#*flails on the ground because I want this so much*

[sena-seastar]

Heart to Heart

Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond spends time with your child so that you can have a much-needed break.

A/N: I'm back with more, Dad!Aemond, because I adore him so much. Aemond deserves someone who will love him as deeply and unconditionally as he loves them, and his baby definitely would. (Also, any dialogue in italics means the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was too lazy to attempt to translate it.) No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

“Daenys, please calm down,” you plead as you try to pacify the wailing girl.

Though your words seem to fall on deaf ears, she continues to scream and flail in your arms. You want nothing more than to join in as tears well in your eyes. You were at your wit's end. Nothing seemed to placate your child. Not even the sweets you had tried to bribe her with. 

The nursemaids had changed her nappy several times. They’ve tried feeding, bathing, offering toys, and even taking her for a walk in the gardens. Yet none of it worked. They brought her to you as a last resort, hoping she might be missing her mother. Unfortunately, their hopes went unfounded.

Daenys continued to thrash in your arms, and you struggled to keep a grip on her. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” you coo, bouncing the fussy girl in your arms. “Are you tired? Shall we take a nap?”

Your questions only incite her fury. Daenys lets out an ear-splitting screech. You groaned, eyes closing in frustration at the situation. 

“How about we give your mother a break, hmm?”

You look up, finding your husband now standing before you. He takes your little girl into his arms, and for the first time in forever, she settles down. She doesn’t squirm and try to get away from him, and her wails turn into low whimpers and quiet hiccups. You watch as he handles her with such ease. Aemond pats her back and talks to her in a soothing voice, gently bouncing her in his arms. Daenys rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny fists held tightly onto his coat.

“I’m terrible at this,” you huffed, shame blooming in your chest. 

“No, you’re not.” Aemond leaned down, pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to your head. “I’ll take her for a bit. Get some rest.”

You nod, grateful for his help. He waves Daenys’ hand towards you as they leave. You wave back until the pair disappear from your view. You sigh in relief as your body slumps onto the Grecian couch beneath you. You debate whether to continue with your book or take a quick nap.

-

Aemond holds Daenys close to his chest as he maneuvers himself off his saddle. Ser Rickard Thorne stands to the side, wearing his freshly polished armor and pristine white cloak. Aemond nods at him, and the white knight quickly takes Aemond’s horse by the reins, leading the horse away.

The dragon lord looked down, watching Daenys as she toyed with the wooden dragon in her hands. He smiled. The familiar warm fuzzy feeling that filled his entire body every time he laid his eyes on her returned. It was hard to believe that something so beautiful and innocent could come from him. But here she was. The two of you had created something- someone so precious. 

A loud grumble sounded in the air. Aemond lifted his head, observing Vhagar. The giant dragon was hard to miss, even from a great distance.

The overgrown grass and twigs squish and cackle beneath his boots as he walked into the open field where the ancient she-dragon resided. Vhagar had outgrown the dragonpit years before he had even claimed her. Vhagar turned her giant head to the side, watching them as they approached. She shut her eyes again when she realized it was just him.

Daenys let out a delighted squeal when her eyes finally landed on the giant dragon. Aemond struggled to hold her as she excitedly kicked her legs and waved her arms. Aemound cursed under his breath as the wooden dragon toy fell to the ground. Oh well, he would retrieve it later.

“What is it, my little dragon?” He asked enthusiastically. “What do you see?”

 Daenys clapped her little hands and babbled, “Vava!”

“Vhagar? Do you see Vhagar?”

She looks up to him and nods her head. Her violet eyes lock onto his, and the two smile at each other. Aemond planted a kiss on the girl’s temple, gaining sweet, girlish giggles in response.

“Very good, my little dragon. It is Vhagar.”

Daenys begins to squirm in his arms and tries to push him away.

“What is it? Do you want down?”

Aemond looks down at the grass, checking for any potential dangers. Your little girl grunts and continues to try to push him away.

Aemond huffs, “Alright, alright.”

His lips curve downward into a slight frown. The two of you had been very proud and excited when Daenys started walking. However, Aemond was a little saddened by the fact that his sweet little girl didn’t want to be in his arms all the time anymore.

His mother had told him that it’s normal for them to want to be more independent when they start walking. The man understood that, but he still did not like it one bit.

Aemond carefully lowers the little girl to her feet. Her chubby little fingers hold onto his hands as she tries to stabilize herself. When she finally stops wobbling, she lets go. Aemond’s heart races in his chest as he watches her take a small, shaky step forward. His hands immediately reach out to grab her, but he stops himself.

Daenys takes another step; this time, she’s a bit more stable. She holds her arms out, trying to balance her weight as she trots forward. Aemond follows closely behind. With each step, he felt a twinge of panic in his chest. The man struggled not to swoop her into his arms every time she stumbled.

Thankfully, they made it to Vhagar rather quickly. Vhagar gave a small huff as Daenys small hands smacked against her snout. 

“Gentle,” Aemond warned sternly, well aware of his dragon's short temper. 

The man kneeled next to her. He took one of Daenys little hands into his own, showing her how to pet Vhagar’s snout carefully. Daenys let out another excited squeal that made Aemond wince. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s very exciting, but we must be quiet.”

Daenys pulled her hand away from his, wanting to try it alone. Vhagar remained still, resting lazily on her chin. Aemond stood back up. He rested his large palm against her warm green scales with a joyous smile. She truly is a sight to behold.

Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the world. Nothing could stand against her. And yet she decided that he, of all people, was worthy of her. That he deserved the privilege to call himself her rider. No one could question or deny his worth now.

“Vava, pay?”

Aemond looked down, watching as his little girl tried to get the dragon’s attention. Her silver curls fell onto her face. The man reached down, pushing the strands of hair behind her ears. He felt a bit sorry for her. Vhagar was nowhere near as active as Daenys' little hatchling, who resided in the dragon pit. She did not flap her wings or let out any shrieks of excitement like Daenys’ hatchling did when they saw each other.

Daenys tugged on his coat. She turned her head up to look at him. Her brows were drawn together, and her bottom lip protruded further than her top lip. The look on her face tugged at his heartstrings.

“Play? No, Vhagar does not want to play.”

Your little girl does not seem to accept his answer. She turns her attention back to the dragon, gently petting her scales a few more times. Daenys tries calling out to her again, but Vhagar still gives no response. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Aemond initially planned to take her to the dragon pit, but he decided against it. Mostly because he wanted to come out and visit Vhagar. He could seldom go a day without coming to see his winged companion. 

Suddenly, a loud grumble echoed in Vhagar’s throat. The dragon, finally having enough of the child’s affection, raised her head. Daenys, who was balancing herself on Vhagar’s head, fell back, landing on her bottom with a loud oomph.

“Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Aemond commanded as he swiftly took Daenys into his arms.

Vhagar did not move, nor did she make a sound. The ancient dragon merely eyed the two of them. When Aemond felt confident enough that she would not act, he turned his attention to Daenys.

The look on her face is heart-wrenching. Her wide eyes filled with tears, and her trembling lips stretched into a deep frown. Her breath hitched as she tried not to cry. It makes Aemond feel like he wants to cry as well. He pressed a kiss to the child’s temple.

“Don’t cry, my little love. You’ll be alright.” He tried to reassure her.

She blinks, and tears fall from her violet eyes. Sad, quiet whimpers escape from her lips. Tears started to well up in Aemond’s eye, his breath quivered, and a lump formed in his throat. He was never one to cry. It made him feel weak and small, something he despised more than anything. 

But when his little girl was upset like this, he wanted to cry. Sometimes, he still wanted to cry even when she wasn’t upset. There were many times when he would just watch her while she played or slept, and then suddenly, he would be hit with a massive wave of emotions. Aemond wondered if Viserys had ever felt that way when he looked at him or any of his siblings.

Vhagar let out a loud huff. A wave of hot air engulfs Aemond and Daenys. Aemond looks up, observing Vhagar carefully. The green dragon lowers her head, gently nudging her snout against the crying girl. Aemond raises his hand to wipe away Daenys’ tears.

“Look, she’s sorry for making you sad.”

Daenys sniffled and turned to look at Vhagar. The corners of her mouth turned upwards. She giggled as she rested her forehead against Vhagar’s snout. Her little arms did their best to hug the dragon’s giant head. 

Aemond chuckled lightly, raising his hand to give Vhagar a few rewarding pats. His chest was bursting with pride as he watched his favorite girls interact. The only one who was missing was you.

[emmyrosee]

tw// cursing, yelling, long stints of fighting, Kiyoomi is a little toxic, blood, patching up injuries, broken noses, ANGST- please be safe friends ❤️

I talk a lot about Kiyoomi being an amazing sport about your clinginess, your closeness, and your affections, right?

But what about when he's not?

What happens when the one day you try to crawl into his skin, spilling your head over his shoulder and squeezing him tightly, peppering kisses over the side of his face and jawline, and when he asks you to please stop, you don’t.

“You’re just too yummy,” you say happily. You bite his ear, “this is your tax.”

He shrugs you off sharply, “I’m not paying the tax today.”

You stumble back slightly, regaining your footing and taking a step back from him. “I’m sorry… bad day?”

Bad day. Yeah. It was. He can’t fathom how bad today was, how every time he said anything, Miya was right in his ear simply talking, sending shivers of annoyance to course through kiyoomi’s veins. How Bokuto accidentally almost hit the ball straight to his face, his own intensity almost causing Kiyoomi the season. How meian benched him for being too intense, too much and needing to ‘cool off’ with every spike and scowl kiyoomi flails to the other side of the court. How the threats of sending him home for his attitude started, causing Kiyoomi to shut his mouth but white knuckle the rest of the day.

But kiyoomi doesn’t answer that like a normal person.

That would be too easy.

“Maybe I just don’t want you dangling off of me the second I walk in the door.”

His mind screams at him to shut up, but he can’t.

You take a deep breath in, “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. Usually you… you don’t mind-“

“Well maybe I should start minding.”

Shut up.

Your eyes hold betrayal as he spews his venomous words, your chest rising and falling as he balls his fists to try and ground himself.

“I’m sorry. I’ll think more about your feelings when I try to cuddle you.”

“What you do is not cuddling-“ the balled fist slams against the countertop. “It’s clinging. It’s suffocating. It’s ridiculous, and it’s obnoxious-“

“‘Yoomi-“

“And for the love of all that is fucking malevolent would you PLEASE STOP CALLING ME THAT!” He roars. “I gotta deal with it from FUCKING MIYA, now I have to deal with it at HOME FROM YOU?”

You don’t know why you do it. But you flinch.

He’s so loud, so in your face and so mean that it happens without you even knowing you did it, the only indication being that his face instantly drops and pales at the mere idea of you being so afraid of him you flinch.

He says nothing. He can’t. What could he say?

He quickly makes a dash to the door, grabbing the keys dangling from the hook and leaving right then and there, bile rising in his throat and chest swelling with disgust as your terrified face plays over and over, like a movie he can’t turn off because he’s the one who put it on.

He runs. He runs fast and far, down the street and over hills and across crosswalks that don’t permit him from crossing yet, trying to create distance between himself and the monster he was god knows how long ago.

He finds himself- somehow- at work, the bright lights of the arena snapping him back to reality that you’ve been alone for who knows how long, but at least long enough where he’s back at his physical job. On foot.

The gods give him the smallest semblance of mercy as Miya and Hinata are still together, setting and spiking away until their hands grow calloused, cheering with each successive spike sent hurdling to the floor.

Hinata notices the panting Kiyoomi first, his head cocking in concern. “Hey… thought you didn’t want to train with us?”

“You.” Kiyoomi’s dark eyes fall onto Miya, and without even processing the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this, he makes a blind dash at the blonde, who then instinctively runs the other way.

Hinata instinctively darts out of the way, “woah! What! Miya what’s going on!”

“I didn’t do anything!” The blonde whines. “Not this time! I swear!” Hinata scrambles into action, chasing after Kiyoomi who’s on another runners high as he chases his teammate around the linoleum floors of the volleyball court but is still no match for Hinata’s own speed.

Great for Miya Atsumu. Terrible for sakusa Kiyoomi.

Bulky arms wrap around Kiyoomi’s waist and immediately weights around him, slowing him down from skinning Miya alive, “no, sakusa! Enough!”

“I’ll kill him!” He barks at whoever will listen to his threat. “I’LL KILL YOU!” He points a finger at the blonde.

And Hinata’s not proud of it. Honest! But it’s what he had to do to stop his friends from mauling each other, and he trips Kiyoomi flat onto his face, a sickening crunch! under the squishing cartilage of nose and skull slamming into the floor. He lays there in defeat, panting softly into the floor and crying even quieter as his two teammates surround him.

He needed to cry. That’s it. Now that he’s crying, his salty tears mixing with the blood dribbling from his nose and the gash in his head, he feels better, he feels lighter and like he’s finally getting to express every fractal of emotion that surged through his veins all day in what is finally a healthy way.

It only cost you being uncomfortable around him.

He safely decides it’s not worth it.

“Sakusa,” Hinata begins. “What happened?”

“I was cruel,” he says, now wailing into the floor. “They flinched at me. I ruined everything. Again.”

He can’t tell from looking, but he practically feels the weight of understanding fall onto his teammates, a soft ‘ahhh,’ falling from Miya’s lips. He hears the squeak of shoes next to his head, and when his bloody face turns upward to see Miya Atsumu’s calm, non-judgmental features, he cries even harder, his tears mingling with blood as they fall to the floor.

“Go home, Kiyoomi.”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should,” Hinata interjects. “You need to be there. I don’t know what happened, or what Atsumu did to piss you off, but I know you want to sort this out.”

“I ran here,” Kiyoomi sniffles. His hand instinctively comes to wipe his nose, the taste of blood filling his throat once he’s finally able to see just the sheer amount he’s bleeding.

“YOU RAN HERE?!”

“I had to. I had to go somewhere.”

“I’ll take him home,” Miya sighs, calmly stepping away for a moment to grab his keys and bag. Hinata claps a large, comforting hand on Kiyoomi’s back, his own feet stepping away as Kiyoomi childishly stays on the floor, blood trickling onto his lips and down his chin. He’s gonna have a gash in his head for sure, maybe even a black eye, and he hopes you’re open to taking him to the hospital to get it clean.

