that if they want to have any privileges at all, they’ll stop being asshats. That is a boundary you can more easily create, something less wavering than the control needed to essentially domme your chat.

You’re not a domme. Not even close.

“Be right back,” you say to your screen, kicking on the away message. You glance at your phone. Only about twenty minutes left until you’re ready to end things. Hopefully not too long to make Seokjin wait.

“Hey,” you say, opening the door. His dark hair is disheveled, bags under his eyes. He looks like hell. You fight the urge to immediately turn him around and send him back home.

He’s tired but his smile is still adorable and wide as he steps into the door of your apartment, discarding his shoes.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Thanks for coming. I’m going to wrap my stream up soon, but I was thinking maybe we could debrief after?”

He nods and plops himself down on your couch like he’s been here dozens of times before, not just once.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in here if you need me.”

“Are you going to watch the stream?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. It’s one thing if Seokjin watches your stream when you’re not there, but the idea of him seeing you in lingerie and playing some sexy game is kind of intimate.

You in lingerie and his fucking shirt, that is.

“Well, I thought about it. It’s probably the only way I can really understand what’s going on in case you need me. I’ve brought my earbuds so you don’t get feedback from the other room or have to hear your own voice delayed. So we should be good.”

The idea of earbuds does sound a little bit more practical and distancing.

“Okay, yeah. Oh, and um, about your shirt…” Seokjin looks down from your face, scanning your body with his eyes. You feel heat lick over the places his gaze follows, down your collar bone and the curve of your hips and back up to the swell of your breasts that spill over your bustier. This is where his stare hovers for a moment, and it’s almost maddening, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. It stirs something deep in your core, pricking your nipples a bit to start becoming hard. The lace of the bustier is too thick and it’s lined to avoid exposing anything, but it doesn’t matter.

Seokjin is looking at you like he wants to eat you, and it’s turning you on impossibly fast.

“Keep it,” he offers after a moment, his eyes flitting away from your chest. His ears are turning slightly red. “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you.” It’s all you can offer in response. You clasp your hands together in front of you, the soft linen of his shirt skirting around your naked thighs. The shorts you wore to bed last night were all you could find to throw on with this getup that were clean and comfortable enough for a few hours of streaming. They’re a bit too short, but you figured no one on stream would see them.

You didn’t really consider that Seokjin would see them again, or really ever, and now you’re realizing how much skin you are showing.

“I’ll uh, get back to it I guess,” you say and Seokjin nods, now appearing more engrossed in setting up his phone with the stream than talking to you about it or paying attention to what you’re wearing, or the lack of it.

You scoot off to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and sinking down into your chair.

You hit the settings for the away message to turn off and unmute.

“Alright, we are winding down for the night. Thanks to everyone who stayed with me to the end, I appreciate it.”

Your comment section responds in kind, with thanks for you continuing to stream through the chaos.

“Before I leave, though. I figured we can play a few more levels of the game. We have to make sure Candy has enough magic wands to unlock the special bonus game. Although, can I just say that picking wands was a weird choice? Don’t you normally just need one to get the job done? Why not something else, like different shaped dildos or something. Honestly, a little more variety in size and shape can’t hurt.”

After a few seconds of delay, you hear a boom of laughter in the living room. His laughter is infectious, and it blooms a large grin on your face.

“So here’s the plan. I’m going to unlock this bonus level tonight and then we’ll see what the hype is about during the next stream, okay?”

The chat has calmed itself, and you’re glad you tested having it turned back on instead of totally following Seokjin’s advice earlier. Maybe his streams still function if he doesn’t have his comments on, but you know most of your royalties are given from moments of engagement; your parasocial relationship with your subscribers is based on more conversation than the actual thing you’re doing. It’s how you’ve gotten this far without being good at video games. No one seems to care when you get stuck on the same level each time if you at least have engaging conversation.

JokeJinSeokjin: I’m hungry. Do you want me to order jjajangmyeon?

You smirk at your screen and nod, then answer a few questions your chat has initiated.

“Why did I decide to do a Late Night stream? I needed to change things up. You guys all started to follow me after Wonwoo’s stream and I feel like there’s only so many games I can play with the same kind of commentary before we all get sick of it.”

JokeJinSeokjin: What about mandu? The delivery minimum is way too high so we need to get something else.

A chuckle leaves your lips and you nod again, redirecting yourself to the chat once more. Someone asks how you’re feeling about continuing streaming in this way.

“Uhh, I would say that most of the streams so far have been a little crazy, right? It’s…doing this is hard. I’m hoping the more I do it the more things will start to chill out. I’m sorry to anyone who was offended by the comment section earlier. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

JokeJinSeokjin: Food is ordered. Will be here in 30. 😋

Springin2Luv: @ JokeJinSeokjin who are you? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend S.D.?

Your face heats as you prepare for the onslaught of drama this will cause, but then you’re shockingly surprised at Seokjin’s response.

JokeJinSeokjin: Just a good friend to make sure S.D. is fed and for another stream.

JokeJinSeokjin: Anyway 28 minutes until food time so hurry up and finish this level!

You laugh. “Well, you heard the man, let’s get back to the game.”

Twenty eight minutes later exactly, Seokjin knocks on your door. “The food is here! I’m starving. Are you done yet?”

You put the game on pause. “If you were watching the stream like you said you were, you would know that I’m not done with this level and am in fact stuck.”

“Well excuse me for not staring intently and absorbing every detail when I’m this hungry. I’m going to open everything and eat it all before you!”

“Go right ahead! You’re the one who wanted it so badly,” you call back, teasing. Though the second you finish the sentence, the warm smell of the crispy dumplings wafts into your room, Seokjin lightly creaking the door open and fanning the delivery bowl in your direction.

He raises an eyebrow, challenging you as he takes one bite into one, mocking before his face contorts into pain.

“Aish!!! It’s fucking HOT,” he yelps, and he drops the remaining dumpling back into the bowl, some of the green stuffing spilling throughout.

“Well yeah, what did you expect!?”

“Not for it to be so goddamn burning hot!” He fans his tongue for good measure, and you can see even from your desk the slight red tinge some of his taste buds have taken.

