#But this has really pissed me off and I’m def going to be quitting before my bday in august.

[someotherdog]

I have so many good replies to respond to and I fucking can’t get to them until tomorrow or Thursday bc they changed my schedule for this week 😭😭😭😭😭😭 just know that I’m literally foaming at the mouth to get on and reply to the good shit that’s in my activity bar!!!!!

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

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

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.” 

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?��� Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it. 

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly. 

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely. 

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read. 

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted. 

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.” 

Roman….

He confuses her. 

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly. 

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears. 

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space. 

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different. 

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation.  “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?” 

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly. 

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate. 

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.” 

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical.  “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer. 

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me. 

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me. 

I’ve never had a man be nice to me. 

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them. 

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins. 

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems���so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began. 

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins. 

This is one of those moments. 

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night. 

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman. 

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing. 

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins. 

She has no idea where Solo is. 

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.” 

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains. 

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot. 

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi. 

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word. 

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment. 

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable. 

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected. 

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.  

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman. 

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line. 

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice. 

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body. 

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name. 

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia. 

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on. 

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions. 

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks. 

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.” 

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat. 

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now. 

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information. 

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.  

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman. 

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her. 

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is. 

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister. 

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul. 

Roman simply states, “talk.” 

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome.  Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health. 

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her. 

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage. 

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her. 

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can. 

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.” 

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand. 

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two. 

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him. 

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised. 

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him. 

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination. 

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering. 

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard. 

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room. 

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop. 

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood. 

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage. 

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from. 

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed. 

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough. 

“Make it 20.” 

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.” 

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way. 

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck! 

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack. 

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head. 

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands,  “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate. 

That only pisses him off even more. 

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt. 

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves. 

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red. 

He knew something happened to her. 

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped. 

Beaten. 

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom. 

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall. 

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana. 

He’s fucking breathing rage. 

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better. 

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault. 

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket. 

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get. 

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps. 

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before. 

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety. 

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost. 

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic. 

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is. 

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did. 

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?” 

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable. 

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

[prince-strife]

So I watched “Like Minds” (I’m super unwell about gay people)

this one is like 3x longer than the tenet one

spoilers for a movie that came out 20 years ago ig

alex is clearly rly smart but he’s a right prick about it

nigel sure does like to stare 🤨🤨

oh so he’s a little freak. bro’s got a taxidermy cat in his luggage

ARE THEY MAKING BOMBS??

well. def explosives

DOES HE TAXIDERMY THE ANIMALS HIMSELF

he rly likes dead stuff…

not the gay little obsession

GIRL RECORK YOUR WINE BOTTLE

NIGEL WHY ARE YOU DISSECTING BIRDS IN YOUR BEDROOM

he’s so pretty tho fr mfer has gorgeous eyes

bro fuck this cop frfr

he did not seriously just punch this kid

oooh alex is fucked in the head too. inch resting

alex is one of those rich boys ._.

“obligations” hmmm i Do Not like the sound of that

WAIT THAT WAS HIS DAD??? that explains that ig

wait why is alex on the villains wiki. WHY IS ONE OF HIS CRIMES NECROPHILIA

interesting that alex is so aggressively anti-church (as an establishment, i mean)

ooooh nigel is Looking at him

not him fighting with his teacher

taking detailed notes about the people around him…nigel colbie autism

nooo leave him alone :((

alex is so mean to him omg. let him be a little freak in peace

HOLY SHIT HE JUST KILLED THAT KID

OHHH SALLY ROWE IS FUCKIN. JONI THROMBEY

wtf ym you “can’t find” the colbies..

omg staring across a casket at each other..

tom sturridge is so fucking beautiful i’m unwell

“i almost missed him” 🤨🤨

38 minutes in and i think this is the longest we’ve heard nigel speak

THE FUCK BOOK IS HE READING FOR THIS CLASS

idk i need nigel and alex to kiss

WOAH NIGEL JUST GOT REALLY CLOSE

“i’m really sorry about your friend” baby don’t lie no the fuck you’re not

smth abt the way nigel said “but you don’t have to worry” reminds me of the scene at the end of batman where joker is telling the riddler he did a good job.