The car ride back home is silent, save for the occasional sniffles coming from Kiyoomi and his pinched nose, stuffed with bloody toilet paper. Miya keeps his car surprisingly clean, it smells like pine and citrus and it cuts through the tension and pounding in kiyoomis head from the smell. He doesn’t know when, but Kiyoomi mumbles a soft “I’m sorry” at some point.

Miya chuckles, “you’re having a bad day. We all get those. You ain’t special.” It makes Kiyoomi chuckle softly, for the first time in what feels like days. When the car rolls up to your shared house, kiyoomi shakily gets out of the car, slamming the door closed and leaving Miya to drive off.

“Kiyoomi?”

“What?”

“You come at me like that again, I’ll give you another black eye.”

Kiyoomi chuckles and shakes his head at the blonde, “you’d never even get a shot in.” He rolls his shoulders, sniffles back a little bit more blood, and makes his way inside, shaky hands opening the door and stalking in like a zombie.

When he comes into your view, you’re quick to get on your feet, getting up to fuss over him.

“Fucks sake,” you gasp, cupping his cheeks and inspecting the dried blood over his face. “You leave for two hours and come back beaten up?”

“I fell.” Not really a lie.

“Yeah, don’t care,” you snap, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to the bathroom. “Let me clean you up. Is your nose broken?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

You groan and gently grab the bridge of his nose, and he whines and reels his head back petulantly out of pain. “Ow.”

“Yeah. Go to the doctors, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi.

Shit.

“Please come with me?”

He sees you tense up as you grab a wet towel, pausing your movements and taking in a deep breath to calm down, “yeah. Yeah I’ll go.”

“Hold my hand when I’m scared?” He tries to joke.

You don’t laugh. You don’t say anything. You dab the blood from his lips and chin, careful of his nose and the bruising around his eye. “I don’t know where you fell but you’ve got a black eye blooming.”

He tucks his swollen lip into his teeth nervously, “I ran to Miya.”

“Osamu?”

“No. Atsumu.”

Your hand pauses again, “did he hit you?”

“No. He’d never.” Even if he did deserve a smack coming to him.

You roll your eyes and escort him out of the bathroom, “come on. I’ll drive.”

The drive to the hospital is silent.

The waiting room is silent between you both.

Sitting in the doctor’s office is silent, save for the crunching of his nose as his doctor recenters his nose and he whines in pain. You do squeeze his hand through the pain, even if he doesn’t deserve your kindness.

The ride home is silent.

Your walk to your bedroom is silent, and as Kiyoomi sets up a bed on the couch is silent.

The next few days are silent. Kiyoomi can’t play due to his nose, leaving him to merely watch on the sides with a protective splint covering the bone. At home, it’s no better, with you dodging his kisses and affections with no indications you’ll ever want them again.

He wonders, briefly, if this is it. You realize you’re too good for him, worth more than a man who plays volleyball and screams at people, you deserve the stars and moon and you’re not getting it from him.

Between losing you and volleyball, he hopes its punishment enough

He can’t take it anymore. He’s lost the two loves of his life in the span of four hours, over a stupid mistake he made his bed with.

It’s been four days; you haven’t said six words to him, and he doesn’t even bother trying to get affection from you, he knows better than that. But he’s yearning for you, and while he’d never force anything onto you, he just wants to know:

Is there anything worth salvaging? Or is it just an exhaustive task, one he already knows the answer to, and you’re just too kind to tell him in person?

He needs to find out.

“Smells good in here,” he says quietly, looking at you with optimistic eyes. You give him a shrug back and continue to dress the warm bread with garlic and butter. “What’re you making?”

“I… I uhm saw a thing online on how to make bread shaped like a frog,” you say, turning back to it quietly. “Thought it would be fun.”

“It’s cute.”

“Thanks.”

The room is quiet, and when Kiyoomi hesitantly leans in for a kiss, you turn away, not ready for his affections yet.

Maybe ever again.

“I would like to kiss you,” he says, pleadingly.

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

“That’s okay. Can I… can I hug you?”

At the idea of being trapped in his arms, you shake your head, pushing him away and trying to make some distance. He obeys, but as you continue to shove him, he suddenly tries to intervene

“Please, stop,” he chokes, grabbing your hands to still you.

“Stop what?” You ask, even though you know the answer. Your hands do stop shoving him, but you avoid his gaze intently.

He sighs shakily, “I love you. I love you and every part of you. I love when you try to get inside of my skin and take my socks off with your toes. I like when you pick my nose and tickle me because I hate it, I like it when you sniff me, please just love me again.

I was so agitated that day, and that wasn’t your fault, and now I’ve ruined us because I was cruel. But please,” he collapses to his knees and wraps his arms around your legs, “just love me again. You’re safe, and it’s okay. Please.”

You don’t return his emotion, having been hurt by showing it before has made the feeling sour. “Kiyoomi-“

“It’s ‘yoomi. What happened to yoomi, why won’t you call me that anymore?”

“You screamed it out of my vocabulary, in case you forgot,” you snap. He squeezes your legs tighter like a child. “You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to decide one day to snap or tell me know about something I’m doing, then a few days later tell me you miss doing it. For fucks sake, I flinched!” He starts to tremble against your legs. “And now you tell me you want to go back to how it was! You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll try my hardest to be better for you. A better man. A better boyfriend.”

“There’s almost no way for you to be worse.”

This time, he lets you go and stands up. His eyes are swollen with tears, the dark irises even deeper from the reddening of his scleras. “So, what?” He begins, voice wobbly. “We’re just never going to show affection again? Be in loveless love? Is that my punishment?”

“It’s NOT THAT BLACK AND WHITE!” You yell, losing your composure for the first time that fight. Your hands come down to grip and smack the bread against the counter, ruining it and sending crumbs flying everywhere. You sigh and lazily throw it in the sink in defeat, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “You sincerely think I wouldnt love nothing more than to wrap MY arms around you, squish your cheeks in MY hands, crawl into YOUR lap and cuddle when you get home? You think I wanted to make bread shaped like a fucking frog for fun? NO! I’m doing it, because YOU told me YOU didn’t want me to DO THOSE THINGS!”

“I was wrong!” He yells back. “I’m sorry!”

“THAT DOESNT MEAN IT WAS STILL OKAY TO DO!”

The room is silent. Too silent. Theres a rattling of dishes that can be heard from your screams of agony, a cabinet creaks and somewhere away, the dryer dings to signal its contents to be done.

Kiyoomi takes a deep inhale in through his nose to keep himself grounded, and you watch with balled fists. “I want you to feel like you have space. You deserve that. But you also need to know you’re endgame for me. You’re the only one I want, the only one who makes me feel excited to wake up in the morning and slip into sleep at night. And if this is it for us, you need to know that you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

You give him a sad, shaky sigh.

“I made a mistake. I made you feel unsafe in your own home. You never deserved that, never deserved that level of cruelty. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” you murmur.

“Do you need me to stay with Bokuto for a few nights?”

“No.”

“Do you need me to sleep on the couch?”

“…no… I don’t think so.”

He tears up at the idea you’re not completely upset with him, enough to sleep next to him in the same house. “What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?” He chews at his swollen lip, “I want to help you be comfortable around me again. Please.”

You gnaw at your lip as you process his words, and with a small shake of your head, you slowly, almost so slowly he doesn’t see it, slink towards him, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. When his arms loosely slither around your waist, you tighten, but you don’t stop him.

It feels foreign, but so right at the same time. His swirling head is finally stilled. The demons stop their bark as you bury your face in his chest, sniffling softy in the fabric.

“Last time you left,” you begin. “You came home with a black eye from Miya. I’d hate to see what happens if you come home from Bokuto’s.”

“Okay, hold on, it was not from Miya.”

The change in tone has you laughing in his arms, and he tries to keep cool and not immediately pull you into a spine crushing hug that’ll spook you away from him again. He can’t help himself though, from rubbing his face against you and taking inhales of your scent, the shrieking and howling in his mind finally going quiet at the contact of you.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever talk to me like that again, I’ll give you another black eye.”

He chuckles and does, finally, squeeze you tighter, “I don’t blame you for a second.”

[iloveavatar]

deja vu

neteyam x fem!reader

in which the things neytiri hears from y/n and neteyam makes her have deja vu…

neytiri is fiercely walking towards her eldest son after hearing he took the blame his younger brother again,when she hears that y/n has beaten her to the scolding of neteyam. her ears twitch as she picks up on a familiar saying that leaves y/n’s mouth.

“you’re like a baby! making noise, don’t know what to do!” she stated as she lightly hits the side of his head.

neteyam gently scoffs in annoyance.

neytiri watches the scene play out from afar with a small smile on her face. she realizes that neteyam and y/n are much more alike to her and her jake than she had thought.

“don’t hiss at me! you’re the one that got yourself in trouble in the first place. and thinking you could come here, without getting scolded was stupid. you’re stupid neteyam.” she angrily expressed towards him.

“i don’t see why you care so much. it doesn’t affect you in any way.” he said as he turns his head to direct his eyes to the ground.

y/n’s ear twitches as he says that. a small growl leaving her throat as she turns around with her eyes wide. she makes slow intimidating steps towards him.

‘oh shit’ he thought.

neteyam slowly took small steps back to avoid her wrath.

neytiri saw the look on y/n’s face and slowly moved in toward the two teens to protect her son. however she stopped when she witnessed the next thing.

“why do i care for you? why do i care so much huh? well maybe, because the moron i like keeps getting himself in trouble!” she slightly yelled

neteyams eye grew wide at her statement. ‘she likes me?’ he thought.

neytiri’s eyes widen as well at the confession. she slowly backed away, sensing the two needed this moment alone. she silently turned around and started heading towards her jake to tell him his eldest son might have potentially found someone to keep an eye on him.

y/n kept going on with her rant. her arms flailing around, trying to explain to neteyam how she felt.

“… and if you think for one second, that i won’t scold you for acting so irrationally, you’re dead wrong!” she yelled as she continued to rant.

neteyam wasn’t listening to a single word she was saying. except he was paying more attention as to how she was so expressive while trying to explain her feelings to him. he had this soft look in his eyes that he had only seen his father give to his mother. if he knew that he got to see y/n’s face like this up close, he would definitely try to get in trouble more often. but he doesn’t want to admit that out loud.

y/n slowly stopped her rant as her breath was uneven due to all of the yelling she had just done. she made eye contact with neteyam and realized that everything she said went in his one ear, and out the other.

she sighed and looked at the ground in exasperation.

neteyam gently moved towards her and lifted her head towards him. he slowly leaned in to the point where his breath fanned her lips.

neither of them wanted to move. they wanted to stay in this position to savor the moment. to memorize every detail of each others face.

“please don’t slap me again for saying this.. but when you tell me how worried you are for me, it makes me realize that i only worry you for a specific reason..” he started to say.

“and that reason would be?” she questioned.

“that I see you” he answered softly. almost as if he spoke any louder she would turn into dust and float away.

her eyes pointed up as a giant grin broke out onto her face. she then grasped his jaw and finally closed the space in between the two.

the kiss they shared had many hidden emotions that have been bottled up for so long,finally spill out and reveal themselves. this moment was where the two finally understood how the other felt. they continued the kiss until they broke away for air.

slightly panting neteyam says “we should head back before my mother finds us and tries to send me to meet eywa”

y/n softly laughs and grabs his hand. she starts to lead the way back home. where the two could finally start a relationship. a relationship where they can understand each other.

as they walk back, neteyam catches sight of neytiri waiting for them. he slightly avoids eye contact in fear of getting punished.

neytiri stares at them for a few seconds before a small smile breaks out on her face. she slowly turns around and heads back to where she had originally emerged from.

neteyam takes this as a good sign and realizes that he might’ve found the neytiri to his jake.

as the two teens continue to walk. neytiri is back inside their home, realizing that her and her jake fell in love almost the exact same way. the two teens gave her a sense of deja vu to when her and jake had met. she would accept y/n if she was the one neteyam chose. in fact, she wants neteyam to choose her.

to think that she witnessed something that was very similar to her own love life.

“hm, eywa must be giving me deja vu to tell me about their possible relationship on the way” she thought

and from that moment onward, the two teens formed a beautiful relationship that neytiri and jake accept, since the two remind them of themselves.

MERRY CHRISTMAS (to those that celebrate it) !!once again, i have no idea what i’m doing i’m just hoping it turns out ok! pls let me know if you want certain type of stories or something! writing is kinda fun LMFAOOO ~S

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Fun Kind of Sparring

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Reader

Minors do ¡NOT! interact. This is not for you.

A/N: I haven’t seen the Boys and won’t BUTT that finale, amirite??? So in honor of the glorious return of Jensen Ackles, maybe the finest man who’s ever existed- seriously, when the aliens invade, show them him and they’ll be besotted by his beauty- I wrote this for all y’all SB lovers. Just note that I do not endorse any of this man’s actions, and if you do… the fuck?

I think it goes without saying but this is not my picture, it belongs to EW. (Too tired to make icons 💪)

Anyways, icons by me and all interaction-especially commentary- is appreciated!

Content/Content Warning: straight filth. The mouth on this man is crazy. Diddle that skittle.

****************************************************

It really had just been sparring. A little one on one, if you will. Me and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy and me.

If it were anyone else, being pinned down to the ground would be the opposite of erotic. It would be annoying, and I’d be flailing around, trying to hit my partner in the balls.

But with Soldier Boy? We’d been skirting around each other since The Boys broke him out. Well, that’s a lie. I’ve been skirting around him, he’s made it more than a little obvious that he’s into me. I don’t know if it’s that he just wants a quick lay or what, but because I’m unfortunately attracted to him, I don’t really care.

Especially right now, when I’m pinned under him on the gym mat.

“Y’know, we shouldn’t do this,” I stall, no meaning behind my words.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he humors me. His lips are mere inches away from mine, his hair falling against my forehead. And I think I’m drunk on the scent of his pungent aftershave.