“There’s ice in the freezer. I’ll wrap this up now,” you sigh and shoo him away before turning back to your screen. “Well, you all probably heard that exchange, so I’m going to pause here. Sorry we didn’t get to beat it, but I’ll try again next time.”

You read over some of your farewell comments from your chat. But one really sticks with you.

Babybibi: I feel like I know that voice from somewhere.

Your stomach drops, but you remain composed, pretending you don’t recognize the comment. It never dawned on you that Seokjin’s fans could really be anywhere. Does he realize that? Is that why he safely stayed out of the camera’s reach? You’re not sure.

By the time you have signed off, Seokjin has managed to plate both of your meals and get you drinks from the fridge. He’s plopped a throw pillow onto the floor to sit on at the beat up coffee table so you can sit in your regular couch spot.

“I learned my lesson with that couch yesterday. It eats people.”

“Oh yeah yeah, I know. Thank you, this looks great.” You blow on one of the mandu before popping into your mouth. Even after arriving ten minutes ago, it’s still crisp and hot. Meaning however hot it was for Seokjin must have been volcanic. “How’s your tongue?”

He pouts, sloshing some ice water around in his mouth before opening it to stick out his pink tongue. “It hawtsth,” he says with his tongue still lolled out.

You chuckle. “Oh poor baby, do I need to kiss it and make it all better?”

Seokjin shifts a little at the question, and you realize immediately the error in what you’ve just suggested. An image of the two of you drums up in your mind, you sucking each other’s tongues, an ice cube swapping from one mouth to the other as it melts. Nothing about this is even intimate; it’s just pure filth. And based on the matching redness in Seokjin’s ears, it’s clear his brain has gone somewhere similar.

He finally rolls his tongue back between his plush lips and you sit awkwardly, suddenly unable to remember how to function.

Seokjin makes the move to end the awkward pause, taking his chopsticks into his grasp and pulling out a large glob of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth.

Right, food. Your stomach gurgles at the prospect and Seokjin raises an eyebrow at you as he chews, his eyes flashing down to your stomach.

“Eat,” he instructs, so you do, following his commands to finish your dumpling and move on to your generous pile of noodles.

How is he able to just push past the awkward and not have it freeze him in place the way it does with you? As you slurp your food down, you can’t help but study him, so effortlessly comfortable to sit in silence in your apartment after playing games about sex workers.

You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. Because Seokjin is a sex worker. He’s incredibly nonchalant about all of what you’re doing, no judgment to smudge this dynamic.

If your old friends, or even your parents knew about you doing this, what would they think?

Nothing good, you assume.

It’s not that you were raised in an environment that was all helplessly ignorant about sex and bodies. You’d had sex. Your parents sat you down when you had your first period and explained every single detail about the human body and reproduction to you. It was painful and scientific, so divorced from the intimacy of what sex really is that it didn’t present itself to be much of an interest or issue until, well, you felt the first licks of desire.

Those started as dreams. Ones where you would be heavily kissing and exploring the body of whoever you were crushing on at the time. The first one started with Wonwoo, after having spent all summer at the library memorizing the thin curve of his upper lips as he squinted to read the books in front of him. You would feel the heat of your core shifting you in your chair as you grew more intrigued, more curious about how his lips would feel on yours, what he would taste like. How his soft hands would feel if he actually held yours, not just the accidental brush when you would walk side-by-side back toward your neighborhood, where you would drop him off at the shop before slugging your way back through that sticky, angry heat that only added more to your discomfort.

That was the first summer you started masturbating. And it was so awkward in some ways, trying to learn what you liked and how you liked it but also wondering why you liked it, why you liked Wonwoo in a way that was no longer so innocent and picturesque but scarier, more real.

Your parents caught you, probably as every parent does at some point and just pretends they didn’t notice. Yours, however, made it clear that they knew. And while they never said anything beyond mentioning it once or twice, it felt humiliating. As if you were supposed to be above attraction and sex and pleasure. It was more in how your parents acted after this point that has given you enough insight to imagine how they would react if they knew what you did now.

No direct words spoken, just blank, glaring looks and sneers. Just them ogling you like you had told them you murdered someone. Shame, in all the nooks and crannies of what it is.

As for your friends, besides Wonwoo, they’ve all moved on. You had been so curious as a teenager, and wanted to know so much more. Yet, no one ever talked about sex. Some of them had dated through teen years. All of them dated someone in college except you. Sex was happening all around you and yet it was some forbidden topic. Even with Wonwoo after a while. You have a feeling you would have a next to near impossible time explaining what you are doing to those friends, and if Wonwoo wasn’t a streamer, you’re sure he wouldn’t fully get it either.

But Seokjin understands. This is his life, this is so natural to him that he can sit in front of you after a long day and lazily smile with the knowledge that you are wearing lingerie underneath his shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks thoughtfully, and you blink, realizing that for the last few minutes you’ve been watching his gorgeous full lips, studying how his tongue peeks out to wipe away some of the sauce.

“Lips,” you answer in your haze.

“Ah,” he chides, and you blink away the memory.

“What?” You ask.

“Well, my lips are some of the best of them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Given how long you were staring at me, I would bet that you were thinking they are. Don’t worry Y/N, go right ahead and get a good look.” He winks.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Well, at least I’m full of something. I haven’t seen you take more than a few bites of food. Quit stalling and eat your damn dinner.”

“You know, you’re pretty bossy.”

“I guess that’s why I’m the boss.”

“Time and place. This isn’t the restaurant. Maybe it’s my house and I call the shots.”

He gestures around. “Well then, by all means. What are your commands.”

“For you to stop being a tool.”

Seokjin cackles. “Oh, that’s an insult I haven’t heard since middle school.”

“Well, is it any less efficient? I think it serves its purpose.”

“I think you’re still stalling.”

“Fine!”

You twirl a large pile of noodles around your chopsticks and shovel them into your mouth. “Thewere. Hawppy?”

“Immensely so,” Seokjin says, his eyes twinkling.

You don’t have the fight in you to argue anymore. The warm, savory noodles are so chewy and delicious, and the salt on your tongue is reminding you how deplenished you are from the energy of the stream.

You eat in silence, until the heaviness of your limbs has scattered to mostly just the heaviness of your full stomach.

You lean back against the sofa on your final chew, groaning when you’ve finished.