THE GLARE AT THIS POOR GIRL nigel looks jealous as fuck

nigel baby giving the boy you like a hand is not the way to his heart

“it looks like you need a hand.” BABE. NO. TOO ON THE NOSE

he’s so cute in his lil jumper

SITTING ON HIS BED??? LEANING OVER HIM WHILE HE SLEEPS???? nah this is. gay behaviour

“alex, wake up. i’ve got a night planned 🥺” aww they’re gonna go on a date

oh they’re super close. NOW KISS

ooh hanging the essay over his head

the big smile… “are you having fun?” the little giggle. the smirk. he hates his ass. he is so in love with him. WHAT IS GOING ON

hmm i do not trust this

THE PUPPYY

“i’ve never brought anybody here before” INTERESTING (“i’m being vulnerable plz don’t be a dick abt this”)

i’ve still got an hour left of this movie good god

my mom is watching gbbo rly loudly and i just got super confused as to why the music Did Not Match the scene

“do you like it 🥺🥺” NIGEL. BABY. he’s so proud of his weird little lab it’s so cute

these little history nerds…

i rly thought nigel was gonna cuddle into him for a second

HELLO NIGEL IS STARING AT HIS LIPS????

“do you know what a pike is?” batting his eyes, looking as coquettish as possible. oh my god. oh my god.

CALLING HIM JACK. i’m so unwell this is so gay.

“we’ve been brought together for a reason” oh my god he thinks they’re murder soulmates

HIS SMILLLLEE

“for eternity.” gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

not him asking her out, nigel’s gonna be PISSED

the sword to his neck 🤭 OMG THE RUNNING IT DOWN HIS SPINE WHAT THE FUCK

the way he says “jack” i’m gonna pass out

“my name is alex. stay away from me.” NOOO it’s ok nigel i’ll be your jack

taking the gay goggles off for a second nigel clearly is in desperate need of a friend and is trying so hard to make alex his friend and it’s making me super sad bc he doesn’t seem to quite understand why it’s not working :(((

but also nigel baby stop breaking into his room

it’s giving yandere tbh

“what’s with the knife” *biggest most innocent doe eyes* “i don’t know what you mean, jack”

HOLY SHIT NIGEL. I FIGURED HE WAS GONNA KILL HER BUT WHAT THE FUCK.

i feel bad for her fr tho she didn’t do nothin wrong. not her fault alex is oblivious to his psychopath boyfriend

lol alex looking around for nigel when he finds out she’s dead. he’s not stupid, i’ll give him that

HE TOOK THE KNIFE

nigel’s very bad at acting innocent

“i sense some hostility” NO REALLY

they look like they’re abt to kiss

“no jack, you did it.” babe.

“feels good to vent one’s anger doesn’t it jack””i don’t want any part of this” “too late for that”

oh he’s CRAZY

he so sure that alex is just as nuts as he is.

OHH MCKENZIE IS IN THE CLUB TOO?? INTERESTING

wtf happened to nigel’s parents

babe being cryptic is not helping your situation

OOOH ARE THEY GONNA FIND NIGEL’S LITTLE ROOM OF CREEPY SHIT

i bet his parents are dead

hehe the jack <3

his jars of dead shit are so weird

was that a drawing of the dead kid?

nigel has rly nice handwriting omg

idk if the knowledge that it’s purely for scientific interest makes the pictures of the sleeping girl better or worse

HE TAXIDERMIZED HIS PARENTS???

he calls them helen and john???

love him introducing alex like he’s his boyfriend

THE EYE CONTACT HELLO??

nigel looks so dead inside omg

“stop it, nigel :((“

OH HE MADE THE BIBLE??? i thought it was a book he had not smth he created that’s actually pretty cool

“our union” 🤨🤨 its giving marriage

“nigel was right about this” hmmm boyfriend behaviour

omg mckenzie SUCKS like he’s just kind of an asshole

“i knew you couldn’t resist a secret rendezvous <3”

“you didn’t know nigel”

DID HE FUCK HER CORPSE

“my dearest jack”

IS HE SLEEPING WITH HIS MOTHER

THE PICTURES WERE OF HIS MOTHER????