“I mean, you’re like, what, 103?” I ponder aloud, trying to distract myself from the fact that the Soldier Boy is rested over me in a plank, shirtless. That I can feel his warm breath on my face. That it smells like peppermints.

“104, actually, sweets,” he corrects. He’s had this shot-eating grin plastered on his face since he managed to wrestle me down, because like me, he knows exactly how this is going to end. But unlike me, he’s not remotely hesitant about showing it. And because he’s a jerk, he’s making me make the first move. But I’m not ready quite yet.

“104, right,” I mutter. “Older than my grandpa.”

“Smart girl,” he just goes along with everything I’m saying, letting me stall. The mischievous glint in his emerald colored eyes never ceases.

I nod slowly. “You are a very attractive grandpa,” I state, my tone far away as if I’m talking about him while he isn’t on top of me. Ohhh do I want him on top. You know what I mean.

“Thanks, sugar. But I think I’d prefer ‘Daddy’ if we’re going for the titles,” he says cheekily, still making no moves. I on the other hand am blushing the brightest red. Between the nicknames and Daddy, it’s too much to handle.

“O-oh,” I stutter, swallowing thickly. “Noted. But, uh, aren’t you more into… more mature women?”

“I believe all women are mature. I don’t discriminate, sweets,” he says, his shit-eating grin somehow eating more shit.

“Very feminist of you,” I say sarcastically.

“Damn straight,” he agrees.

I bite my lower lip. “You’re very experienced, right?”

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but yes, I’d say so,” I can tell that he can tell that I can tell that this is volatile, just moments from going somewhere.

“Okay, so I guess my last question is this: how would you go about it. Y’know? With someone that you hypothetically wouldn’t treat as someone you paid for? That you’re sort of friends with?” I have to know. I’m too nervous for him not to lay it out plain and simple for me, I need to mentally prepare myself.

“Well, firstly, I think I’d have to know my girl likes it,” he gives me a pointed look.

“Your hypothetical girl,” I correct.

“Sure, my hypothetical girl,” he agrees. How has he not broken a single sweat this entire time? He’s been in a plank over me for the last however long it’s been and it doesn’t even affect him??

Quit getting distracted.

“Maybe she likes it rough. She wants to feel it for a few days,” I suggest, feeling my stomach knot at the notion. I’d been consistently growing wetter since he put me under him, and my arousal shows no signs of stopping.

“Okay, so I’d give it to her rough. Work her up until she’s begging for it… maybe I’ll- I mean, I’d- use my mouth first, taste her pretty pussy before I get my dick wet.” It’s all I can do not to moan at the dirty words falling out of his plush lips. Not to mention his honeyed transatlantic 50s accent… I’m so fucked. In so many ways. “Probably get her to come at least once, cause I’m sure she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

“Uh huh,” I mumble, the sound coming out higher than it should as I look at him with wide, attentive eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, even before then I’d be marking her up and down. So that way everyone can see who made her feel so good, who got her walking so funny,” he backtracks. And again, the notion is far too good to be true. But the promise in his voice? It’s real. “I’d have to get her ready for my cock, stretch her out with my fingers. Start with one, but she’d be so wet that that wouldn’t even do anything. She’d be begging for more if I just did two, so I’ll give her three, make that needy cunt happy,” he muses. And it’s so, so erotic. And I’m ready to just lean up and kiss him, make him do all the things he says. But I’m captivated by his words, his narration- I think I could come from it alone. “I don’t know if I’d let her come again then. Because I think she’d be begging for my dick with how good my fingers feel stuffed in her tight pussy.”

Mother. Fucking. Hell. Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He shouldn’t be real. These words should be banned from his vocabulary, because I am on fire right now.

“Where do you think this hypothetical girl would want me to come?” he asks out of curiosity, smirking. Probably at the way I’m looking at him like a bitch in heat.

“In her,” I mumble.

“In her where?” he asks smugly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.

“Ben,” I whine in protest.

“Oh, c’mon, tell me,” he chides. “For the sake of the story.”

“In my-her-pussy,” I answer in a breathy whisper.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it’s all I can do not to keen. I have to be soaked through my shorts by now, there’s no way. “Well, what I’d do next… that’s simple. I’d fuck her until she cried, and then I’d keep going. And I’d keep going until the only thing she can remember is my name, until she’s gooey and clingy and a sweet little fucked out thing, all for me,” he finishes, his grin from before returning back to his face. I’m losing it. I can’t think straight. And yet- he’s still waiting for me to make the first move. Son of a bitch.

“O-okay,” I clear my throat, unable to find my senses. “And if that hypothetical girl was me?” We both know it’s me, I just need to hear it.

“Well in that case I think I’d be the luckiest bastard who ever lived,” he says sincerely, looking at me with a gaze that can only be described as pure adoration and lust. Yep. That’s it for me. I lean up and kiss him with as much force as I can muster.

****************************************************

In the meantime… want more Soldier Boy?? Try Taming The Supe <3

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.  

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

.

.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.    

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

.

.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

.

.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

.

.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

.

.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.  

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[alastor-x-reader-stories]

To Rate a Hug part 2 of ?

Tags: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer Morningstar x Reader, humor, antics, shenanigans, Alastor is a petty bitch, Lucifer is a dork, Reader is also a dork

part 1

Alastor’s ear twitched at the sound of someone shouting your name. He glanced over, seeing Lucifer skip up to you like a lovestruck fool.

“Hey, Luci!” You said with a grin, scooping up the fallen angel in a hug. Lucifer’s eyes briefly took on a heart shape as he hugged you back, a light blush on his cheeks.

Alastor turned his attention back to his reading. A low growl permeated from his chest without his permission which agitated him even more. Wasn’t the thing you said at that silly little activity about wanting his attention? Why now has that shifted to Lucifer?

Was it because he gave you what you wanted?

Alastor gritted his teeth, grin straining. This is a ridiculous waste of thought. If this pettiness is simply because he wouldn’t indulge in your strange desires than it wasn’t worth his time-

“Alastor, you okay?”

Your voice snapped him out of his musings. He quickly composed himself and gave you a bright smile.

“Of course, my dear!” He said “Whatever makes you think otherwise?”

“Um. Probably because you’re hunched over in the corner growling.” Lucifer said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Alastor’s eye twitched. Why was this idiot still here?

“Don’t you have something you need to be doing?” He said with mock interest “I imagine the King of Hell has quite a full schedule.”

Lucifer shrugged “Not really. I’m kind of just here to look pretty.”

You snickered at that, covering your mouth with one hand. Lucifer stood up taller, puffing his chest out.

“Yes, well. I do.” He said, slipping away into the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your ears went down, watching Alastor slip away. Did the conversation from the other day bother him that much? If that’s the case you’d need to apologize. And, well, no time like the present.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” You said, shooting Lucifer a smile. The King jumped a bit at your voice, startled out of the glaring contest he was having with where Alastor just was. He frowned at you.

“Um. Maybe you shouldn’t?”

You picked him up and held him out at arm’s length “Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but I think this is partially my fault, so I need to talk to him.”

“How is it your fault he’s an asshole?” Lucifer said, flailing his arms about.

“Well…Maybe my comment in the Truth or Dare thing made him uncomfortable…”

“That’s his problem, then.” He snorted, crossing his arms.

You sighed, gently placing Lucifer back on the ground. You put his hands on both of his shoulder and leaned down to be eye-level. “Again, I appreciate where you’re coming from. But I feel like I should talk to him about this so I’m going to.”

He bit his lip, brows furrowing. “Uh….Okay.” He ran a hand down his face “Just. Just be careful, all right?”

You grinned “Nah, I’mma run with scissors.”

“That’s like, the opposite of careful.” Lucifer pouted. He took a deep breath and gave you a small smile. “See you later.”

You said your farewell and scuttled off. Alastor would likely be in either his room or his radio tower, you figured. Which were both typically off-limits but you’d be sure to get his permission before barging in. You stopped by his tower first and knocked on the door a couple of times. When that got no response at all you scurried over to his room and knocked a couple times.

“Who’s there?”

Oh boy you could not resist. “Owl says!”

“…Owl says who?”

“That they do!” You said, cackling at your own stupid joke. There was another staticy cackle that quickly joined your own. The door opened and Alastor grinned down at you.

“Very silly joke, my dear. What can I help you with?”

You snorted, wiping a hand under your eyes to brush away the tears. “Well, you’re in a better mood.”

“Difficult not to be when someone surprises you with a horrible knock-knock joke.” He said with the slightest shrug of his shoulders.

“Good point.” You said “Hey, can I talk to you?”

“Fascinatingly enough, you already are.” He said, tilting his head.

“Not what I meant-“

“I know, I know. Come on in.” He said, putting a hand between  your shoulders and pushing you inside. He kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe and stood there probably doing something but you weren’t paying attention, staring instead at Alastor’s room.

Half of it was a fancy-looking hunting lodge, while the other half a swamp. Fireflies blinked in and out over the waters and you could hear crickets and frog chattering. It smelled like damp moss and sawdust with just hints of coffee.

“Nice room.” You said dumbly. Alastor chuckled, pushing you over to the soft-looking lounge chairs and sitting you down. He sat across from you, crossing his legs in front of him and folding his hand on his lap.

“Now, what did you need to talk about?”

“Oh! Yeah.” You said and turned your attention away from the giant gator skeleton mounted on the wall. “I wanted to apologize.”

He tilted his head “…For what?”

“Um. I think I made you uncomfortable.” You rubbed the back of your neck “With the ‘who I’d want to hug’ comment? I really should’ve kept that to myself. I mean, I know you like your personal space and don’t really want people thinking of invading it-.” You stopped your rambling and took a steadying breath. “So. Yes. I wanted to apologize.”

Empty static hung in the air.  You started rocking in your seat, hunching over yourself. Alastor just stared at you, glowing red eyes a sharp contract to the gentle greens and browns behind him.

“I suppose I didn’t expect you to give up quite that easily.” He said, grin unmoving. He tilted his head to the opposite side, eyes squinting ever-so-slightly “If that’s something you wanted so badly, after all…”

You blinked. “Um.” Then realization hit you with a brick “…Did you want me to try hugging you?”

The audible record scratch gave you an answer. Alastor straightened up, clasped hands tightening into a white-knuckled grip.

What he wanted was your attention back on him, and not that fool of a king. What he wanted was you to pursue him and not Lucifer.

“Perhaps.” Alastor said.

You sighed. “Then you should’ve said so, Alastor. I’m not a mind reader. What I got from our talk after that was you thought I wanted something from you and that made you uncomfortable.”

Alastor’s ear twitched. “…So you’re diverting your attention to Lucifer because….?”

You shrugged “Dude’s touch-starved. You give him a hug and he turns into the happiest person in Hell.”

You jumped when Alastor had appeared right in front you. His grin was wide. “So it’s pity that has your attention on him?”

“Uh. No.” You muttered, pushing him away “Really it’s just… Well he gives pretty good hugs. Once I realized I can pick him up to the hug was pretty much perfect.”

“Oh I’m sure I can be much better.” Alastor said with a huff, waving you off. “You wouldn’t have to break your spine or pick someone up for a embrace of much higher quality.”

You rose your eyebrow, ears flicking. “Okay. Before I continue. Our conversation has lead be to believe you want me to try and hug you. Is this correct?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Not really, saying giving mixed signals and being cryptic are your favorite past times.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

Alastor’s grin stiffened. His ears pinned back as he suddenly found the swamp more interesting. He snapped his fingers and a piece of paper appeared over your face. You jumped, startled, then took the paper and read it.

Yes pursue the hug thing and tell NO ONE.

You snorted, biting your lip not to laugh. But then you laughed anyway.

“Oooooh buddy you have no idea what kind of game you’re playing now.” You said with a sinister grin. “I’mma hug you.”

“I’m sure your attempts will be amusing.” He said casually, checking his claws.

“I warn you, I have many sinister plans at my disposal.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Starting my first plan. A-hem. Can I hug you?”

“Mmm….Nope!”

Well that didn’t work.

[crystallizedtwilight]

Lock is super cute n all but Barrel is all that AND a bag of beans (a.k.a. he's really nice)... kind of feels like barrel deserves better sometimes ....(this isn't said in bad faith to you, the artist, btw! I'm only shaking the angst jar a bit)

Lock thinks so too.

Of course Barrel has better options. Belladonna or, hell, just about anyone.

Lock thinks that maybe Barrel would find it easier to wake up next to someone who doesn’t accidentally scratch him with their claws during a nightmare, maybe someone of his own species, or someone who is generally more…pleasant and effortless.

A partner who was soft and nice instead of sharp and difficult.

So Lock puts the distance between them before someone else does. He hates it, surrendering the best thing that ever happened to him, but after wasting so much of his time, doesn't he at least owe Barrel this? The chance to be happier with someone better?

He turns distant, cold, avoidant. Enough for Barrel to ask, "Hey, what's wrong?" And Lock realizes that, truly, he must be the most selfish creature in the world for not just saying I'm fine.

Lock wanders so dangerously close to speaking his heart that he panics, turning to run like he always did when he came close to acknowledging why. But Barrel catches him around the waist, voice soft and desperate, as he says more to himself than to Lock,

"I've let you run too many times."

Lock flails and sobs and sinks his teeth into the forearm that binds him across the chest.

"You can bite me if you want, but you’re going to listen to what I have to say," Barrel tells him low and steady, "I would rather wake up next to you with scratches than unscathed next to anyone else.” 

"Why?" Lock sobs, asking the question furiously, frustrated. It just didn't make sense. He wasn't worth it and he wished Barrel would just tell him what he already knew.

But when Barrel speaks his voice is so desperate, so fiercely certain, that Lock is inclined to listen.

“Because there’s no one like you, Lock. You’re fun...and spirited...and always up for a laugh. You’re open to anything which makes every day with you an adventure. You’re one of two people in this world who’s been through hell and back with me and yet you still approach life with so much enthusiasm.

I know you kept me safe from the worst of Oogie, and you kept this trio together like it was your mission. Every good thing I have is because of you. You’re bright and exciting and when I’m with you I feel like I’m home. Every day I wake up feeling so lucky you even let me hold you.