“Ugh, that was so good.”

“I told you. I’m a genius for suggesting it.”

“You got lucky and picked the best place in this neighborhood.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Excuse you. Might I remind you of a humble restaurant that is also technically in this neighborhood?”

“And does this place serve jajjangmyeon at one a.m. on a weekday?”

“No.”

“Then my point still stands,” you say.

Seokjin sighs and then follows up with a yawn that you can’t help but catch.

“So, debrief time. Before either of us fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You can go home and rest. I can’t imagine you got much sleep today.”

“Hardly any at all, but you can’t get rid of me so easily.” Seokjin smirks. “Let’s talk about the stream.”

“Well, you caught most of it.”

“Yes, and I think it’s worth talking about.”

You mull it over for a minute, how you felt as the onslaught of gifted sex toys seemed to flood the chat, the overwhelm not really of the thing itself but the assertion over a boundary you were trying to place. Why was this so hard for you to do?

“I think I still feel so much like an imposter. I don’t know a lot about gaming, but I’m gaming. I’m not at all sexy enough to have a stream that does sexy stuff, so I feel like I’m just…” You shrug.

He opens his mouth, but then stops himself, nodding for you to finish.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to fall for the pressure of being what everyone wants me to be. Which is, this role of the fat funny streamer. Like, every single trope in fiction has the side friend be fat and funny as some comedic relief. And because people wanted me to stream because I was so ‘funny’. Or they just see me as something to fuck because if I’m not completely sexless I have to be basically a pocket pussy for someone. All so I can make money. It’s so fucked.”

“But…you aren’t just a character in fiction, Y/N.” Seokjin reaches across the table, grazing his thumb over the back of your pinky knuckle. “You’re real. You feel things. You feel this, don’t you?”

You nod.

“So if this is the choice, to keep streaming for some financial goal, then who is it you want to be? You’re sure of what you don’t want, which is a good place to start. But what next? You have a choice.”

You pause. You have a choice.

In all of this, has it ever really felt that way? From the start, streaming was so rooted in financial stability. And because of that, it’s been so much heavier when you are forced into a performer role that you don’t want to partake in. It never occurred to you that you could actually control any of it.

But you suppose that’s what Seokjin does when he streams. He gives his audience some version of himself that he has a say in, control over.

“I…I guess I don’t know. I have never really thought about this being a choice.”

He nods, then stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that’s where you start. Trying to figure out who it is you want to be. And owning her. Whoever she is. Whether she wants to be funny or sexy or a combination of the two. If she wants to give up streaming and find another thing, or go full steam ahead and become the top streamer on the internet. You get to decide.”

After dinner–and trying not to stare at your breasts– Seokjin helped you wash the dishes, talked a bit more about your plans for the next stream, and then he left. He knew he was risking another impromptu sleepover and after your debrief, he wanted to make sure you had the space you needed to sit with the idea of choosing this for yourself.

He knew all too well how important that was. Two years ago, in the same position, it was something he also had to decide: which parts of him stayed with him when he streamed and which parts he hid so he could keep them for himself. It wasn’t an easy choice. He still felt it creep up sometimes when he streamed, constantly vigilant of the words leaving his mouth so he didn’t ever give too much away.

Even when his friends were in the chat, he tried to not call attention to them by name. Similar to how you were on your stream. He wished he could be honest with you and tell you that this part never gets easier. Regardless of how much you wanted to share with others, there was the unfortunate reality that in order to maintain any sense of discretion and honor on the worldwide web, regardless of the type of streaming, the boundary between you and your audience would always lead to disconnection and loneliness. Conversely, you also were not ever going to be totally private and anonymous again. At some point, there was a tipping point where you would never again just be you. The digital footprint was permanent.

And in this limbo, as time moved on and winter finally melted into Spring, the pressure was on for Seokjin. He considered telling you that he was a sex cam streamer. He had felt it on the tip of his tongue that night, but in the many nights that have since followed, fighting against the decision to just tell you so you could move through it and potentially build a more realistic and relatable plan based on his own experiences and the potential betrayal you might have felt when you learned of the ways he wasn’t at all morally superior for doing things for money. Would you judge him for wanting better for you?

Moreover, would you be able to live with knowing that your friend–your boss– did gay sex streams? It just felt too delicate at this point to bring up, so Seokjin shoved it down inside of him, just like he did with his audience every time he hit the countdown to go live.

And unfortunately, in the last few months he’d only streamed a handful of times, which resulted in a significant decrease in engagement and therefore, income.

But between working at the restaurant and then coming over to sit in the other room as you streamed, his time was limited.

He was tired. You streamed late into the early hours of the morning, and unlike him, you didn’t work full time. On the days you did have the early shift in the morning, you somehow seemed rested, clearly used to the chaotic structure of your regular gaming streams that might have occurred the night before. You’d decided to do a brief pause on late night themed streams until you had a better game plan. And to the surprise of both you and Seokjin, your followers were supportive. So you would stream regular games in the late night slots on occasion, and Seokjin would sit on as an honorary mod despite the exhaustion. Granted, those nights you often fell asleep before Seokjin had even left your apartment, and he would gently nudge you awake as you drifted off on the couch, prodding you to go take off your makeup and looking on fondly as you thanked him sleepily before crashing on your bed.

One day in early May, though, everything that was delicately woven into the balance of things began fraying at the edges.

Seokjin had woken up to a grateful text from you thanking him for coming over the night before, and had sent a follow up invitation.

You 7:59AM: You can say no, but do you maybe want to go get dinner tonight when you’re done with work?

Seokjin 8:00AM: Of course I’m going to say yes. Any suggestions where?

You 8:15AM: What about that restaurant that you told me about?

Seokjin 8:17AM: The Mediterranean one? With a month-long waitlist?

You 8:18AM: Shit. I forgot about that. 😓

Seokjin 8:19AM: Wait a second. BRB

Seokjin 8:32AM: Ok I got a reservation for 10:30. I know that’s pretty late but that’s all I could get. Kitchen closes at midnight though so we should be fine.

You 8:32AM: HOW???

Seokjin 8:32AM: Head chef went to school with my brother.

Seokjin 8:33AM: They weren’t that close. If they were, we would probably have an earlier time.