his lack of reaction to her getting shot…

SO MUCH JUST HAPPENED IN A SPAN OF 30 SECONDS

he’s so clinical about the cleanup…

he’s so pretty…

HES SO FUCKED IN THE HEAD

omg does he want jack to be his maraclea is that why he got the gun (ik his mom was his maraclea let me be delulu)

he rly thinks this is completely justified

HOLF SHIT HE PULLED THE TRIGGER

i’m so sad he’s dead :(( gimme my babygirl back

holy fuck alex got released

AND HE KEPT THE BOOK

“my beloved susan” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

“nigel got what he wanted…eternity”

OH MY FUCKING GOD J CANT BELEJEV HE DID THAT… continuing nigel’s work… oh my fucking god

“you like history.” BITCH WHAT

Edit: I forgot to give the movie a rating .-. 500/10 i fucking loved it, i’m already making a forbie playlist

[freedomfireflies]

Okay into the firefly-Harryverse (aka the best) we go: the harries hear someone saying something disrespectful/rude/hurtful about their respective girls, while the girls aren’t present. How do they react? (I feel like I have a general idea about all of them, but I’m not sure about 404)

AFSLJFSDF SHUT UP I LOVE YOU HAHAHA This made me smile so big!!!

Teach Me Harry: he kind of just raises his eyebrow at first, in a sort of, "Did you really just fucking say that?" kind of way. Almost smug and amused because this poor fucker has no idea what's about to hit 'em.

And most of the time, they notice they're about to piss him off so they rush to clarify. But if they keep going, his expression turns into a scowl and he snaps, "You wanna try saying that when my fist is down your throat? Go. Keep going. Give me a fucking reason."

Mine Harry: See I'd like to think he'd have something clever and snappy to say, too, but he'd def just stand up, grab them by the back of the neck, and slam their head into the wall 🫶

One for the Money Harry: He just does a lot of glaring. He knows you can handle yourself, and he knows you wouldn't want him to interfere or make it worse. But he glares, mumbles under his breath, and eventually - if they keep going - will scoff something at them that's mean hehe

iFall Harry: He's pretty composed most of the time and doesn't really show when he's mad. Instead, he just internalizes it and gets annoyed about it later. But he can be quite vicious and cold when he's upset, so if it got to that point, I think he'd either have them escorted out, or he'd leave before he did something stupid and ended up on Deuxmoi HAHAH

404 Harry: I think it's similar to OftM Harry. He knows you can take care of yourself, and truth be told, he'd rather tell you what happened so he could kick back and watch as you tore the fucker a new one!! But it depends on the comment!!

If it's something sarcastic, like that you have a stick up your ass or something dumb, he just smirks and agrees

But if it's a bit deeper, like something about your looks or even your work or personal life, I think he gets slightly huffy on your behalf. Just because he knows it's not true and that the person is saying it just to sound clever. And he doesn't think that's fair (ironically)!! THAT'S when he snitches and lets you rip them in half HAHAH

[pentagonieslut]

Who do you think in DKB would be a sub or a dom or a switch

it’s a good mix of both but if i’m being honest, i feel like they’d all be switches.

i see D1 as a switch (sub lean) because he’s head leader / mama leader. he’s got 8 other kids, plays a director role in the team, and has to be collected at all times if echan is down. sometimes he jus wants to be taken care of and babied too. whether in bed or not.

echan has a dom lean and he’ll still dom even when he’s tired. it’s his way of relaxing when he doms and has you tied up to the point you can’t move and he dubs you his sex doll when you’re like that. he jacks off slowly to your whines and whimpers as you’re getting fucked by a dick machine, a vibrator on you, and a vibrating butt plug. don’t forget the gag ball. now if he was really tired, he’d be so subby he’s whining and quite literally- a baby. you massage him and coo him to sleep gently as you slowly drop down on him to cockwarm him as his eyes close and he bobs his head to the recorded audio of your soft moans (that you decided to give him as a gift for when he’s away).

teo is straight switch. he’s willing to sub for you whenever you want because he’s just that whipped. if you mention it randomly about him being tied up or putting a cock ring on him, he’s ask you if you’d want to do it right then and there or go buy it to do it as soon as you leave the mall. now if he doms, he’s got the softest domming ever because he feels like he doesn’t need to go too hard unless he is asked or pushed to his limits.