And I…I didn’t say it for so long because I know you didn’t want to hear it, but fuck that…I love you. I’ve always loved you. It’s always been you, Lock.”

Lock sobs into Barrel's forearm and Barrel presses his forehead to the back of Lock's neck, letting him. The grip becomes an embrace, and Lock is weak in his arms. He lets his weight drop and Barrel lowers them to the ground. When Barrel speaks again, the tears have caught up with him as well.

"So don't you dare tell me you're not good enough."

[pimosworld]

Pairing-Joel Miller x f!reader 

Summary- Joel’s a grump when it’s hot and also when he gets jealous. 

CW- 18+, No outbreak au, established relationship, mostly fluff, grumpy Joel, reader is not described, possessive Joel, family dynamics, illusions to smut, joel is down bad for reader. 

  WC-1.9k

 A/N- I can’t wait for summer so I wrote this little snippet into the life of the Joel I think about often. May do a spicy part two if the mood strikes me. 

[Main Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Dog Days

He told you he’d behave. Begrudgingly and with promise that you’d make it up to him. That’s the only thought he clings to as he sits in this lawn chair that’s too small for him. The only seat away from everyone else so he doesn’t have to do the small talk thing. He can still see you though. Sun kissed and smiling at something Maria is saying. 

  He still doesn’t know how you do it, how you make it look so effortless even on the hottest day of the year. His shirt clings to him and he’s sweating in places he wouldn’t speak of out loud and you just stand there all heaven sent like it’s a different temperature in your world. 

  Your world bled into his before he knew what hit him. He started to enjoy sunsets and stopped to smell the flowers, because that’s what you liked to do and he quickly learned that anything that made you happy made him feel like the most fortunate man in the world. He’s fortunate to have you every morning, waking up curled into his side as you steal sleepy kisses along his chest and his arms. He pretends to be asleep for as long as he can until he’s so worked up he has to make you come at least twice before you extract yourselves from the bed. 

  That’s where he wants to be right now as he stares at some prehistoric bug that’s landed in his warm beer, flailing and hoping someone can put him out of his misery much like he hopes after being dragged to this godforsaken barbecue. Despite it being his own brother he would have gladly come up with any excuse not to be here. He loves his family but sometimes he couldn’t stand Tommy. 

  ‘Who has a party on the hottest day of the year?’ You laughed earlier as he grumbled about in the kitchen helping you pack away the things you prepared in the cooler. 

  ‘He can’t control the weather Joel. You know he’s excited about the new house.”You with your rational thought and kind heart. 

  ‘Who’s side are you on Darlin?’ He caged you in against the counter as he ran his hands up your thighs. You shiver under his touch and he knows it wouldn’t take much to convince you to stay home. 

  Your hands meet his as you pull them up higher, bunching your dress a little to reveal those cheeky shorts he couldn’t get enough of. You wrap his hands around your waist as you run yours up his arms and around his neck. His chocolate brown eyes are glazed over as you slowly put him under some trance. Your lips kiss that spot in his beard as your nails scratch at his scalp and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep himself grounded. ‘I’m always on your side Miller.’ 

  “What’s up with you brother?” Tommy slaps his back bringing him back to this fresh hell. A man can’t even day dream in peace. 

  “It’s hot.” He grumbles and goes to take a sip of his beer before he remembers and chucks it out on the grass. 

  Tommy licks his lips as a smirk pulls across his face, no doubt thinking of something to say that will have Joel flying off the handle. His niece is running towards them with the same look on her face to save him from his impending death. Wild black curls bouncing in her face to match her parents. 

  Tommy holds his arms out for his daughter but she crashes her small body into Joel as the weight of her hit causes a small creak in the lawn chair. A muffled hi uncle Joel is said into his shirt as Tommy stands there defeated. “You stayin out of trouble?” 

  She just shrugs her shoulders and offers her hand out to him. An ice cold Diet Coke she’s barely able to get her little hands around. A mystery smudge is on her shirt and her pants have seen better days. Tommy wanted a boy but he was pleasantly surprised when her little personality started to take hold and he quickly realized he had his hands full with this one. Her two front teeth are missing and the smile etched across her face is a mischievous one. “Thanks sweetheart.” Joel takes it from her, it’s still cold despite having traversed the lawn and been subjected to the warmth of her hands. He’ll wait a moment to open it, no doubt jostled as she ran over here. 

  “My mommy said you look hotter than h e double hockey sticks.” 

  “Izzy!” Tommy snaps at her and Joel can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. 

  “What…I spelled it. I didn’t say Hell.” She rolls her neck and he swears he can see Maria in that moment. 

  “Isabella.” Tommy’s voice drops an octave in warning as she backs away slowly with her hands raised. 

  She reminds him so much of Tommy when he was younger. It’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine. When Joel met you the decision had already been made that you didn’t want kids and Sarah was almost in college and Joel didn’t want to start over. It was a relief to find someone that could love his child so fiercely despite it not being their own. Izzy came barreling into their lives shortly after Sarah left and you loved that little bundle of joy like it was the last thing on earth. 

  There’s little hints of you in her sprinkled throughout your time together. Her insistence on correcting people and their grammar, the way she defends others although you told her she should try to use her words more after she punched some kid on the playground for bullying a smaller kid. Joel may have had a hand in that one. 

  Joel cracks the can as Tommy drones on about repairs that need to be done to the house. He already knows what his brothers’ getting at and he doesn’t even need to ask…of course he’s going to help him take on whatever project needs to be done to get the house in order for the new baby. He knew Tommy was nervous before Izzy arrived and this brings on a whole new level of responsibility. They were so grateful they’d found a house down the street from you and Joel with just two months to spare before this new bundle arrived. 

  He takes a sip of the bubbly cold drink, the sweetness is slightly off. You swore he wouldn’t be able to tell but of course he can. His doctor told him to cool it on the sodas and he made the mistake of telling you. You care so much…too much. You called his brother and Maria and now they’re watching him like a hawk so he has to sneak the ones with real sugar like a junky getting his fix. 

  In the brief moments he’d been graced by Tommy’s presence he lost sight of you. His eyes scan the large backyard, the kids playing in some dirt mound, some guys from the job site ribbing each other by the grill. You and Maria are by the cooler with some mystery man while you rub her swollen belly. His eyes roam down your body as you bend over to lay a kiss to it and whisper sweet words to your soon to be niece or nephew. 

  You stand and try to adjust the strap on that dress he loves so much. You’re always complaining about how the straps never stay up and he supposes you keep it just for him. He’ll have to remember to burn it when you get home as he grits his teeth and watches the man get an obvious look down the front of your dress. 

  “Who’s that?” Joel juts his chin toward the end of the yard as Tommy squints his eyes. 

  “Don’t.” 

  “I just asked his goddamn name Tommy.” He huffs at his brother and he just shakes his head. The heat was already getting to him before and now it’s at a fever pitch. 

  “His name is James, we just hired him.” Tommy holds his arms out in a mock satisfaction and Joel’s not in the mood for his theatrics. 

  “We? Hired him.” Joel shifts and he hears the chair creak again. He stands up abruptly not wanting to be flat on his ass because of his brother's crappy lawn furniture. 

  “Yes Joel…remember you put me in charge of staffing the site?” 

  Joel just hums under his breath as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’ll have to remember to start vetting the candidates again if this is the type of people Tommy’s got working for them. 

  The man is crossing the lawn towards them with a presidential smile and Joel’s already pissed. He greets Tommy and offers his hand to Joel as he begins to introduce himself. 

  “James is it?” Joel squeezes the man's hand a little too tight as he winces. Tommy retreats not wanting to be a witness to whatever Joel was going to say or do. At this point he knew there was no stopping him. 

  “Mr. Miller, it’s nice to meet you.” He doubts that and he can tell by the look on his face that he’s already sorely regretting walking over here. 

  “You don’t really have an eye for jewelry do ya?” Joel cocks his head waiting for an answer, an easy trap to set for a simpleton like James. There’s no right answer. Not when he’s got his teeth sunk into him. “See I noticed almost immediately that there’s a ring on your finger.” He gestures to the man’s hand and holds up his own. “You didn’t seem to notice my wife’s hand when you were eye fuckin the shit out of her.” 

  “Hi Honey.” Your sweet voice hits his ears as your hand travels up his arm, working your way behind his neck to rub that spot that seems to always make him deflate. 

  James uses this momentary distraction to run away with his tail tucked. 

  “You behavin?” You purr at him as he drops his head down to let you run your fingers through his hair. 

  “Always sugar.” His words slurred a little as he succumbed to your touch. You’re like a sedative the way you seep into his veins and put him in a trance like state. 

  He can’t see your eyebrows raised at him as you scan the backyard for the offending party. “Come on Miller, let’s get you home and cool you off before someone gets fired.” 

  He starts to speak but you shush him with your finger placed gently on his mouth. A quick glance over your shoulder and you lean up kissing him deep. It almost takes him by surprise how you still have this effect on him. No longer concerned with the heat or the stress at work or his brother’s constant annoyance. You can silence all those thoughts with just a taste of your lips. You break away when you hear the whoops coming from Tommy and Joel grumbles under his breath. 

  The strap on your shoulder slides down and you sigh a little as Joel runs his finger underneath, feeling your smooth skin turn to goosebumps. It’s intoxicating the way he knows he has that same effect on you. He’s smirking to himself as he reaches behind you and adjusts the strap, getting a glimpse down the front and the soft swell of your breast. 

  “Looks like you and James have something in common.” You laugh as he scowls at you, the kind of laugh that has tears at the corner of your eyes. 

  “Don’t push it darlin.” 

Comments and and reblogs are much appreciated

[jayschaconne]

LOVESICK | Kim Sunoo

summary: While on summer vacation you find yourself falling for Sunoo in just a matter of seconds.

warnings: (minors dni), heavy smut, unprotected sex, size kink (?) (idk about y’all but I LOVE Sunoo’s shoulders), swearing (excessive use of the word ‘cunt’), both reader and Sunoo are down bad (ALSO VERY FREAKY) (not proofread)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

a/n: I’ve finally written about all of enha on here omg. also this isn’t what I wanted it to be so try and enjoy it ig. sorry for making it long.

…

There were green leaves scattered across the street. The sun hitting your eyes, blocking your vision.

You carried a tote bag with books you’d just checked out from the library nearby. Coming to visit your parents’ home country wasn’t your most favourite thing to do, but getting to take in the fresh summer breeze and stroll across streets you’d grown accustomed to had soothed you in its own ways.

It was pretty out. You loved the fresh green grass and the trees that sheltered you from the harsh sunlight. The serene, ocean-blue skies that were peppered with clouds shaped like hearts and different animals, making you laugh to yourself.

All the while you’d been preoccupied, you’d forgot to take notice of things around you. This caused you to so suddenly bump into someone and land flat on the ground. You were sure you’d hurt your elbow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a soft, calming voice had called from above you. “Here, let me help you.”

The man crouched down to pick up the fallen contents out of your bag. You had no time to tend to the wound that formed on your skin. Because in a split second, all your attention was on the boy in front of you.

He seemed to be out of this world.

Your eyes locked on his, staring deeply. You couldn’t seem to look anywhere other than his face. His plump lips, the curve of his brows. His adorable nose. The way his bangs were reaching his eyes. The plain beige shirt he was adorned in paired with blue denim that sat proudly on his shoulders.

He seemed to be at a loss of words for the first few seconds. You both took each other in, a sigh coming from him, your eyes refusing to even blink, fearing he’d disappear if you had.

A smile had reached his lips and his honey-brown eyes. A shy chuckle escaped. “Forgive me for being this direct but,” he sighed, “you’re incredibly stunning.”

Sunoo was in total awe at how you were speechless when face-to-face with him. Your lips slightly parted, almost as if you hadn’t expected to see him, though it was normal given that he was a stranger.

What could it have been that made those beautiful eyes seem to have a million questions behind them at the sight of him?

And how on earth could someone be this gorgeous? He felt his heart smile when he first saw you; it started beating at a much slower, more steady pace. Making him feel like he’d been enveloped into a world where only the pretty girl carrying books, who he just bumped into existed. Your curls that flailed with the wind, the coconut scent in your hair, those long lashes that fluttered as you lifted your eyes to peer up at him. Doll-like, they gleamed in the sunlight.

You finally broke away from your train of thought.

“I’m..sorry.” You said, unsure of what to feel towards this man or how he’d just called you beautiful.

“I mean thank you.” You added while a nervous laugh had escaped your lips. You could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks. “You’re gorgeous,” you said before being able to stop yourself.

Just then, you heard him laugh. It was the most beautiful sound of laughter you’d ever gotten to hear.

“Let me help you,” he said again, this time helping you back up on your feet. Your hands were in his, feeling the soft skin of his palms and the warmth radiating from them.

“Thank you.” You let out almost in a huff. You couldn’t understand this feeling. It was in the pit of your stomach, but also latched onto your heart. The sight of this strange, beautiful boy you’d just met made it slightly harder to breathe. It made your knees weak.

You both were very, very still for a moment. His hands had kept their hold on you, eyes locking deeper into yours. A sigh left him, and he let both your arms fall.

“Is it wrong to want to know your name?”

“Please tell me your name.”

You both had spoken at the same time. This caused you two to share a moment together, laughing at the coincidence.

“You first,” he softly said. His gaze on you was so warm and welcoming. It made you melt.

“Y/n,” you said, not being able to help how you brushed your hair behind your ear at how shy he made you feel.

“That’s pretty. But it doesn’t surprise me. Pretty things have pretty names.” Sunoo confessed.

He felt like an idiot that was just going and on and on about your looks. He so badly wanted to spend the rest of his day with you.

“You are?”

“Sunoo,” his eye smile was back.

Sunoo. You felt your heart flutter at his name being just as gorgeous.

The evening had rolled around quick, but ironically slow at the same time.

You two walked into the park nearby, feeling time slowly slip away, but still being enough to let you bask in each other’s presence.

You couldn’t believe how radiant a human being could be, to not have one flaw in them. Sunoo was absolutely perfect. He was the real definition of ‘too good to be true’.