You 8:33AM: I don’t care! I’ll just eat before I go. It’ll be a fourth meal type of situation

Seokjin 8:35AM: We can also go somewhere else

You 8:36AM: NO. 😡 Do not take this away from me. I already decided what I want from the menu. We are going.

Seokjin 8:37AM: LOL. Ok. I’ll come get you before? 10?

You 8:38AM: 👍

Seokjin smiled to himself, finally getting himself out of bed and ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do. When he opened his emails to get started, he saw an email from Worldwide Handsome. He opened it, his stomach sinking as he processed the words.

Dear User Jin, We at Worldwide Handsome appreciate the streams you have trusted us to host for the last two years. In this last financial quarter, we have successfully increased our outreach to new targeted consumers, both from members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. In part, we have you to thank for this success. Your continued participation in WWH’s Partnership program has taken us to new heights for pleasurable camming and stimulation experiences. Among our competitors, we have maintained our position as one of the top pornographic live cam websites, with your stream being one of the most engaged with to-date. However, in the last two months, the algorithmic engagement of WWH’s live shows has significantly plummeted. In conducting market research, we found that in this quarter, we have had a staggering 11% decrease in consistent viewership, subscription renewal, and ad revenue. While there are many contributing factors, it has come to our attention that one overlapping factor might be one of the major contributing factors to this financial loss. In most of our data, it was User Jin’s channel that demonstrated the largest risk among our partners, primarily due to your lack of consistent streaming over the last few months. While we are grateful for your continued dedication to Worldwide Handsome, we regret to inform you that should your channel continue to trend downward in market data over the next 30 days, we will terminate your contract with us as Partner. If this should happen, we still welcome you to continue utilizing the basic features of Worldwide Handsome. You will still retain a generous commission rate, the ability to publish past livestreams to your channel, stream clipping functions, gifting, and more. If you would like to learn more details about the basic features provided with Worldwide Handsome, please visit the FAQ page on our website. Once again, we are grateful for your ongoing support over the years. We at WWH are grateful to you and the many other streamers who continue to make sex a global artform that we can proudly stand behind. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out. Sincerely, Worldwide Handsome Partners

Dropped from the partner program? His partnership with the website was what provided the groundwork for any sort of financial stability while streaming. It not only provided consistent scheduled payouts, but the commission retention was one of the highest in the industry. People were desperate to be part of the partner program, even if it belonged within the confines of gay sex streaming. And until this quarter, Seokjin had been leading the trend, securing his place within the company. But now, because of his neglect, it was being threatened out from under him.

On top of it, the money pit of the restaurant was at it again; a sewer line bursting a few blocks away had caused flooding and an electrical malfunction a month ago, which resulted in a transformer blowing and frying his computer with all the records. His parents had been tech savvy enough to digitize everything, but clearly not enough to have learned to back up things onto the cloud instead of leaving them on the harddrive.

For the last few weeks, he’d been shuffling documents back and forth between his laptop and the new system, begging his father to learn how to sign a PDF through some YouTube tutorial that only resulted in his father taking a fuzzy picture of the document in a poorly lit hallway of the cruise ship and sending it back over this morning with a text:

Here you go! Hope this is okay. Probably won’t have a connection for a while. Talk next week.

It was not in fact okay, and Seokjin was now considering just forging his father’s signature to get the new insurance forms authorized as soon as possible. The financial burden of what the restaurant was doing was starting to feel more like damnation and less of an investment. With each week drawing nearer to his parents' return, he began worrying that they wouldn’t be able to handle all the things that had become urgent needs.

He had a month to get it together. Otherwise, he could kiss both of his careers goodbye. With his father just adding to the slew of problems, today he was at his wit’s end. He was beyond stressed and in desperate need of release.

Which is why when he logged onto Worldwide Handsome after a particularly frustrating call with the electrical company, he found himself falling naturally into his old persona easily.

“I needed this,” he said to his audience, watching the bottom of the screen as the numbers slowly trickled in. It wasn’t nearly as many people as he had gotten accustomed to seeing you entertaining during your stream nights, and for some reason that felt intimidating to Seokjin. How you were able to secure an audience without needing to get naked, one that was flexible with you in ways that his audience could never be. He felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

BGood4Daddy: Missed u pretty boy

He watched the comments flit by, many of them taking on the same sub-dom dynamic he usually played as. Some asked where he’d been, but most of them were just horny messages begging for him to act out their fantasies.

His stomach twisted. Somehow he’d forgotten this was how things went.

“Missed you too. Missed all of you. It’s been crazy lately,” he said. He palmed himself casually through his slacks, trying to convince himself to get into the mood.

The tips started to slowly trickle in, starting to meet the bare minimum goals for Seokjin to begin stripping.

That’s one thing about his audience he’d always be able to count on. They would always ensure that he had enough of a payout to take his cock out.

He chuckled at the comments, starting to wind up as he removed his shirt, and then unzipped his slacks.

XMasterX: you’ve been a bad boy. Sir needs to punish you for leaving us for so long.

“Is that right?” Seokjin challenged. “Well, then if I’m just going to be punished, maybe it’ll be better if I leave.”

The threat had the desired effect; Seokjin’s tip jar began to fill up faster, the view count starting to increase back to a somewhat decent viewership.

Good. This was good. Soon he could get all of this over with and secure himself back into good standing with the website and his subscribers.

Within a few minutes, the tip jar announced that the first two milestones have been unlocked: take off shirt and take off pants.

“Eager are we?” he teased, slowly slipping his shirt over his head. He’d managed to get back to the gym in his apartment complex this week, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not like he wasn’t still toned from all the heavy lifting at the restaurant. With all the electrical issues, he’d been helping pull industrial heavy equipment away from the walls for the electrician to prepare to install a new grounding wire, and those weren’t particularly light.

The comments lit up with the praise, usernames old and new beginning to flash across his screen. He smirked.

“I know you’ve waited a while, but maybe you should sweat it out a bit. Show me how much you missed me.”

It felt so natural to say this, something he knew you hadn’t felt comfortable doing in your streams, but you’d tried a few times. He’d found it cute when you’d done it, almost like it was a gentle request. But for him now, this was about anticipation and tension, letting his viewers fall back into the world of fantasy he used to cook up every few days. This was a place of escape, where Seokjin was left behind and Jin took control.