GK is more like dom lean too but soft. he’s gentle and he’s wild at the same time. the whispers or the soft compliments he’d give you. OH MY WORD. “good girl, like that.” then the next second he’s “you fucking whore, you wanted to be fucked so badly you just had to be a brat didn’t you?”

lune def is more dom. like way more than switch. if he becomes a sub or switch if he’s really stressed. maybe even if you catch him by surprise. cuff him to the bed in the middle of his sleep surprise. that’s when he’s going to laugh and get slightly nervous because he knows how you get when you dom. you’re a brand new person and you don’t hold back anything against him. as soon as he sees you and he’s cuffed to the hook on the wall with no escape, he’s going to try to bargain with you. once that fails, he braces himself for the whippings. now if he’s rage sexing??

heechan is like teo. but he would rather dom a million times more and rather than pleasure you meat to meat (jeez louise*), he’s happy to see you beg to cum on his thigh. laughing and giving an eye smile as he watches you shudder and shake- not to mention he’s entering his sadist side and when he’s too far in it takes him a while to come back. with the vibrating panties he forced on you since you two decided to sex wrestle (and you clearly lost), he was messing with the speed and strength from the app he had on his phone. “go ahead, cum for me you needy bitch.”

junseo..he’d switch but then he’d end up getting you and becoming the dom again because he’d very much use his strength and body size against you. “but you like it when you’re fucked dumb and look like an ant i Can step on.” he only smiles and says come here gently before fucking you into next year.

yuku would switch (sub lean). he’d dom and be so soft it was almost like you were innocent and not having sex whatsoever. literally you could do it in public and people would think you’re literally making out. if he’s subbing, he’s giggling shyly and watching shaking silently as he reaches his fifth orgasm of the day, begging you for more and calling you senpai in the cutest tone ever.

harry june. my mans. he’d big dick it out and he’ll prove you wrong. like thinking with my dick next level shit. even i’d get pissed off at him. but then if he subbed?? OH HO HO HO SHIT IS GOING DOWN. harry june, there’s no fairness in this sex game. grabbing him by his dick and squeezing it as he moans in pain and stands there, biting his lower lip. “come on Harry, fuck yourself against my hand. let me see how fucking cute you look rutting against it.”

[kpopwrites]

The Obey Me bro’s hitting it from the back

Lucifer: 

Probably not his favorite position, ngl

He doesn’t get to watch your face as you fall apart, which makes the eldest a little pouty

(It’s fine he’ll just make you cum again)

He quite enjoys the sounds that are produced from this position, however

The slapping of skin, your moans, the wet noises coming from where the two of you were connected

It was better than any cursed record he owned

Torn between shoving your head into the sheets to show power over you and lifting you up by your hair to hear your sweet sounds

Def gonna give a few smacks to your ass

Not going to be gentle either

He won’t go at a breakneck speed, but he isn’t going to move super slow either

Instead, a mind numbing perfect speed with strong thrusts that only pick up when he is close to cumming

Lucifer may tie you up in this position and leave you there if you haven’t been behaving

Def would leave a vib in you to keep you moaning while he did some paperwork

Sometimes he’ll cockwarm and not let you move until he is done working

Even the smallest movement results in a smack and a stern look

Less likely to cum inside in this position

Probably ends up spraying onto your ass, marking you as his

Lowkey takes a picture of his cum on your ass and sends it to the GC on “Accident”

Mammon:

One of this greedy demons favorite positions

Mammon isn’t afraid to film what's his, and let me tell you, he will

I’m not talking beginner shit either, man is a model, he knows what angles make both of you look best

Def leans down to dirty talk into your ear while kissing your neck

Just don’t bring up his words after sex, or you’ll end up with one blushy boy

Mams is gonna start out slow, try to savor how you feel around his as much as he can

However

We all know our baby isn’t very patient

His speed is going to pick up pretty quickly

It’s been mentioned many times in game that Mammon is the fastest of his brothers and trust me

Mans uses his speed to bring you over the edge in the best way

He also has incredible stamina

Expect at least three or four rounds

Like his elder brother, Mammon lives for your moans and the other sounds that come from hitting it from the back