He was open, easily understood. It made you wonder if it was just how direct he was that made him want to compliment you.

But his eyes spoke for themselves. You’d stop walking at certain points, which gave him more of a reason to keep his eyes on you.

His gaze was still, subtle, but there was so much more behind those eyes than even he could comprehend.

At a certain point, Sunoo had started to carry himself in a way where he wasn’t hiding his affection for you. Stories he heard, he wanted to hear more of. “Tell me more,” he’d nod. That smile tugging at the corner of his lips made your attachment grow.

Sunoo couldn’t grasp at where it rooted from, but there was this feeling of familiarity that was slowly growing between you two. Just within a few glances and words exchanged, Sunoo felt like he’d known you a lifetime.

“I’m staying here with my aunt for the time-being. I’ll be going back in a couple months,” he explained while you two sat on a bench far near the trees in the park.

And if it weren’t for the bitter taste forming in your mouth at the thought of keeping something from him, you wouldn’t have said it.

“I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

A gap had suddenly opened up in that one corner of his heart that felt like it had been reserved just for you. It had to have been you it belonged to, he was certain. But it was slowly emptying itself now. Your words left a scar that he wasn’t sure could now be ceased.

At his silence, you grew nervous. “Sun-

Loose strands of hair had been in your eyes then, which he brushed away with a light touch of his fingers. “Let me get those for you,” he hushed in a whisper. You felt your eyes shut momentarily, your heart racing.

He didn’t acknowledge what you’d just told him.

He retracted his hand, looking at you with such tenderness. Such adoration.

“Sunoo.”

“Yes.”

There was so much you wanted to say but the words wouldn’t leave your mouth.

“Nothing.”

And there it was. He laughed again.

“Is it okay if I…” you spoke, unsure.

“Hm,” he patiently waited for you to say whatever it was you wanted to.

Your lips were parted, but again, no words came out. You could explain it so much better if you just touched him.

Your hands reached up to his hair, picking at the loose ends. You needed to feel him. Touch him. It was the only thing you knew with him.

You weren’t big on communicating your feelings. It wasn’t anything you were used to. And while Sunoo had given you more than reason to be open with him, he was so overwhelming. Speaking was the last thing your feelings would allow you to do.

Touching him felt much more familiar. His skin underneath your palms allowed you to say things your lips couldn’t.

He watched, following only your eyes as you placed your hand around his neck, leaving traces of fingertips he saw as you engraving your mark on him.

He sat incredibly still, but relaxed underneath you. Your hand was now cupping his face. He moved suddenly, lips brushing your fingers.

“Sunoo…”

“Don’t drive me crazy like that,” he whispered, almost pleading.

The sleeve of your cardigan had rolled up, and Sunoo noticed the scrape on your elbow, brows immediately knitting together in worry. He saw how the open wound started to bleed.

“Oh no,” he wept. “That must hurt.” He took your arm into his hands, eyes searching yours to ask permission if this was okay.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t speak or budge. You just let him touch you, so used to it already. His fingertips grazed your skin, making the cut sting.

You hissed, causing him to retract his hand instantly.

“I’m so sorry,” he said worriedly.

“No, it’s not you. It just stings a little that’s all.”

“My aunt’s house is just a few blocks down. We should get you there quick before you lose too much blood.”

“I wouldn’t wanna cause any trouble, Sunoo.” You said, incapable of keeping his name out your mouth. Sunoo. It reminded you of sunshine. The way he’d suddenly walked into your life, raining his sun showers upon you with his bright and bubbly self. His name suit him perfectly.

“You expect me to listen after you say my name like that?” He was getting shy, but also very much see through in such little time. It was because you said it. You’d looked at him, and said his name in a way where it sounded like you’d said it a million times before.

“It’s just a small cut.”

It isn’t to me, he wanted to say.

“Do you have to go home right away?” He asked.

“No,” you lied.

“Then you’re coming with me.”

Sunoo managed to rummage through his pockets, finding a handkerchief. He tried his best to wrap it around somehow. But you ended up having to put pressure on it.

Despite all your protests against going to his aunt’s, deep down you were aching to be alone with him. It felt as if any moment you looked elsewhere, he’d slip away. And while your mind was boggled at the thought of that, your heart had understood. Without a second thought, you went with him. Not caring where he’d take you as long as he was still there.

The small blood stain on your cardigan made him take it from you, offering his own jacket. He carried your bag as well, looking over every two seconds to make sure you weren’t in too much pain.

Once you’d reached there, he paced around anxiously, looking through the drawers to try to find a first-aid kit.

You sat in his room, taking in the atmosphere of it. It was peaceful, clean, just the way you’d expected it to be.

He was so stressed over this stupid wound. It felt weird seeing this boy who had been a stranger just a few hours ago, rummaging through his drawers to find a bandaid for you.

You felt yourself unable to keep still anymore. You walked over to him, taking ahold of his arms.

Sunoo’s movements came to a halt, and he seemed more at ease.

“Why does this matter to you so much?”

He stood there, unable to speak. He blinked at you a few times, looking like he had an answer that just wasn’t reaching his lips.

“I…don’t know how to say it.”

“What could you possibly want to hide from me? You’re so obvious, Sunoo.”

His eyes had widened slightly, and he avoided looking at you in the face. “I’m not the only obvious one.”

“Sunoo, the bleeding has stopped.” You held up the handkerchief, revealing the dried stains of blood.

He looked down at your arm, examining it.

“Let me at least put a smaller bandaid on it.”

“Sunoo.” You started.

“Don’t keep saying my name like that.”

“Why?”

He pondered for a moment, wondering if it was the right thing to say.

“It makes me wanna kiss you.” He blurted out. There was defeat in his voice, like he’d admitted something he hadn’t meant to.

You felt relieved at that, feeling a little less crazy for how you were so deeply attracted to him already. “At least you admitted it.”

“You’d let me kiss you?”

“You’re too oblivious for your own good. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t want to spend every remaining second of my day with you.”

Sunoo let you go on, feeling slightly a bit more relaxed that he wasn’t crazy for having these feelings. That you were possibly implying that you liked him too.

“Would you let me kiss you?” He repeated his question.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “I’d want you to.”

He was silent. His gaze remained intact. He so badly wanted to kiss you. Brush your hair away from your eyes again.

“I’ve known how you made me feel from the moment you first spoke to me. And just over a small wound you’ve been so worked up. But I get it. If I’d seen you hurt I’d go just as crazy.”

You moved closer to him, hands reaching up to touch the face you’d touched several minutes before.

Sunoo’s eyes closed shut, and he eased into the way your fingers grazed his skin. The warmth of your fingertips had kissed his skin so gently, he felt like his knees might’ve given up.

He opened his eyes to look over at you again, this time his eyes burned, speaking words you hadn’t seen in them before.

“Are you in love?” He sounded uncertain. There was something so strong that was inviting him to you, like some magnetic pull. He wasn’t sure what was next.

“That’s such a stupid question. Of course, I’m in love. It’s you, Sunoo.”

Sunoo had without blinking, pulled you closer, a delicate hand on your jaw, his lips slowly closing the gap between you two.

He’d been chasing this relief from the very first moment his eyes fell upon you. Your curls, your lips, those eyes, all crossing his mind as his lips engulfed yours in a deep, slow kiss.

You felt him guide you so your back hit his bed, feeling his smile grow against your lips, both your teeth almost clashing. “I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

This felt amazing. The way you’d felt so close to him, your heart having been so at home with his touch gliding over your skin, his kisses so impatient.

You felt unable to keep your hands off him. They traced up his arms, reaching his shoulders, making you almost gasp at how big they felt. You couldn’t help but drool at the sight.

“You like my shoulders baby?” He laughed, eyes sparkling as he towered over you.

Baby, the word rolled off his tongue like it was so used to being said to you.

You felt yourself shudder beneath him, hands remaining still, feeling him. “They’re just so…big.”

You loved the feeling of being so small compared to him. The need to feel him touch you grew more intense.

Sunoo smirked down at you. “You like touching them?”

You nodded, pulling him closer. He hovered above you, just inches away.

“Tell me how much.”

“I wanna sit…on them” you said shyly looking away, embarrassed to have admitted such a thing.

“Don’t be shy,” he laughed, taking your face into his hands. “I want you to,” he reassured you.

“Please, I need you.”

Sunoo reacted by pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his cream-coloured skin. He pulled you into his lap, kissing you again.

But this time, he nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp in his mouth. His tongue collided with yours, slurping and sucking, savouring as much as he could of you.

You were incredibly intolerant of how slow this was going. You managed to slide off your tank top by its straps, all the while making out, letting Sunoo get a good look at your bare chest.

He whimpered at the sight. “Can I suck?” He whispered, so unsure of what he’d do wrong.

You nodded eagerly, feeling the warmth of his mouth around your sensitive nub in seconds.

Sunoo sucked on your tits like he’d been hungry for your skin, yearning to get a taste of it for a long while.

Both your heads had turned at the sound of the front door closing. You almost panicked until Sunoo grabbed his duvet cover and wrapped it around you.

He got up to lock his door.

“Sunoo, dear? Are you home?” A voice called from outside.

He looked back at you, seeing how you’d shrank inside the duvet cover, looking as beautiful as ever. He was still processing how you ended up sprawled out on his bed, waiting to get fucked by him.

He walked back to you, crawling over and placing his index finger on your lips. “Shh,” he hushed with a smile playing on his lips.

“Open for me,” he whispered as his fingers parted your lips. You obliged and felt two fingers slide inside your mouth.

“To keep you from being too loud,” he cooed at you.

He put his face in between your breasts, you taking ahold of his head, letting him lick up invisible patterns with his tongue.

“Sunoo,” you moaned around his fingers. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Let me ride you.”

He grasped at the long skirt you wore, watching it slide off your legs smoothly.

You tugged at Sunoo’s pants, unbuckling his belt yourself and sliding them down to his knees.

You pushed him flat on the bed, and crawled on top, letting his boner free from his briefs.

Sunoo grabbed a pillow to stifle the loud, deep moan that escaped his lips, causing you to get even more wet at the thought of getting to fuck him.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his precum gathering at the tip.

You straddled him, watching his eyes burn into you, his mouth hung agape. Your eyes stayed on his as you made slow, teasing strokes on him.

“Ahh, fuck,” a groan came from deep within his throat, loving the feeling of your hands on his dick.

His head rolled back into the sheets, eyes shut tight, such sweet moans being released from him.

His hands came in contact with your ass, squeezing and pulling on the soft skin; they felt huge as they worked on you. You were in love with how large every part of him was.

His dick was too tempting, too perfectly girthy for you to not put your mouth on it.

You lowered yourself down, spitting on his tip and stroking him again. You watched as Sunoo’s hand clasped on his mouth, with his back arching, stifling his moans that were getting too loud for you two not to get caught.

“Stop,” he breathed out. “Just fuck me already.”

You didn’t waste any more time, sitting on him and feeling him stretch you out in the most toe-curling ways.

He now rested on his elbows, lips connecting in a steamy kiss as your moans released into each other’s mouths at the contact.

You couldn’t help the way you impatiently bucked your hips on him, feeling him writhe underneath you.

“Fuck, baby. I could never imagine you feeling this good,” he exclaimed against your mouth. His hands kept your waist in place, guiding you through the rhythm he created.

Your skin stung with the way he smacked your ass with each thrust into your cunt. Sunoo felt heavenly buried deep inside you.

You motioned for him to lie down again, this time your heat way closer to his mouth, as you eased yourself onto his shoulder. You held the headboard for support, grinding on him gently.

You could feel how toned-up he was. Those hard muscles that you felt against your clit just making your cunt even more needy for him.

Sunoo’s lips attached to the skin of your thighs, one of his hands reaching up to your tits, wanting to feel whatever he could of you.

He loved the way you felt on him. The wet, squelching sounds your cunt made as you rode his shoulder made him want to taste you on his tongue.

Sunoo got ahold of your thighs, lifting up one of your legs to the side of his face, which gave him more access. He turned his head and lapped his tongue furiously against your clit.

You felt yourself start to lose balance as you shook with overstimulation.

“Sun,” you moaned into the back of your own hand. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Not yet,” he said. But it was more of a plead than a demand.

He flipped you over, burying your face in his pillows. Your ass was facing him, and you felt him enter your needy, dripping walls.

You practically screamed into the pillows at the feeling. Sunoo started to wildly buck his hips into you, loving the way you felt wrapped around him.

“Sunoo, please,” you couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You needed him to hear you scream for him.

“That’s right, love. You take me so well,” he panted with each hard thrust.

You felt the bed shake from its place as Sunoo fucked you senseless into the mattress.

You were sweaty, screaming until your lungs felt like giving up. You were filled to the brim with his dick, not being able to contain your high any longer.

“Sun-sunoo,” you croaked, only being able to focus on the way he sounded, every noise that filled the room as he was fucking you.

You were flipped over, facing him now. Sunoo was quick to enter you again, chasing this exhilarating feeling that you both were so close to experiencing together.

Your legs instinctively wrapped themselves around his torso. Tears escaped your eyes at how overwhelming experiencing this was with him. He knew exactly how to fuck you until you couldn’t form a coherent thought.

Sunoo’s lips had found yours, groans being released into your mouth again, as you still marvelled at how he was real.

You dug your nails into his back, not knowing anything but how you were so close to coming undone.

“Oh baby, I’m gonna cum,” he bit down on his hand, feeling his body go limp as both of you climaxed.

Sunoo’s lips had locked with yours in a deep kiss.

“Shit, fuck,” you cried out. “I love you,”

“I love you,” Sunoo wept as he rode out your high, nuzzling his face in your neck.

He released his load onto your stomach. He tried catching his breath, lying his head down on your chest.

Your hands came up to touch the back of his neck, his hair that was drenched in sweat. You played with his blond locks.

“Sunoo?”

“Yes, love,” he spoke tiredly.

“Nothing,” you said, laughing.

This made him laugh again. “I love you,” he whispered to you, curling further into your embrace.