The tip jar shook, the animated coins piling in.

He popped the button of his pants. Slowly. He smirked at the camera, reaching down and squeezing himself. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t small, and that was still part of the fantasy: the grand reveal that people had to work for. He often chose to work under the assumption that everyone was new in the chat, that this was a new experience for voyeuristic eyes. While he knew that wasn’t necessarily true, for all he knew someone could be stumbling into the chat room, unknowing to his body and the pleasure he was so willing to give.

Someone like you.

His cock twitched at that. He’d expected this fantasy to get a bit old for him: the idea that you would come across his stream and stay for the whole thing. It had been the fuel for his fire a few months ago, but so much had changed now that you were friends.

But now that he knew more about you, all the little details, fuck. That just made it seem even more real. He could see you in your small room, his shirt draped over you safely while you strutted around in those tiny pajama shorts.

He unzipped his pants, kicking them off at the ankles and sitting back down in the chair.

You’d be doing the same thing, he thought. Those shorts riding up those thick thighs he now knew exactly the weight of as they’d rubbed against his. They were so soft, all of you so soft. And he knew you’d shove them down quickly, annoyed that they got in your way, pouting a little bit that he wasn’t there to tug them off of you.

“Fuck,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know if I can really take it much longer.” It was true, his cock was hardening quickly, and the need to touch himself was growing heavier with urgency.

His chat sounded off, various commands to wait or to go for it. It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for them tonight. Even though maybe he should have been, maybe the risk was that if he didn’t comply, there would be no great reward.

mapl3stor33 tipped $3000: Welcome back. Give us a good one. You can always pay us back for it 😉

Seokjin smiled, his most loyal subscriber popping up with a generous tip. Yes, this was where he thrived, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what he was good for?

2 milestones unlocked from another viewer, this time selecting from some of the few dozens of options programmed into the menu to help guide the stream: cock ring and edging, no cumming.

God, why did he allow for there to be guided sessions? Why didn’t he lead the stream this time like the one he did a few months ago? That was the one where he’d cum all over himself after pretending to blindfold you.

Now, he knew even more about you, how the curve of your ass felt shifting against him. How soft your hair was when it tickled his arms while you slept, little whimpers escaping your mouth that he knew he could easily draw from you again when he got the chance. You’d look so pretty with a blindfold on, shivering in the warm light of your bedroom, mouth open and desperate as he lightly touched around your collarbone, down your sternum and between the valley of your tits. You’d been so bad about teasing him in those sexy little bustiers and corsets lately, and it would be nice if he got to tease you for once.

His cock ached through his briefs, asking him to end the torture, to free himself into the open air and stroke until he came thinking about all the ways he wanted to torture you with pleasure.

But with another tip coming in, this time adding the detail of a vibrating cock ring, Seokjin knew his fantasies would not be leading him to be satisfied tonight. At least not in the way he wanted.

Twenty minutes later, after playing into the game of begging and whining and falsely pretending he was going to cum to ensure he was edging, he came. A pathetic, unsatisfying dribble that wept out of him and hardly amounted to the sensation he felt earlier. He’d tried to think of you, but there was a block. Too many people watching, too many people demanding things from him. Instead of just cumming, it became aware to Seokjin how much of a performance these streams always were; the ring light setup ensured people could see every angle. He knew how to make attractive faces when he orgasmed that would leave everyone with plenty of imagery for their own personal fantasies later. He knew how to pretend to be more turned on than he was, and to force vibrators and dildos into proper angles to ensure he came. It was all part of the show.

One that he hadn’t taken part in for quite some time. When he masturbated last night in the shower, he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. He saw how his face contorted, how his body would buck and writhe without his control as he came against the shower wall, how in some ways, there was something objectively unsexy about how he came, no glossy angles to make sure his chin didn’t pull into different skin pockets, no ambient lighting to capture the ridges of his body. Just the pure experience of orgasming as a human being and nothing more.

As he wiped up his mess, he decided to do a little chat with his subscribers.

At least he didn’t moan that one person’s name like last time.

Oh yeah. Jin what was that about? You have some girlfriend we don’t know about?

I thought he was gay. This is a gay site!

You must be new here. He’s straight.

Oh :(

Maybe he’s been too busy fucking her to come play with us.

I bet it’s boring sex. Who needs to do streams when they’re getting laid. You better tell her to satisfy you, or one of us will have to come show her how she could do better.

“Yah, enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to talk about what happened that one time. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed. I won’t make you wait as long for next time. Bye!”

Ugh. What an awful stream. If it was going to be like this all the time, maybe he should have actually considered letting the website shut him down and take the cut.

But then how would you get everything taken care of with the restaurant.

He sighed. Is this how you experienced streaming too? He figured as much. His stomach tugged, disappointed he couldn’t talk to you about it. You always debriefed your streams with him, especially if you felt a little shitty during one. Now, because he was keeping this life of his separate from his life with you, he had no one who would understand to talk to about this. All he could ever do is provide support to you, but not you to him. It was still just as lonely doing this as it always had been. Only this time, Seokjin knew that it didn’t have to be this way. That some people could reveal other parts of themselves to get kernels of support when needed.

But that wasn’t going to be him. He was alone in this. And as he dragged himself to bed, feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice that he left his phone on silent.

“Detective? Are you there?” The svelte redhead approached my desk. I could see through the cameras that she helped herself to snooping around. Whatever she was gathering from my notebooks, it was a trap.

Any good detective knows not to leave his mess around. Any clues she was trying to gather from this dark, dark world, they would be nothing compared to reality.

Reality is darker. Betrayal, people thinking they know me because they know my past.

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke swirls around my head like a cloud. It’s cloudy here in Seattle, and that promise of heavy rain reassures me. He’s going to try to move the kitty tonight, and I’m not about to let him use her as a distraction.

She leans her large, milky tits over my desk. She’d look good there, spread out across it. I’m sure she knows too. Any dame like her would know what she’s worth. A tempting distraction, but I am too good to fall for it.

“God what the fuck even is this?” You exit out of the screen on your tablet, the cover mocking you for even considering it. Whatever the hell you were expecting from Clues to My Heart’s raving 5-star reviews, this wasn’t it. This was a pile of absolute garbage.