Unlike Lucifer, however, Mammon would NOT spank you

At all

Anything that will hurt you is a no no

More likely to cum inside than any of his brothers

Except Beel

Won’t send any of the videos to his brothers or anyone

Those are…. For later

Levithan:

Blushy boy gets too nervous to look into your eyes as he fucks you

However, Levi also gets super aroused by watching your ass bounce against his thighs and is wayyy more likely to cum faster than he’d like

Sweet snake boy ALWAYS makes sure you cum first, but, still, it limits the night and he doesn’t really like that

That being said, Doggy style is a position Levi uses when he’s pissed

Whether it be that he didn’t get the newest Ruri-Chan merch on time, Mammon stole something, or his soldiers weren’t listening, you’re his favorite stress relief

Levi will literally just storm into your room, bend you over, and strip you down

You get one chance to back out before he wraps his tail around your throat and fucks you until he isn’t angry anymore

Meaning his speed is insane

I’m talking brutal pounding

Like, better sit on a donut tomorrow brutal

RIP to your asscheeks cause they are going to be bruised

Will not hesitate to spank you

HARD

Of course, he’s going to use his hands to play with other sensitive spots on your body, but his tail typically holds you up by your neck

He is still aware enough to know that you’re human and need air, so he leaves enough of a gap around your neck for breathing

But still, tight enough to make you dizzy

Will NOT cum inside

Will cum allllll over you and send the pictures to whoever pissed him off that day

Typically Mammon

Unless the person who pissed him off wasn’t one of the brothers, then he’ll just sulk for a bit after sex

100% gonna take care of you after that rough fucking

While he rants of course

Smothers you in compliments while rubbing you down with lotion

Bonus! He once got mad at Dia and, in a fit of rage, sent the Prince a video of him fucking you, the precious exchange student

Extra bonus! He couldn’t look Dia in the eyes for two months after

Satan:

Bitchhhhhh

If you think this man, who loves cats, isn’t going to use this position as much as possible

You’re wrong

I’m sorry, but it’s true

Even if you can’t get preggers, dude loves the thought of breeding

And hitting it from behind? It’s the ultimate position that shows you he is in charge

You’re simply his kitten, and Satan loves to remind you

Put on some kitty ears and a detachable tail?

Man’s gonna simp while fucking your brains out

Definitely is one to lift you up and hold your back against his chest

If Satan is in a loving mood, this won’t be his go to 

However, if you’ve been bratty or spent too much time with Lucifer, well

Satan feels it’s his duty to remind his kitten who they belong to

Will 100% mark up your neck and back, basically anywhere visible

He also likes to leave hickeys on the base of your neck, right where Lucifers pact mark is, just to really piss his brother off

If Satan is raging, he most likely will bend you over the nearest surface, in public or not

Y’all have been seen by a lot of people, including by not limited to, his brothers, one of the teachers at RAD, half the fangol team, Lord Diavolo and Barbatos

What can he say?

Satan is pretty possessive of what's his

He isn’t one to film, either

It makes him feel much better to know the person who got too close to you is watching him make you fall apart in person

He won’t let them near you, of course, and if it’s a lower level demon, they won’t live much longer after you’re taken care of and safely at home

He will cum inside everytime

Like I said, this demon lives to breed

Asmo: 

Asmo is down for whatever

Dude doesn’t have a favorite position

He lives for all of them

Anything that makes the both of you feel good is perfect in his books!

He will, however, add some kinky shit to any position you’re in, ESPECIALLY this one

You into pain?

Shit, Asmo has a paddle out and some wax to make pretty designs on your back with

Into praise?

Asmo will whispers the sweetest things while slowly fucking into you

Degradation?

You know this demon has a dirty mouth, and while he never means, he is down with calling you every mean phrase in the book

Asmo is also the king of aftercare, which makes the whole experience better

You know if you’re getting fucked so hard you can’t walk after that Asmo will do anything you need

As long as you pamper him some too

He also has amazing stamina

Unlike Mammon though, he won’t stop until you’re too fucked out to even notice

Unless you safe word, of course

Asmo cannot stop himself from making comments about how great your ass looks in this position

WILL film it and, if you gave permission, post it

He would give you all the money made from it of course

Asmo would also be into camming, and placing the camera right in front of your face so the audience can see your brain empty as he cums in you?