…

The next few days went by fast. Sunoo had introduced you to his aunt, you’d introduced him to your parents, but that was mainly because you two had very loud, frequent sex.

It was his aunt who’d been the unfortunate one to have come home one night to the sound of bed creaking and moans and screams coming from Sunoo’s room.

You both didn’t care about including outsiders in your relationship. You had your own place, which was a 30-minute drive away, but some nights Sunoo was reluctant to leave his aunt since he was helping her run her business.

Even the customers were alarmed at a certain point when Sunoo had attended the door with a button down only thrown around his shoulders, post-make out hair and hickeys on his neck.

“How are you?” He breathed heavily.

A young couple who seemed to be around you guys’ age was at the door.

“Dude, we’re sorry…were you?” The guy asked.

“Yes, actually,” he smiled. “I’d appreciate it if you came back tomorrow.”

“But it’s only 8:30 pm?” The woman said.

“I know. Buh-bye now.”

Sunoo would risk anything to spend time with you. Whether that was helping you do your hair and makeup, taking you on library dates, taking you shopping. You name it.

You two had become inseparable, that it almost made you feel selfish at times. But time was ticking by. All you could do was spend all of it with one another before your flight would board in a week.

You sat playing a card game with Sunoo at the edge of your bed. You were losing horribly.

“Oh no, looks like you made a mistake there, love,” he teased.

You tried your best to smile, not being able to keep this sorrow inside any longer.

“Sun. I’m leaving in 5 days.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach grew. You had never felt this helpless before. Sunoo, the boy who you’d fallen in love with so quickly, was about to be miles away from you in just a matter of days.

“Come here,” he motioned you over towards his lap.

His hands caught in your loose strands of hair. “You know, knowing how deeply I feel for you, I’m not afraid of the distance that’ll be put between us.”

“You’re not?” You pulled back to look at him.

“Nope, not one bit” he shook his head. “I fell in love with you the moment those eyes looked up at me,” his thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

“How can you not be scared? I’ll be so far away from you.”

“Because I know that this is very special. What we have is nothing ordinary. I fell for you first, everything else came after.”

“But I can’t leave you…”

“I know. I don’t want you to go either.”

You sat in his arms, trying to figure out how you’d deal with having to leave him behind.

The only thing that helped you two face the truth was spending as much time as you could with one another, most of which was spent with you spending the night at his.

You’d hoped it would put your feelings aside — that you’d start seeing it as nothing but a summer hookup — but it didn’t. You loved each other, and that was that. And connecting the way you did each time he made love to you, your feelings only deepened for one another.

He kissed your nose, your neck, your lips. “I love you,” he said. “You know that?”

“I love you too,” you held his jaw in a way you’d gotten used to, kissing his beautiful lips.

…

The day had come. You were extremely nauseous on the way to the airport. This was too much to take.

Your parents were originally supposed to drive you there, but you ended up going in separate cars; you were with Sunoo.

He made sure he booked a ride so he’d get to sit in the backseat with you, holding your hand, trying to soothe your nerves.

It was silent in the car. You could hear only the motor of the vehicle as it passed road after road, making you feel even more sick.

Every time his eyes looked over at you, a sudden ache formed in your heart. This couldn’t be happening. You weren’t actually leaving him, were you? It had to be a dream.

“Look at me,” he whispered. His eyes were laced with worry. His fingers played with yours, trying to distract you.

“You know those curtains in my room? The ones you hate?”

You nodded, trying to remember every single feature of his while your eyes trailed over his face.

“My aunt was planning to get new ones. I wanted to know which colour you liked.”

Sunoo seemed so oblivious to the pain you felt. But in reality, he just couldn’t let you go in a bad mood. He wanted to make your last few moments together were a good memory. Even though this day was incredibly burdening. He could feel the weight in his chest.

“Beige.” You remembered the colour of his shirt the day you’d met him.

“Beige.” He smiled.

You curled up into him, loving the feeling of his arms around you. The way he cradled you so gently, it made you want to keep him there forever.

“Thank you,” you said while tears formed in your eyes.

“For what?” He nuzzled his face against your cheek, giggling.

You would miss this.

“For being so full of love.”

Sunoo pulled away slightly, wiping the tears that were on your cheeks.

“I don’t think I was like this before,” his eyes lowered, a shy smile creeping on his lips. “So I should thank you.”

His fingers traced every detail on your face, a smile still formed on his lips as his eyes examined you.

“I don’t want to see you cry. There’s so much you have to do when you get back. You’ll see your friends again, start your new year in uni. It’s everything you’ve missed these past few months.”

What would you do when you missed him?

“Okay,” you agreed, not wanting to make it as hard for him. He still wiped your tears away, and now kissed your fingertips.

You’d reached the airport in just a few minutes. You were so close to throwing up. Your knees had started to give up on you, yet somehow you still got out the car, walking hand in hand with the one you loved. He carried your bag again, making you remember that day you’d first met.

“You’re not feeling so well, love, let me carry it.” He kissed the side of your face.

Even despite feeling how his hand was in yours, you looked over your shoulder anxiously each second, making sure he was still there.

“There are still a few minutes. I’m not leaving yet.” His hands rested on your waist, one of them coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes.

Your eyes shut once more, trying to relish as much as you could of his touch. You felt a tear slip out your eyes, and you looked away.

Sunoo was trying to avoid his own emotions from taking over, which is why he tried to get you to smile.

His hand came up to your jaw, making you look back at him. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you smiled despite the tears that escaped your eyes.

Sunoo felt himself sink deeper in his own sorrow. There was so much he wasn’t saying to prevent from making this harder for you.

“You look so pretty when you smile. That’s all I ever want you to do. How will I be able to wipe your tears when I’m this far away?”

This caused you to break down in his arms. Light sobs left you as he held you close to him.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he felt his heart sink at the sight of you sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Sunoo, I don’t wanna go,” you wept. “It hurts so much.”

“I know. I wish I could stop it.”

Your body went limp, you couldn’t form your words. This was suffocating you. You envied the people who had come here to take their loved ones home. It was so unfair.

Your parents had arrived shortly after. Sunoo kept you close, letting them know with a shake of his head that you still needed time. They gave him a nod, walking over to one of the benches.

He held onto you, not knowing how to fix any of this while you broke apart in his arms. All he could do was let you express your grief how you needed to, because it was something he — so badly — wanted to do as well. But Sunoo kept himself from doing so, preventing you from breaking even further.

After your eyes had felt too sore from crying, you heard him speaking to you.

“Baby, hey,” he spoke softly. You pulled away from his hold. “Your parents are here.” He pointed towards them.

As his hold had freed you from him, everything else that went on afterwards felt like a dream that seemed to never end.

You kissed his lips, repeatedly, trying to remember what he tasted like. Peck after slow peck, you could feel Sunoo start to quiver under your touch.

He was crying, and now you were saying sweet things to him to help him calm down.

“Your smile is so pretty,” you repeated his words. “It’s all I ever want you to do.” Your hands were cupping his face. Sobs ripped through him at that.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more, Sunoo.”

You gave him one last kiss, it was much longer this time, not enough to let go but still bidding goodbyes for the two of you.

Sunoo watched you walk inside, feeling like he’d been ripped into shreds. He was dreading going back home, knowing how memories of you already roamed around in his room.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

“I love you, Sunoo.” Were the last words you said while looking at him, before the two of you had disappeared in different crowds, completely out of sight.

[seat-safety-switch]

For some reason I can't understand, the local mall still has a travel agent. She seems to be doing pretty well, too, judging from her new Porsche and her exquisite office digs. As you can imagine, this whole thing was confusing to me, because I thought the internet had worked hard to crush all small business proprietors such as herself under an algorithmic boot the size of Topeka. So what was going on here? I had to get to the bottom of it.

As I said, the internet has done a lot to get rid of travel agents. If I wanted to go to Osaka (great food, better Hondas) I could just ask Siri to do it. Ted Siri is the name of the nice person at the library who I tell all my passwords and credit card numbers to, and then he puts them in the computer. That's not his real name, because he tries to keep it safe from "crackers," but I digress. On the internet, the lowest-cost flight is going to take 192 hours and involve my organs getting stolen and sold for Bitcoins, but the second lowest-cost flight is on Air Canada, where the stewardesses spit directly into your mouth when you ask for a drink. Some folks pay extra for that (and you will, too. Spit's not free.)

If the travel agent was still travel agenting, she must be charging an insane amount of money and not getting busted for it. I had to know how this worked, so that I, too, could have my own little mall office that doesn't make any economic sense yet persists until the heat death of the universe. You see, owning a tiny office in a mall was one of my childhood dreams, one that is quickly becoming impossible due to the collapse of malls.

Unfortunately, detective work of this grade doesn't come cheap. For instance, I had to get up and out of the house during the hours that the travel agency was open. Agnes (that's her name, I don't know if I mentioned this earlier?) wouldn't be working at the 11:30-11:45 pm "productivity hour" that I read about in a life hacking magazine. She would be busy doing something that normal people do at this hour, possibly sleeping or barbecuing.

As much as it pained me, I forced my body to get out of bed at around ten in the morning and stumble into Agnes's travel office. It was then that I discovered she wasn't there at all. Inside the space allocated for her travel agency, beyond the pretty ornamentation and fantastic brochures of the waiting room, was a room containing only a crudely-carved set of stairs reaching deep, deep under the mall. It was only then that I remembered that I never saw any customers leaving the travel agency.

Everything worked out in the end, though. She got me a great deal on a flight/hotel package to Osaka, and all it cost me was a little teensy-tiny bite of my liver. Don't even miss it, really, although it was a bit insulting when she started choking, hissing, and screaming while thrashing on the ground, her arms flailing violently against the stone surface of the travel agency's cave.

"What's in this?" she screamed before dissolving into a red mist.

"Rotella," I said after some thought.

[changenameno]

Shower Head PART 1

(Complete, link to the second part down below ⬇️ )

Summary: You are at a hotel, alone. Finally to relax some, after weeks of stressful work events. Though how are you supposed to do that, when you can’t even turn the shower on? Enter Syverson…

Pairing: Syverson x Fem. Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, accidental nakedness, cursing, pet names, size kink, daddy kink, unsafe sex, p in v

Word Count: 2.8 K

A/N: Okay I was in a Sy mood. Pretty much just shameless smut… Any mistakes are my own. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! Enjoy ;) ❤️✨

 !Syverson is not my creation!

 🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

 

PART 1

 

You glared at the offending thing, certain it was mocking you at this point. Who would install a shower head up that high? No one could possibly reach and turn the damned thing on?! Because it wasn’t just hanging incredibly close to the ceiling, it was also shaped like a tap, meaning you’d have to actually turn the handle if you wanted to shower.

 

It was the second day of your stay here and up until now you hadn’t noticed the problem with the shower head. But you’d just returned from the sauna, wanting to wash the sweat of your skin. Though the most stupid construction you’d ever seen, was hindering you.

 

The first idea had been, to haul a chair into the bathroom to assist you in reaching the damned thing. The problem with that was that the only chair in the room was placed below the door handle to the adjacent room.

Because apparently you’d chosen the worst hotel there was, as the lock to the other room was broken. So whoever was staying next to yours could easily enter if they wanted to and vice versa. And there was no way in hell you’d shower if the door wasn’t blocked.

 

Bringing you to now, shivering, naked and beyond annoyed, standing in the shower and contemplating what to do next. Sighing, you shook your head, mumbling to yourself, “For Pete’s sake…I hate this.” Though you knew what you had to do.

 

Slightly squatting down, you begged your leg muscles to stay with you and then jumped up as high as you could. Though you missed, fingertips not even grazing the handle. “Damn it!” Growing more agitated you jumped again, again and again. Each time missing your mark.

 

Then on your last jump you finally reached it, ice cold water spraying down on you. Shrieking at the freezing sensation. Unfortunately the floor was wet in an instant and you lost your footing the second you were back on the ground. Making you flail about, sliding to the left, into the shower curtain.

 

Both hands desperately grabbing at the see-through material in a last attempted to stay upright. Though you’d definitely run out of luck, because the curtain wasn’t a very sturdy or thought through construction either.

The material was brittle were it hung from the ceiling, ripping when your full weight bore down on it. Nonetheless your hands grabbed it, because there was nothing else you could hold onto anyway. Half exasperated and shocked you screamed out, “Aaaarggh NOOO…!” Then your body crashed down onto the floor, releasing another shriek, “FUCK… OWW!”

 

Unbeknownst to you, your scream had alarmed the occupant of the adjacent room.

Curtain wrapped around you, nearly strangling you as you tried to sit up. Your shoulder had cushioned most of your fall, throbbing. Before you could free yourself or sit up, there was a second much louder bursting sound. Lying on your back like a useless sushi-roll, the only thing you could do was gape at the arched doorway opening of the bathroom.

 

Seeing wooden splinters flying through the air, then a rough, deep rumble sounded, “You alright? I’ve heard your scream…and ”, before a half-naked, broad shouldered man ducked into the bathroom. Blue eyes flitting over your wrapped up form, at last lading on your face. He swallowed visibly, “Erm, and thought to check on ya.”

 

You wanted the bathroom floor to swallow you whole, preferably right now. Not only was this the most handsome rugged guy you’ve had the pleasure to ever encounter, but he was also strong as f*ck, having broken down the door like nothing.

Now standing over you, only a white towel hiding what lay between those heavily, thick thighs of his.

 

You didn’t know if you died and went to heaven or hell, either way, here you were still lying covered by the curtain and probably looking like a complete moron. Realising you hadn’t moved an inch since he’d entered, you tried sitting up once more, though unsuccessful. Furthering your embarrassment.

 

Thankfully he caught onto your predicament rather quickly, approaching you, repeating his previous question, “You alright down there?” All you managed was a weak nod.

Then he slowly kneeled down, eyes never leaving yours, as one big hand grabbed your shoulder and the other your waist, “On three.” You didn’t even have time to protest as he counted down, on three he swiftly lifted you to your feet as if you were light as a feather.

Gently leaning you against the wall. A whimper escaped your throat, at the sudden proximity. Shower curtain, the only barrier between his hairy chest and your breasts.