And it isn’t serving its purpose of distraction. You are still imagining the main character as Seokjin, only Seokjin in some twisted, fake machismo, desk set smutty nightmare of a book that is so full of plot holes and clichés that you know you can’t stomach it further. Reading an awful romance novel is clearly not the answer to escaping the awful feeling in your stomach.

You delete it from your library and sigh, staring at the shelves of your apartment, debating if you really want to read something or just go to bed and let yourself cry.

He stood you up. He stood you up and you looked the hottest you ever looked. This was going to be your attempt at connection, at knowing for sure that you were on the path toward something more intimate than friendship.

But now, it was clear: whatever expectation you had for the two of you, it might as well be dead and buried with whatever body this stupid book is trying to solve the murder of.

You tried calling him multiple times. His phone just rang on and on as the clock shifted from 10:15 to 10:30 to 12:00. For a moment, you thought maybe you got the date or time wrong. Maybe instead of tonight as in today he thought you meant tomorrow?

Or maybe he lost track of time by finding a dog outside of your apartment, and then he had to go find its owner so he never had the chance to tell you he’d be late.

But more realistically, maybe he just doesn’t want to see you and this silence is meant to be interpreted as a boundary. Seokjin is definitely the type who would feel bad rejecting you when you come onto him, and would apologize to you despite the fact that he’s not guilty. It’s happened before, in the kitchen incident.

Even if it’s not that, it’s the fact that you carefully selected an outfit for tonight, a silky black slip dress that you are terrified to wear because there’s no part of you that you can hide. The slippery material will highlight every curve, every line (especially panty lines), and every droplet of moisture that you might dribble or sweat out.

But in the last few months, you’ve been trying to do one thing every day that scares you. Today, it would appear you were going to go for two. And now, you are dealing with one terrifying thing that might just be worse than the first two: rejection.

It’s humiliating. You know you’re going to go to work tomorrow and will have to see him knowing that there will be some awkward confrontation or avoidance game. You’ll have to speak to him. He’ll probably call you into the back office and let you down gently. Will reinforce the fact that he’s your boss and that things have gone too far or some bullshit.

And then, just like how you’ve been cut out of the lives of people who meant something to you, it’ll happen again, as it always does.

1 Year Ago

It’s raining so hard that you can’t see the road, but you’re trying to drive through it anyway, trying to make it home in time so you won’t miss it. You got out of work late; you thought being a substitute teacher wouldn’t come with all the extra grading, but you were wrong.

A year ago, the elementary school nearby shut down, and with it came the layoff of all its teachers. A stupid idea, really, because that meant an already over-enrolled school was forced to shuttle its students across town to the other elementary school, doubling its student body without doubling its teachers. Somewhere in the thick of it, you were looking for a job, living in your parents’ house trying to float from one career to the other.

Your friends around you were moving; Wonwoo was already in a new time zone, making an upward move in every area. His former girlfriend-turned-fianceé worked in HR for a tech start-up and easily navigated getting him in as a coder. They had just secured a penthouse with a gorgeous view. His life was locked together. Your other friends, it seemed, had moved on in their lives as well. Two of them already had children and were married. Two more were engaged. Everyone else was jetting across the world on expeditions to places with sandy beaches and bottomless drinks. And there you were: mid twenties, desperate for change.

So when you saw the banner across the elementary school advertising a need for substitute teachers, you decided you were desperate enough to try. And as it turned out, you loved it. There was something magic about working with young children, seeing how they developed new ideas you would never in your adult dreams try to fathom. But to them, to fly across the world on a magical escalator or hippo was a true possibility and you wanted part of you to have that same freedom to dream of the impossible. Their creativity inspired you to push the boundaries of life and dream of more.

Not to mention, it also landed you a boyfriend. One day while you were substituting for the gym teacher, nervously handing out kickballs to a bunch of fourth graders for class and praying they didn’t knock each other’s teeth out, someone stepped into the gymnasium and padded his way over to you, looking for his youngest sister to take her to a dentist appointment. And not too soon after, you and Do Woon had your first day date, which turned into a night date, and then a breakfast date. It was more like a 3-day date where the two of you spent the entire weekend rolling around in his sheets. You only managed to escape that awkward conversation with your parents because they were out of town for the weekend. If they had known any different, you would probably have died from embarrassment.

Teaching has given you a lot of great things. But with that care comes a cost. You are now late for your father’s surprise birthday party and trapped in an insane rainstorm.

You weave around fallen tree branches, trying not to obsess over the clock as the minutes roll smoothly into each other, knowing that by now, the surprise portion of the party is over. They’re probably eating cake now and reminiscing on his milestones. Your mother is probably chatting to your aunts and uncles about the renovations they’ve made to the main bathroom. Do Woon is supposed to be there, and if your instincts are right, you’ll be getting engaged tonight.

It would be the perfect opportunity. All your family is there ready to celebrate, and your father who hates being the center of attention will have all the pleasure of dumping the focus onto you.

Do Woon has been acting odd the last few weeks. You’ve been pretending not to notice, especially when recent conversations have been skirting around topics you two used to discuss regularly. You have a trip to Bali planned for the fall, which he once said is where he would want to honeymoon. He’s given very few details about this trip since he booked the flight almost three months ago, and you suspect that’s because he doesn’t want to give any spoilers about the honeymoon suites or couple packages you both looked over when you decided this was where you wanted to vacation. You’re not sure you have enough time to plan a wedding in six months, but if this is what Do Woon wants, who are you to say no?

Since the start of your dating, he’s been thoroughly engrossed in a very specific timeline, and had no issues telling you so: he wanted to date for about a year, get engaged, get married (wherever you wanted, he insisted), have a honeymoon on some beachy shores and get started with making babies. He is the eldest of six. He wants a big family.

You’ve talked him down from that number over the last few months, having him promise instead you will see how things go and will take it as it comes. While he wasn’t entirely pleased with that compromise, you think his agreement is a good enough answer. But that’s how Do Woon is. He plans his life down to every meticulous detail. Which is why even if you don’t think you can pull off planning a wedding in such a short window of time, you know he can.