The best feeling for Asmo

Not only does he get to show off how good he looks and sounds, but also how amazingly beautiful his partner is!

Def the type to tease any sort of audience y’all have

“You can look, but at the end of the day, MC is mine.” Cue evil Asmo giggle

Also, WILL have Solomon over for a threesome

Only cums inside if you ask, but he prefers cumming on your face

“It’s great for the skin darling! Open wide!”

Beelzebub: 

When you two are first sleeping together, Beel is worried about his… size

Man is big, probably around 6’9 or so, and that bigness is present… everywhere

While all the brothers are gifted down there, Beel wasn’t called the womb raider for nothing

So, while it wasn’t as intimate, it was easier for Beel to slip inside you while you were on your hands and knees

Ever since then, if y’all are too needy to prep, this is the go to position

Obviously he needs lube anyway, but it’s a lot less time and prep

Beel really only fucks you doggy style for quickies

He likes taking his time and making sure you know how much you mean to him, and he doesn’t feel like he can express that in doggy style

However

In big moments where he needs to let off some steam or celebrate

Boom, get on your hands and knees hun

After a big workout? Let him eat first, then he wants you on the bed

After a fangol victory? He fucks you in the empty locker rooms

Everyone outside can hear too, but no one dares say anything to the ever hungry giant

Even when Beel is angry, he won’t go very fast

The last thing this sweet baby wants is to hurt you, and with how strong he is, Beel always holds back

He only won’t hold back if Belphie is there to step in if he notices you aren’t doing so hot

And yes, threesomes with Belphie are definitely a thing

Ever heard of the eiffel tower? That WILL happen with the twins

Like Satan, I am convinced Beel has a breeding kink

Once again, he doesn’t care if you can have children or not

He’s such a big family sweetie cutie little angel turned demon I love him so much that he only feels complete after sex when he cums inside you

If he doesn’t, well

Guess you’re gonna have to go again

Belphegor:

Listen

Belphie does not really like hitting it from behind

It’s so much work

He’s the avatar of sloth, why would he want a position that involves so much work?

Usually Belphie has you ride him, or he goes for missionary where he can rest his head on your chest, boobs or not, while he fucks you

The only time Belphie will do doggy style is when he’s fucking you infront of his brothers

Why?

Because Belphie is a little shit who is the youngest

As the youngest of 5 kids, I understand wanting to prove you’re the best

Belphie takes it pretty far

Dude will fuck you in front of his brothers rooms on purpose, just to anger them

He does EVERYTHING he can to make you scream his name as loud as you can

Belf has no shame

He will fuck you anywhere and everywhere

In the demon lord's castle

In the kitchen

Lucifers study

(He makes sure you cum on Lucifer’s desk)

The dining room

His shared room with Beel, with Beel still inside

Literally every surface will be fucked on

As previously mentioned, He loves to share with Beel

Of course he’ll make sure Beel doesn’t go too hard

As long as he gets a taste too

Isn’t too fond of sharing with the others

Though, he doesn’t hate sharing you with Satan

Good luck walking after those nights btw

Probably would cum inside and stay inside, just to avoid cleaning up any mess for a while

Post sex nap is important and Belphie claims he sleeps best while inside you

Taglist: @boy9wolf

[kirascottage]

dating jj maybank

jj maybank x gender neutral. reader

word count: 1.8k

cw: headcanons, overall domestic fluff, angst if you squint till ur visions blurry, mentions of poor emotional expression, mentions of sex / sexual innuendos, mentions of fighting / injury, strong pda, kissing, consensual groping, swearing, soft!jj

okay so this is the first time i’ve ever written dating headcanons so i’m gonna try my best

• jj and expressing emotions are a very complicated duo and almost everyone knows it, including you. he knows how he feels for you, and feels it strongly, but the way it comes out of his mouth is like gibberish and completely not understandable. 

“so you know — like — i don’t know, man. i feel heavy for you, like do you feel heavy for me, too?”

“jj, i don’t even know what heavy means in this context and what you’re referring to.”

• but he comes from a good place, and you come to know, learn and love that, because well he loves you, and with jj you just have to infer by his mess of words.