He mistook the whimper as something else though, dark brows furrowing concerned, “Where are you hurt, sweetheart?”

 

Finally able to find your voice, you whispered, “ ‘m not hurt.” Surveying you for a moment longer, he nodded, gaze on your lips for a split second, before his blown out pupils landed back on your eyes. Holding your breath, your racing heartbeat and the water splattering continuously onto the floor were the sole sounds your ears picked up on. A smirk pulled his lips upwards, then he moved away. Making you release the breath you were holding.

 

He had entered the shower, standing on his tip toes, growling when the cold water hit his back as he was trying and then succeeding in shutting off the shower. Your eyes raking over the muscles on his back, down to his peachy rump, when he turned, they landed on the considerable bulge upfront. Fuck. He was big. Mouth salivating at the thought of this monster stretching you.

 

A dark chuckle brought your attention back to sparkling blue eyes, “Like whatcha see, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t be serious? Who in their right mind wouldn’t like looking at him? You tried clearing your throat, but in naught, you didn’t know how to reply anyway. This amused him all the more it seemed, as he sauntered back to you. “Need help?”

 

Meekly you asked back, “With what?” That earned you a full on belly laugh from him, before he nodded down at your predicament. Shower curtain still tightly wrapped around your body, making your arms more or less immobile with the way he had you trapped against the wall.

 

You looked down as well and you really shouldn’t have.

The sheer curtain did not only hide absolutely nothing, it actually accentuated your nakedness. Your boobs where squished together and up, nipples so stiff from the freezing water they nearly poked through the fabric. It had you panicked immediately.

It hit you all over again that you were standing here completely naked, before a really handsome, half naked though strange man. Not to forget that you were both definitely aroused.

 

So your mind short-circuited, trying to free your arms by force, you leaned slightly forward, pulling them up. You succeeded in freeing them, though right then the curtain decided to loosen further, falling down, and you lost your balance. Again.

 

With a shocked squeal, you fell forward, against the behemoth in front of you. Strong arms enveloped you, warm hands stabilizing you by your hips. Shivers running up and down your spine, which had nothing to do with the temperature difference of your bodies.

 

You couldn’t fathom a more embarrassing situation to be in and still your traitorous pussy tingled with excitement, as his bulge poked your thigh. You didn’t dare look at his face. In fact you didn’t dare move, breathe or make any noise whatsoever.

Until his fingers suddenly spread out, tips now grazing your ass. Pressing you even more against him, he groaned, “You feel so fucking soft… But sugar there’s no need to jump me like that. Not gonna go anywhere.”

 

Inhaling sharply, you finally felt brave enough to meet his gaze, tilting your head up. What you found was pure, crazed lust written all over his bearded face. “I…you…I don’t normally…,” you stuttered.

 

He smiled gently, “I don’t normally do this either. But don’t feel pressured, sweetheart. Nothin’ has to happen, ya know. ”

That had you raise one of your brows in disbelieve. Such a fine specimen couldn’t possibly be a gentleman as well, right? His actions answered you, before your subconscious could, by reaching for another white towel lying by the sink and covering you with it.

“Thank you,… erm?” You noticed you didn’t even know his name.

 

“Syverson. But call me Sy.” You supplied him with your name as well, when you stepped back a bit, to fully appreciate his broad hairy chest. You wanted to bury your fingers in those fuzzy looking curls, so bad.

 

Not being able to hold back, your hands reached out without your permission and did exactly what your subconscious begged them to do, sinking your fingers into those delicious curls.

The prompt growl that escaped him, made you jump and retract your hands. Sy stopped you, covering your hands with his and holding them against his torso.

 

He stepped forward, cornering you once more as he pressed you back against the wall. You whimpered lightly when the exposed part of your back touched the cool tiles.

Sy took your hands and lifted them up, over your head, holding them there with just one of his. Next thing you felt, were his lips moving against yours. Kissing you hungrily, swallowing the little mewls that wanted to escape you. Slick started to gather between your legs. You separated slowly, but not before he nibbled on your lower lip, biting down and eliciting another moan from you.

 

“You taste just as sweet as you look. Bet you feel even better though, don’t ya think sugar?”

He deliberately waited for your timid nod, only then did he move his free hand to your chin. Stroking his fingertips down your neck, tickling over your skin, over your collarbone, down to the edge of the towel. Then he gingerly pulled at it until it fell down to the floor, exposing you to his greedy, lust filled eyes.

 

His other hand loosened and moved down, then he commanded, “Leave them there.” When he continued to look at you sternly you felt compelled to answer, “Yes.”

 

“Yes, what?”

Blanking and not knowing what he wanted to hear, you murmured the first thing that your mind supplied you with, “Y-Yes daddy.”

 

You saw his Adam’s apple bob and knew you had said the right thing, when he smirked, voice huskier than before, “That’s right, open them legs for daddy.”

 

Whimpering, you did as he asked and he immediately shoved his hand between your thighs, cupping your heat. Sy continued moving his fingers through your sopping folds, carefully pushing into you.

You whined, hand flying down to gab his forearm, when he responded with pulling back, you growled in frustration.

Glaring as he tutted, “Uh uh. Didn’t say you could move ‘em down.”

 

Trying to get him to continue his ministrations you complied and lifted your hand back up.

 

“Such a good girl.”

Then two of his thick fingers plunged in, right to the knuckles, making you moan loudly. You had to fight with yourself to stop your arms from lowering again, instead you squirmed around widely, until his left hand flattened over your belly, hindering further movement.

Sy stretched your walls around his fingers, thumb slowly rubbing over your clit when he started moving them in and out of your cunt. You responded with more and much louder moans. Closing your eyes at the pleasure cursing through your body, you squealed when his lips sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, beard delightfully scratching across your tit. “Pl-Please more…mmh yeah. Feels so good.”

 

You felt him smile into your skin, leaving your breast only to blow cold air over your wet nipple, making it tighten even more, “Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”

He took his fingers out, leaving your pussy squeezing around nothing and making you feel terribly empty. Sy put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices, humming as he enjoyed the taste of you.

 

When his blown out orbs landed on yours, the sudden urge to see him. Really see him, overcame you, so you whispered, “Wanna see you. Please, daddy?”

 

Your eyes already fixed on your target, you saw his cock jump beneath the towel, “If you think you’re ready, go ahead sugar.”

Biting your lip, you let your fingertips roam over his pecks first, down his belly, to the happy trail leading under the cloth. Opening it and throwing the towel behind him. Sy moaned when his hard cock, slapped against his stomach, bouncing lightly.

 

You had been right he was huge. Thick from the base up to his tip. That had you fleetly wondering if you’d be even able to take that monster of a cock. But you certainly weren’t against trying.

He smugly asked, “Think, you can take me?”

 

Without missing a beat you replied teasingly and maybe a bit too sure of yourself, “Sure. Think you can keep up with me?”

 

Sy harshly grabbed your hips, hissing against your ear, “Jump.”

When you did, he pinned you between his body and the wall. Easily holding you upright with one hand that he’d slipped down to your ass, squeezing your supple flesh. You crossed your legs behind his back, arms around his sturdy neck, ensuring your upright position further.

 

“We shall see, who can’t keep up with who.”

With that, his other hand wrapped around his massive cock, coating it in your juices, before he positioned it against your dripping hole. Sy began pushing you down his fat length. Your insides trying to make room for him, slick smoothed the way, until you sank right onto his balls. You felt stuffed, fingernails digging into his shoulders to ground yourself. Huffing at the unbelievable fullness within. He groaned as well when he couldn’t push any further inside.

 

He couldn’t wait any longer, feeling your tight cavern pulsing around him. He stepped away from the wall, one hand still gripping your ass the other at your waist lifting you up, until just his tip remained inside. Then he let gravity do the work, dropping you back down, making his cock slide all the way back into your weeping pussy. That made you cry out, pulling moan after moan from you, as he continued to ram inside.

 

“Fuck, so tight for daddy’s cock.” You could only mewl in response, tightening around him, as he began thrusting up into your cunt without abandon.

His pace didn’t falter at all, as if you weight nothing he continued to fuck up into you. Each stroke expertly teasing your special spot. Walls clutching his fat cock.

 

Sy felt you quivering against him, so he decided to pick up his pace, to make you come. Wanting to hear more of your sweet, sweet cries of pleasure.

Already at the edge of your impending orgasm, you whimpered, “So, so close…Sy please…” You didn’t even know what you were begging for in that moment, all thoughts having left you the second he’d appeared in the bathroom as your knight in shining ‘white towel’.

“Yeah, gonna come for daddy?”

 

Nearly incoherent you cried out, “Yes! So fuu-… ‘ing deep daddy…”

 

You felt your core tighten, band snapping within. Sy roughly fucked you through your orgasm, as his cock began to pulse, thrusts getting more erratic, then he came, ropes of hot white filling you.

His lips sucked at your collarbone, teeth biting your flesh. He slowed his hips and then stopped his movement.

 

He sighed happily, slowly sipping out, but still holding you up when he captured your lips in another, this time, sweet and gentle kiss. When you pulled back, his blue eyes seemed to sparkle even more than before.

 

You hung rather bonelessly from his body, too fucked out to really hold onto him anymore.

Sy cooed at you, “Aww couldn’t keep up, sugar?”

You frowned, making him chuckle when you swatted his shoulder, “Alright, alright. You did keep up, pretty damn well, if I might say so myself.” Smiling at him as he added, “Fancy a bath, love? I’ve got a tub in my room.”

 

Nodding enthusiastically, he started to march back to his room with you still wrapped up in his arms.

 

 PART 2

 🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑

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[neverheroes]

Here’s a bunch of stuff in the MM Tales of the TMNT comic-con sneak-peek I thought about too much!

They’ve cared so much about showing how differently they each react to and process the same situation.

Through the scene Raph is excited to tear things up and true to every iteration ever tries things his way until it doesn’t work, Don’s flight response pings into analyst mode and you just know he’s figuring out how to break stuff, Mike is thriving in team-mode and keeping them all on track, and Leo flails around like a giant ball of chronic anxiety before figuring out a plan. They’re original formula with gently new toppings and I’m ready for this slice.

Raphael

This guy! We get so much. He’s rearing to do some fighting that isn’t sparring and be free to do some actual damage. So we know he’s bored fighting is brothers and wants a challenge. He can’t handle this one and in figuring that out is “open to suggestions” which is quite the overlooked Raph quality, he’ll listen he just has to work through that impulsive reactive streak first. He’s strong and knows it, and that robot gets a harder fight. The Raph highlight for me was taking time while fighting to honour the time-old tradition of making fun of Michelangelo. <Sobs in last ronin.>

Donatello

This kid, man! It’s a long standing opinion of mine that everyone should be more scared of Donatello. His interest in understanding the threat overrides most of his fear. Cerebral af. This is his face most of the time while a robot programmed to obliterate him is directly behind him. On the surface it looks like he’s running away a lot, but he can’t exactly press pause on it to figure out how they work. His gentle heart characterisation is well intact, apologising to the robot when he damages it having already personified the thing. I honestly believe he would take it home like he’d found a new pet if that were an option.

Michelangelo

What a show of Mikey magic. He’s got the comedy relief on a casual setting with subtle jokes and unintentionally antagonistic observation style. Mike has a tiny attention span but is 100% in every moment and they draw a lot of attention to his speed and agility. He shines doing what Mikey is known so well for; keeping the family together. It was awesome to see him effectively orienting his brothers into the situation, and see them listen to him so readily. He still calls to Leo for guidance when he feels out of control, but we might be in for a more surprising personal arc than ~nobody takes me seriously~ this time around.

Leonardo

This is a blessing for Leo fans because MM Tales Leo sucks /srs. Not in the way Raph fans say it on Instagram posts, in the way that his flaws are so disparate from other versions that a mastery arc is screaming his nervous muppet name. The giftedness is still sewn in; even flailing around he has more advanced weapon control, is observant enough to be the right level of stressed when a threat shows up, and jumps into strategy finding a vantage point to make a plan like a good little Leo, but instead of our usual Leo trauma ball we (at least for now) get to watch a Leo with the confidence of a processed cheese slice be terrible at things because he’s just some kid…

Pfffffffahahhhahhahba

The Mutant Mayhem kids are the most realistically green (and by that I mean inexperienced) we've ever seen them and it's continued into Tales. With detaching from source origin and establishing a much more grounded reflection of teen life in the current world, the growth arcs over Tales and the next MM movie have such immense unburdened potential that it really could lead anywhere and I don’t know what to expect.

(Tales of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles will air in August 9th 2024 on Paramount+)

[churipu]

hello !! ૮˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ა i really love your writing and your soft scenarios, they bring me so much serotonin and happiness to be honest !

i don’t know if you take requests still, but could you please do a part two of jjk men + short partner with geto? only if you want to of course, i’ll respect your decision either way don’t worry! thank you so much! <3

JJK MEN + SHORT PARTNER

featuring. geto suguru, itadori yuuji, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. reader is a non-sorcerer (geto)

note. hihi nonnieeee <33 thank you so much for saying that, you don't understand how much you saying that makes me so happy :(( i'm so glad that my works can bring you happiness omg. this is part two to the short partner headcanons.

part one.

GETO SUGURU. geto honestly could care less about your height — he finds you so adorable that he sometimes can't help but to pinch your cheeks gently, tugging your flesh and squeezing it lightly out of love; it has turned into a small habit that he does to you.

"sugu, no more, my cheeks are going to swell," you tell him, covering your cheeks with your hands to prevent the male from touching it again.

geto couldn't help but to chuckle at your reaction. you're so cute, so small compared to him that all he wanted to do was to poke fun at you. laying his large, calloused hand on top of your head whenever you both sit side-by-side, softly shifting just to pat you.

he will put you on his lap, playing with your hair as you do your own thing. you know a perk of being a shortie? when you sit on a certain height, you get to swing your legs lightly, letting it just flail above ground — and when you do that, geto stares at you lovingly.

"i'm a little jealous of you," your boyfriend mumbles, leaning his chin on top of the palm of his hand. his eyes gazing to your figure as you swung your legs lightly.

"why?"