So tonight, you think it’ll happen. And unfortunately for you, you’re going to look like absolute rain-soaked garbage, the perfect accompaniment to your shitty day.

The once neatly wrapped gift next to you is now soggy from the downpour. You didn’t check the weather before heading into work today and left your umbrella in the car. It rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat, completely dry and mocking.

At work, you found out that they’re continuing to make staffing cuts despite the shortage, as many families have chosen not to enroll in the school next year, instead moving their children to private schools closer to their homes or homeschooling. As desperate as they were to hire you, the work you put into the year you’ve been here is now about to just melt away.

You don’t know how much longer you’ll have a job.

You anticipated this, of course, spent most of the fall applying for graduate programs. Of the ten applications you submitted, you’ve been waitlisted in two places: the local university here and the more modern (and urban) program not even remotely close to this place. You’d hoped when you sent those applications that things would be getting more serious with Do Woon, but it had only been a handful of months. You weren’t sure where the two of you were going. And now, you are hoping for the local program, not wanting to give up on your dream of teaching if it means you don’t have to.

Your phone lights up in the darkness of your car. One more missed call from your mother. But you’re so close, almost to your neighborhood. You know how poorly this is going to go.

As you take a final turn, making your way down the street, you see the street has started flooding, barring you from your block. It’s no use, either. You can see on the block after yours that those crossroads are also flooded. The only way to get home is to do so on foot. So that’s what you do, park your car on the non-flooded side street, prop the sodden gift under your arm, grab your umbrella and head into the rain.

The thing about thresholds is that they are a place where you exist in transition. From the street, you can hear a hum of music but don’t know the exact tune. You see faces lit by the warm lamps of your dining room, and can make out your uncle and your father’s boss. But you can also hear the rain thrumming on the roof, smell the Earth as the rain hits the soil. There’s the chill of the wind cutting through your damp clothing. The moment you step into the house, you’ll be someone else. A daughter still, but also someone else’s future wife.

The warmth of the house touches your face when you step in, the loud voices you’d heard from the other side of the door now having owners: your aunt yelling at your young cousin not to touch something, the sharp guffaw of your dad’s best friend.

You take off your soaked shoes and walk into the dining room. The cake has been cut, neat squares leaving only globs of frosting leaves behind on the golden tray. The neapolitan ice cream is abandoned and melting into an unappetizing brown sludge. Empty beer cans stack up on the table’s other end.

Your stomach gurgles. You’ve barely eaten all day. But you know that will all happen soon. There’s time for cake and celebration after you see the birthday boy.

You find him in his favorite lounge chair, foot rest out as he relaxes and listens to some story one of his co-workers is telling about a client.

“I’m telling ya, she had this massive tits that would knock over everything and everyone. So I says to her one day, you know what I says? ‘Ma’am, now pardon me for sayin’ so, I’m a respectable fella, but I think you might need to get a car blinker.’ And she asks me why and I says to her, ‘Because when you’re turnin’ around, we then’ll know to duck!’”

A roar of laughter bellows through the room, your father smirking at the story as he sips his beer. Ugh. You saunter over to him, fanning a smile across your face.

“Hi Dad,” you say, and face the rest of the guests. “Hi everyone.”

“Y/N! What the hell happened to ya, kid. Rainstorm getcha?” Your father’s boss asks.

You give an apologetic nod. “Yes, I was caught in it. Left work late. The road is flooded so be careful when you leave.”

“I drove over in the truck, so I’m fine,” he responds, sucking down the rest of his beer. “Ah, all out. Can I get you another Birthday Boy?” He nudges you with his elbow roughly. “What about you, hon?”

“I’m, I’m all good. Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you up and down salaciously. This man is older than your father, is standing next to your father and behaving this way. It makes you want to strip your entire skin from your body and wash it in the washing machine.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna get some more of that cake anyways. You coming, Bill?” Bill, the apparent co-worker who was bragging about his evident sexual harassment, sighs.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if I don’t see ya, happy birthday again. Thank your wife for the dinner. It was great. And it was good to see you too,” Bill waggles his eyebrows and walks behind you through the foyer and into the dining room. For a brief moment, you swear you feel him cup your ass in passing.

“Where have you been?!” Your mother’s voice carries across the room. You whip your head to search, finding her walking into the room from the back entrance to the kitchen. She must’ve been cleaning up because the front of her blouse is wet.

“I was working and I had to stay late. And then the storm happened and I had to park down the street. I’m sorry.”

“Well because of you, we awkwardly stood around for well over an hour waiting for you to show up and get everything set up so when your father walked in the door it would actually be a surprise. Which it wasn’t, by the way. He recognized Carl’s truck out front and I guess that was the big giveaway. You were supposed to help me with this, Y/N!”

Your father looks at your mother and sighs. “It was really no big deal. I hate surprises anyway.”

“For a milestone birthday like this, you could use the surprise,” she asserts.

“Well, I got one anyway didn’t I?” He says sharply, standing up and walking out of the room. The gift in your hands feels like dead weight. You set it down onto his chair.

“What happened?” You ask.

Your mother walks closer, looking around the room to ensure no one else is listening. “Your father is being laid off. He found out today. And then when Carl and Bill and all them showed up, they kept talking about it. Turns out no one else in his department is being laid off. Just him.”

Your stomach sinks. Your father supplies most of the income that your family needs to stay afloat. He’s not expected to retire for a few more years. Which means if he gets laid off, he’ll lose a few years’ worth of extra employer contributions to his retirement fund. And his boss and co-workers being such assholes to rub it in? Fuck them.

This wasn’t how you expected any of this to go.

“Oh god. Poor dad.” Your mother nods.

“Yeah, what a birthday. And you weren’t even there to share it with him because you were too busy to be here when it was the only time we needed you to show up. So thanks for that.”

Her words are like knives. You feel yourself being sliced open from all the guilt. She’s not wrong. You’d been the one to organize most of this party, to convince her to follow through with it. And you missed it. People around you have begun departing, shouting happy wishes to your father. All his unwrapped gifts sit on the coffee table next to you, colorful paper pulled open. You missed the entire thing.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try, but you know it's useless. Your mother waves goodbye to one of the neighbors. It’s stopped raining enough to not be a constant heavy click against the windowpane.