• this boy tries to be as romantic as possible but he’s literally never had a s/o before. the only thing he knows are one nighters so there is a lot that pope and john b advise him on because miscommunication is quite literally the worst. (stated by john b himself)

• for this instance and the sake of the headcanons: you are a member of the pogues, through and through.

• so most of the time you’re together, the pogues are there too. even dates. they love to occupy and jj could shout at the top of his lungs how they are the biggest cock-blockers to ever exist and they would not care. 

• so at that point he doesn’t even try to keep his hands to himself, he will touch you or quite literally make out with you in front of anyone and everyone he can.

• i mean he can get a little protective. (also considering he would never let you around his dad because he wants to protect you and would never let you near anyone that could hurt you) 

• i mean this guy would fight for you till the very end; punches thrown countless of times and harsh words absolutely shouted more times than you could count on your fingers, but no matter how many times you chastise jj, he would never stop to defend your honour because at the end of the night you’re the one playing with his hair and kissing his cuts and bruises.

• especially after everything as well with rafe, topper and the kooks he just wants everyone (including the tourons you see once a millennium) to know that you and him are romantically involved and you are very much taken.

• he even lets the most irrelevant people know the both of you are dating because he loves you that much:

“okay, babe, here me out—”

“jj a whole group of kids just asked me about our relationship! i love you, but the whole population does not need to know that we’re together.”

“obviously we can't tell the whole population! or I would, duh.”

•  even though he could blabber on about everything about you, including what shampoo you use and which perfume of yours is his favourite, affection is more his style: 

• this includes walking around with his hand in your back pocket because wearing anything but jean shorts is really not an option in that heat, (and this does include ass grabbing at every opportunity he can)—

• — his hand gently placed on your thigh while driving / while he’s next to you, interlocking pinkies 98% of the time as you walk together —

• — and peppering kisses is always happening. whether they’re ticking at your checks, suffocating your neck or affectionately placed on your forehead he’s always kissing you.

• other key, and essential, things that come to mind are that his arm is always around you; after everything that’s happened to him he just needs to physically know you’re there and that’s enough to subdue him.

• it’s almost routine for him arm to go around your waist or your shoulder, whether you’re tall or short, tbh he doesn’t really care, his arms and lips are always on you.

• dating jj is dating a teenage boy with absolutely no impulse control and zero control over what he says—

“I mean, dude, if you think about it, why isn’t a banana called a yellow if an orange is called an orange? and why are phones called ‘telephones’ like who the fuck came up with that crap?”

or

“i mean, hey, we could bang out here and it’s not like anyone would know. like jb could be out in the living room and be like clueless.”

“jj, there’s two windows pointing directly at us. i think he would know.”

• —if you don’t understand then he definitely does not either.

• you also flip each other off a lot and people are like ??? but you both are like — fuck you —(affectionate & full of love with my middle fingers)

• one thing he does know is how to flatter you, whether he’s obnoxiously winking at you or bringing you flowers with his tips from work, or he picked them himself, it’s all in the effort.

• any effort from you is like kids getting their favourite toy they’ve been wanting on christmas, for instance: anytime you bring him food, or offer to stay with him at john b’s is like swelling up his heart to the maximum.

• so when he’s not with you, or the pogues, which is rare he is outside. and jj is like diego the explorer he always finds little places just for himself, or for this instance with you.

• so a lot of dates include going to these secluded spots: sometimes it’s a picnic, or a walk, and stargazing is his absolute favourite as he listens to you drone on about the constellations and even just watching the sky with your presence next to him is so comforting and makes him feel safe. 

• of course when the pogues find out they’re brutal with their teasing.

“awww, look at the cute and happy couple!”

“my wittle babies, growing up so fast.”

“god, kie, you make it sound like we’re five?!”

• speaking of alone time, jj loves to cuddle when you guys are alone and that’s one thing he’s not fond of being teased about.

• his head is firm on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his leg flung over your hips. to him it’s just a perfect way to start and end the day.

• he also loves to watch movies while cuddling and he has a set of movies and their genres completely memorized for the occasion.

• he has such a good memory to the weirdest things. like he can state in the exact order your makeup routine, or talk about all the caves and sinkholes in yukatan but ask him how many states there are in america and he’s completely bummed.

• back to what i was saying, cuddling and movie times together.