"you get to swing your legs like that," he pointed his index finger to your legs and you stopped swinging your legs, "why'd you stop?"

"so you won't feel jealous."

geto easily pulls you into his embrace, nuzzling his head into your neck, "keep doing that, 'm enjoying it, you know?" he mumbles, pressing a kiss onto your neck.

he hates non-sorcerers, but when it comes to you? he just can't hate you.

ITADORI YUUJI. ABOSLUTELY LOVES YOUR SHORT HEIGHT. he would and will help you take things that are out of your reach — won't make fun of you, don't worry, I assure you there will never be a scenarios where yuuji makes fun of you. he just thinks you're so perfect, and he gets really sad when you make fun of yourself.

"baby, why would you say that?" he asks you, pulling you close, laying his head on your shoulder.

"yuuji, because it's true," you chuckled, brushing his hair.

"but i like that part of you. your height," he muffles into your clothes, leaning into your touch.

he gets so mushy with you — i'm not even kidding, will grab you, throw you over his shoulders and walk around anywhere. greeting people he know on the way, even gojo or nanami (while you're on his shoulder, also greeting them).

"nanamin, hi!" yuuji greets, walking past the older male as he turned to look at both you and him, you waved at nanami when he turns around to look — and he waves back at you, confused.

yuuji is clingy. but you don't mind — he will latch himself onto you, do you know how parents hold their baby when they're trying to teach them how to walk? yuuji does that with you, even if you're not that much shorter than him; still short, he still does it. because you're his baby, and he won't accept anything else.

"c'mon baby, left and right, left and right." he guides your arms forward, standing behind you.

as you took a step, he takes one too — like teaching a baby how to walk, it's cute really, "yes, just like that," he laughs. god, he's having so much fun with you.

yuuji won't let anyone call you short, even gojo. will fight anyone who makes fun of you, and not even kidding. he will not back down from defending you.

"what do you mean they're too short?" he retorts back, rolling his eyes, "you're too annoying and nobody's saying anything."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. huge. tease. about it. will go on until you cry — but will make it up to you in his own way. he's not one to say how much he loves you, but you do know that he does. he just refuses to say it.

"ryo, stop. it's not funny anymore." you mumble out lowly to him, pushing his chest away.

he chuckles deeply, but when he realizes it was serious; he stops, turns away for a bit before glancing back at you. sukuna isn't much of a crier, so he doesn't know what to do when you cry — he gets a little confused, like, why are you crying because he called you short?

"why are you crying, brat?" he grunted.

"you're being mean to me."

"i called you short." he sighs out loudly, pulling your arm away from your face — revealing your tearful eyes, "stop crying," he thumbs your tears away from the corner of your eyes.

"then stop doing that, you've done that so many times, it's pissing me off." you mumbled at him, sniffling lightly.

the male groans out, rolling his eyes, "are humans this dramatic?" he asks you, wiping your tears away; pulling you onto his lap, burying his face into the crook of your neck — as much as he tries to put up this tough guys demeanor, he feels bad for making you cry.

but will definitely do it again next time.

it's weird; sukuna shows his love by teasing the hell out of you, pissing you off, making you cry — then ends up feeling bad for a few hours before doing the same thing all over again.

"'m sorry, but i'll do it again next time." he murmurs into your neck.

"you're mean."

"i know. but i love you."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh. 

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life. 

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror. 

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears. 

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself. 

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference. 

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares. 

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths. 

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them. 

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good. 

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious. 

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde. 

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number.  “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse. 

She’ll make sure not to lose it. 

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world. 

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval. 

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers. 

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again. 

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes. 

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish. 

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood. 

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks. 

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is. 

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious. 

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know. 

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself. 

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning. 

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief. 

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?” 

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.” 

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly. 

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family. 

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.” 

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them. 

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed. 

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up. 

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it. 

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true. 

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe. 

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time. 

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No!” 

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck. 

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her. 

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing. 

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.” 

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction. 

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe. 

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance. 

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished. 

She almost….she almost feels calm. 

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now. 

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one. 

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side. 

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome. 

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question. 

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

[jflemings]

— loose lips sink ships pt3

pairing: jessie fleming x reader pt1, pt2

synopsis: jordyn’s instagram story does nothing to ease your nerves surrounding jessie and your relationship

warnings: angst, reader throws up once but it’s not super descriptive

a/n: …yeah ALSSOOOOO i just made up a random coffee shop name whoopsie

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍁 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

unusually, you had woken up before jessie this morning.

you didn’t hear her come home last night but here you were, laying in her arms as the morning sun peaked through your curtains. she’s curled up against your back with her arm thrown over your middle, holding you securely as she peacefully sleeps.

for a little while you feel complete peace. the warmth radiating off her comforts you as you lay in bed scrolling through your instagram, feeling her hand flex against your stomach every so often as she continues to sleep.

your peace is quickly shattered when you watch jordyn’s instagram story. it’s a group photo that was taken the night before; something completely normal for her to post. what catches your attention is jessie and olivia looking cosy on the end.

your stomach drops at the sight of olivia’s leg over jessie’s knee, their heads leaning towards eachother as they smile wide.

you can no longer lay around with your girlfriend. instead you slide out of her arms and get out a pair of your old manchester city training shorts and a long sleeve athletic shirt before putting on socks and your running shoes. you don’t bother to go through your normal morning routine and you don’t wake jessie up or leave her a note to tell her where you’re going, you just grab your headphones and leave the apartment as quickly as you can.

you’re on auto pilot as you get in your car and drive to a trail you and jessie would often run together. there’s no music playing and your phone is on do not disturb, leaving you with your thoughts and no indication of whether or not jessie has woken up yet.

the drive is short and you waste no time getting out of the car, putting in your headphones, and immediately running. you don’t alternate between a jog and a sprint like you usually would, instead just running almost as fast as you can. you don’t want to think about jessie, or olivia, or the nasty thoughts telling you that jessie’s going to leave you. you just turn up the music and run until your lungs burn and beg for mercy.

the feeling of the trail underneath your feet grounds you and is able to distract you from both the physical and emotional pain you’re going through. despite this, it’s not enough to keep you from stopping and doubling over to throw up on the side of the trail. your chest heaves as you gag and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before sitting down and taking a breather.

you felt like you were being stupid. jessie had never given you a reason to doubt her or your relationship until right now, but here you were immediately assuming that there was some form of infidelity going on because of a fucking instagram story.

the thought of jessie leaving you made your heart feel like it was going to fall right out of you. it was a worst case scenario, yes, but it’s not like it hasn’t happened to you before. it hurt to know that you had potentially gotten yourself in another situation like the one with your ex, especially since jessie wasn’t someone who was known to lie.

you press the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop the tears from falling. wetness coats your lashes as your chest rises and falls rapidly, the gravity of the situation in your mind making you more anxious by the second.

people pass you by without much hassle, none of them recognising you from football. you count your lucky stars and get up on your feet, shaking out your legs and then starting the run back to your car.

when jessie starts waking up, she expects to feel you in her arms, only to be met with cold sheets. she flails an arm around uselessly whilst her face is still buried in the pillow and groans when she realises that you’ve not been in bed for a while. she sits up and rubs the sleep out of her eyes before taking a big gulp of water from her waterbottle and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

it’s not particularly early, only eight thirty, but it’s early enough for jessie to wonder why you’re out of bed on an off day. she walks into the kitchen and looks around the benches for a note, only to not find one. she raises an eyebrow and then goes back to your bedroom to retrieve her phone.

her brows furrow in confusion. she’s got no texts or missed calls from you and there’s no note letting her know where you are and how long you’d be gone for. she shakes her head and brushes it off. maybe you’d just stepped out for a little while and didn’t feel the need to write a note? or wake her up? maybe you’re just down the road getting some bread.

except, that isn’t right. she got a loaf of bread from the local bakery yesterday morning before the game. you don’t need eggs, or butter, or milk either. jessie stands there with her phone in her hands, confusion written all over her still sleepy face. she goes into her contacts and tries to call you only to get sent to voicemail. she texts you three times and gets no response, doesn’t even get left on read.

jessie, although confused and a little bit nervous, slows down and thinks rationally about it. if you’d gotten up before her after she’d been out with the team you wouldn’t have woken her up — you never do after a night out. you would’ve left her there to sleep off the potential hangover and gone about your morning. you didn’t leave a note about where you are because jessie sleeps like a rock when she’s been drinking and you would’ve just assumed that she’d sleep until you got home.

it’s an easy conclusion to come to. you weren’t awake when she got home last night and didn’t know how much she’d had to drink. you’d played it safe and just went about your routine. a sigh escapes jessie’s lips as she goes back into the kitchen to make herself a coffee and some breakfast.

she pulls out the toaster and a pan before the low hum of the coffee machine provides a bit of background noise to her tired thoughts. as she grabs eggs and bread she thinks about her conversation with olivia last night, and how it made her feel like she was back in college.

she cracks the egg in the pan as she remembers one night the two of them ended up laying down on the lawn of a frat house star gazing. it wasn’t the most romantic of settings, but she remembers the butterflies that erupted in her stomach as she nervously interlocked their pinky’s. the heat coming from the sizzling pan makes her face feel as warm as it was when olivia shuffled closer to her and squeezed their interlocked fingers.

jessie then puts the bread in the toaster and grabs an avocado from the fridge. she allows the egg to cook for a little while longer before getting it out of the pan and placing it on a plate.

the smell of coffee that has overtaken your kitchen makes the midfielder think back to the night she and olivia first kissed.

they had been studying late and were running on caffeine and determination, unwilling to stop until they could recite the material from memory. olivia had paused and leant over jessie’s shoulder in an effort to convince her to take a break, talking about how it won’t matter how much she studies if she doesn’t rest and what not. jessie hadn’t really listened until the american said her name sternly, causing jessie to turn her head.

jessie could taste the caramel cold brew on her lips as they kissed, and it became very apparent by the way olivia was gripping her hoodie that it wasn’t going to be the last time they found themselves like that.

the sound of toast popping cuts the canadian’s trip down memory lane short. she takes the toast and slathers avocado on it before placing the egg on stop. she grabs the milk out of the fridge and fills the remainder of her mug whilst soaking in the smell of peace before sitting at the counter with her breakfast. her phone goes off just as she’s about to take a bite of her toast.

oliviaathens

hey, any coffee spot recommendations? my teammates and i can’t decide on a place :)

jessie smiles and opens the instagram app, typing out a response.

_jessflem

my girlfriend and i really like rose’s place. their bagels and house-made muffins are really good too. :)

oliviaathens

great! we’ll check it out.

jessie smiles at her phone before turning it face down on the counter and focusing on her breakfast. she digs into her toast and sips her coffee carefully whilst eyeing the bookshelf that still needs to be put up, along with all the books and trinkets that belong on it. she rolls her eyes when she thinks about doing today but puts it on her mental checklist nonetheless.

she’s content with sitting in silence until the front door opens and you make your way into the main living space. you have your back turned to jessie as you toe off your shoes.

“where’d you get to this morning?” jessie asks.

“went on a run” you reply shortly as you turn around and reach for the freezer. jessie sees your red, puffy eyes and frowns.

“baby have you been crying?” she asks as she gets up from her spot. she walks to you and places a hand on your face “seriously, y/n, what’s wrong?”

you grab a bag of frozen peas and screw your eyes shut before pushing her hand off and shouldering past her without a word. jessie’s mouth turns into a frown “did something happen? can you at least act like you want to talk to me?”

your behaviour has confused jessie since yesterday and she’s been trying to wrack her brain to figure out what could’ve happened between the end of the game to now that could’ve made you reluctant to speak to her.

the two of you hardly ever fought, always preferring to sit down and talk rather than scream at eachother. you had always been upfront about your feelings and were unafraid to turn to jessie if you even had a problem or felt the need to call her out on something. in the four years that you’ve been together, she can’t recall a time where you would flat out refuse to talk.

you swiftly turn on your heel and lean against the entrance to the kitchen “do you remember when we first started seeing eachother and we explained our dating history to one another?”

jessie continues to frown, shrugging her shoulders like she doesn’t have a clue where this conversation is going to go “yeah?”

you nod and try to keep the nerves and anger at bay “and do you remember how you didn’t really seem all that enthusiastic when talking about it?”

“…yeah” jessie answers thickly, her mind wandering off to that conversation.

the bag of peas crinkles in your hand “and how you told me that you only dated one girl in college for a couple of months? do you remember that?”

jessie can feel bile rise in the back of her throat. she does remember that, very clearly too. she remembers it because it was a bare faced lie, one that she hadn’t even meant to say.

the tick of your eyebrow tells jessie that this isn’t going to be one of those times when you two talk it out.

[malavera]

I love your peach series!!!

Would you ever be interested in writing something with face sitting or 69 with them? I feel like logan would be OBSESSED with that lmao

thank you so much love! i wouldn’t put it into full writing but i completely get the gist 🤭 read the series here!

Peach is a brat and always will be. when she wants to go on a shopping spree with her friends but logan doesn’t want to let her go, instead he made her stay by grabbing her off the ground and somehow got you to sit on his chest. “logan let me go, i wanna go.” you flail around trying to get off his chest but he kept on holding your thighs down. “stay with me is more fun.” logan smirked. “yeah? how so?” you taunted. “for one, you can sit on my face and let me have my cunt.” you didn’t want to give in and lose, but at the same time he has a more interesting offer. you gave in either way as your favorite white panties is now nowhere to be found but logan did finally found his home to bury his face in. he knows just how you like it, sniff it before he dip it and for some reason it turns you on so much. a man as big and manly as him is at your mercy just because of your cunt. that man is a feral with it. the way he sniff it, and flick his tongue on your clit to your tiny hole tongue fucking it never fail to send you to heaven. he’d spit on your cunt and lick it back up basically slurping all of the juices that’s leaking out. “logan..” you’d moan and he’d hummed in disapproval, “that’s not my name peach.” your cheeks turned rosy, a bit shy to say it. “daddy, more.” he’d hummed again sending vibrations through your cunt. “mmm you taste so good, peach. cant get enough.”