“Well you did anyway. It is what it is. Now are you going to disappear on me during clean up or are you going to help me?” She begins to weave the discarded wrapping paper out from under the gifts, setting them into a neat pile on the coffee table.

“I’ll get a trash bag,” you offer, and make your way through the house into the kitchen. Every surface is riddled with stacks of paper plates with balloons on them and plastic forks and spoons. A large yellow tupperware bowl idles by the sink, some vinegary salad now mixed with remnants of every other food from watermelon to potato chips. It’s the first thing you dump into the trash bag.

You follow the garbage, in and out of the half bathroom and dining room, back to the living room when you notice someone is missing.

“Mom,” you say. “Where’s Do Woon?”

“Was he supposed to be here? Because I didn’t see him.”

“He didn’t come?”

“No, Y/N. Unless he is hiding upstairs in your room for some reason, I have not seen him at all tonight.” She dumps a pile of plates into the trash bag. “Think you can handle the rest? My feet hurt and your father and I need to discuss some things.”

“Sure, I am just surprised he didn’t come. I thought–”

“God, honestly. For two seconds can you not think about yourself? It’s not your birthday.”

You fall silent, nodding your head as she steps out of the room and goes to find your father.

Something must be wrong, you think. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone, checking it for messages from Do Woon.

There are many missed calls from your mother, but none from him. Strange. The last time you talked was today. You had reminded him what time the party started. He didn’t respond, but he read the message, and you were satisfied with that.

You select his contact info and hit the call button. After a few seconds of ringing, it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. Not sure what happened tonight, maybe you got stuck in the storm. I know I did, it was crazy and I missed the entire party. Today’s been awful. But uh yeah, call me back when you get this. Love you.”

Maybe he is stuck in a work meeting? He does work late, sometimes unexpectedly, putting in extra hours at his office until you are getting ready for bed.

You shoot him a text.

You 9:02PM: Hey, missed you at the party. Are you working late?Read 9:02PM

Immediately you can see he has opened it. But after ten minutes, there is no response.

You 9:12PM: Everything okay? Read 9:12PM

You clean up the rest of the trash in the living room, tying off the bag and stepping outside. It has stopped raining. The world looks glassy as droplets fall from the tree limbs and refract the streetlights. You walk over to the trash bin, the glaze of cold water running down your hands as you deposit the bag in. You grab the mail.

No acceptance letters. For some reason that feels like the cherry on top of the shittiness that is today. Your mother’s bitter words, your father’s exhaustion, the weather’s chaos weaving into your insecurity. It all feels like some horrible dream.

You need Do Woon. He’s not much of a talker, but he is a good listener, and after a good ranting session, he’ll usually fuck the sadness out of you so you don’t have to think and afterward you’re usually too tired to do anything but sleep. That’s what you need right now.

Where is he? It’s been a half hour and no response. Maybe you’re being paranoid and soon he’ll call and poke fun at how worried you seemed. Maybe he’ll be mad that you are interrupting a work meeting. But today has been awful. And all you want is to hear his voice.

So you call him again, and this time it goes immediately to voicemail.

You 9:38PM: What is going on? Read 9:38PM

You 9:39PM: Please answer me. I’m getting worried. Read 9:39PM

You 9:39PM: Babe!

Message failed to deliver.

A glow falls onto the damp earth around you. You look around for the source and then up. As the rain clouds break apart above you, you realize you’re standing in the light of the moon.

He never called back. That was the end. When you think about it now, there were some vague signs of distancing, but it never amounted to anything that made sense. There, then gone, Do Woon cut you off one day and never looked back.

Much to your embarrassment, you didn’t handle the situation well. That night, you tried calling him three more times, only to receive a message that the number you tried to reach was unavailable. You’d considered driving to his apartment, but as the night wore on, you started to put the pieces together. He didn’t want to talk to you. He’d blocked you, and you didn’t know why.

For the first month after the ghosting-turned-break-up, you tried to get intel to figure out what happened, how you had so royally fucked up your relationship that he didn’t even want to tell you to your face. Unfortunately, most of your friends you’d made that year were through him, and with him cutting you off, so did most of your friends.

Your parents were sympathetic, to a degree. You were given approximately two days to mope. And then you were told to start looking for better jobs in case you, like your father, would be laid off.

“It’ll be a good distraction, I think!” Your mother had said. “Nothing says get over a relationship better than starting a new job.”

You and your father passed job postings back and forth for the next week. You were less than thrilled with the job market. Sure, jobs existed, but none with your skillset or interests or desired pay. To gain anything you would have to make a choice to lose something else, and it twisted your gut at the prospect.

But, in the midst of the heartache, came your rejection from the local university. It was for the best, really. You knew you only wanted to study there because of Do Woon, and without him being part of your life it didn’t matter anyway.

And just as you were at the end of your optimism, ready to let hope die and surrender to the dreamless haze, an email came in with an acceptance into the final university. A big city laid before you to explore.

Things snapped into place. You finished up the school year and told your parents you were moving out.

And now you’re here, in an apartment all to yourself, attending your dream program (or at least trying to) and learning how to cook a halfway decent meal. An apartment that has you rotting on a couch as you try to remind yourself that what happened with Do Woon was a fluke, and not anything you did wrong. And it certainly isn’t some sign that you’re doomed to repeat the same fate again.

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that he’s engaged to someone he met through a matchmaking service. In his profile picture, his future bride is holding an ultrasound photo and he has his hands on her very large belly. “Coming this summer: our own ray of sunshine” the caption reads.

You can’t imagine him ever saying that. He always hated cheesy things. But that’s the surprising thing about all of this: you also never expected him to ghost you and immediately start seeing someone else.

He was a fluke in the timeline. Not a rule, right? You know this. You know not everything happening once means you’re doomed to repeat it forever.

But why is that all you can think about with Seokjin?

You went to work this morning, and he said nothing. No, he probably won’t disappear into the abyss because he manages this place. But when his parents return, will he then? Is he just biding his time before he vanishes?

You hope not. God, you really hope not.

The day rolls on without a word between either of you. Maybe this is how it should be, you think. Two people. Uncomplicated. Not tied to each other by strands of anything.

Fate. This is how it works. It brings people together and then it pulls them apart.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #jin smut #thanks for the sub

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