• he’s the little spoon i will not argue with anyone about this, especially if something happened that day.

• like if rafe pissed him off, some kooks stepped on his toes, his dad had been particularly agitated that day or he was just frustrated. your embrace is what keeps his together. he just loves the feeling of your arms around him, essentially protecting him.

• and the pogues always get a kick out of it when they see you too snuggled in the morning. they even take pictures, a lot of pictures of everything and anything they can. 

• their fav times to take pictures is when you both are off guard: like when he’s putting his hat on you, he’s sharing his juul with you, you guys are laying together on the boat or maybe your surfing together in the water.

• he’s surprisingly intimate about everything even though they’re such mundane things for him.

• he expresses his love for you by actions rather than words. for example, he has a guitar (an absolutely beat up one with missing strings and chipped wood, but he says it has more character that way as well as your signature on the back of it)—

• —and just strums it for you absolutely whenever and however your mood is because no matter what its always calming. sometimes he even hums a little tune or starts singing a bit.  

• another few ways he depicts his love for you is by shoving his baseball hat on your head (the one that absolutely nobody is allowed to wear) because he doesn’t want you frying in the sun or dying of heatstroke.

• a lot of his tank tops are now yours because they’re so comfortable and you can wear them literally anywhere.

• he shares, only with you but, he shares. his rings are on your fingers, his bandana is around your neck, his boxers are your sleep shorts, and he absolutely eats that shit up.

• he also gets extremely comfortable with you, like even more than john b in a way. example: you could just be chilling, his arm wrapped around your neck and — boom — he’s shoving your face in his armpit and trying to tickle you.

• it gets to the point where the pogues are so used to it and sometimes even they join in because they even like being included in on your affections but would absolutely rather drown than admit it. they love watching their two best friends love grow for each other, and they're happy jj has found sanctuary to love and be with someone freely. 

• speaking of love, jj is also like a puppy: praise, reassurance and kisses are the way to his heart and staying there.

• i’m gonna say it, jj has self confidence and love issues. they are not detectable at all but with his mother gone and the way his father treated him, there’s shit buried in his heart that it takes awhile for him to open up about.

• once he does: he cries, and he cried a lot. but after that it was like never letting go again. he trusts you with his whole heart and soul and he knows you won’t take advantage of that.

• the way you both accept each other into each others lives is so important to him no matter where you live, who you are and what your family is like everything counts for him and that just makes you the person who you are. 

• dating jj can be complicated and messy and wonderful and passionate and relationships aren’t easy but he would def be worth it <3

[ddejavvu]

For multiverse Monday ~ An au where all the marauders/Harry potter characters are transgender as a big fuck you to JKR. Take this as you will (probably with a grain of salt)

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

this deleted itself. not once. but twice. two. times. i think it was jkr’s terf spirit trying to stop me from posting this. i have only ever personally identified with a few different gender labels, and have not had experiences with every single label used in this piece. I do not believe any of this is inconsiderate or disrespectful, I respect every single one of the communities listed here (and more, of course), but if you see something that’s not quite right, please tell me. This blog has been and always will be a safe space, so if I do something that makes you feel otherwise, i will fix it asap. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy :)

james:

demiboy, he/him (but has gotten he/they before and def doesn't mind it)

took him a while to figure out his identity

and it doesn't come from a place of discomfort his assigned gender identity as it does just not always feeling that binary

while clothes do not define someone’s gender identity, james experiments a lot more with his wardrobe after he figures himself out

it’s a result of the confidence he gains from his label, so i’m including it here

he’s a big big big fan of skirts!!

he has a huuuuge headband collection that sirius steals sometimes

flannels!! never caught anywhere without one 

he wasn’t nervous at all to tell his parents, and for good reason

they didn’t quite understand what he was saying at first, but they love their kid, and that means they love his identity as well

they go allll out for pride month

they buy matching shirts like

'I 🖤 MY KID' and the heart is the demiboy flag

sirius:

agender - any/all pronouns, though most people use they/them and they’re cool with that

I think they have some pretty bad imposter syndrome

for his entire life, they’ve wanted to piss off his mother as much as possible

so when she finally solidifies the agender label

she has this sinking feeling that he’s only telling himself that to anger their mother

now, he’s not

but it puts a lot of strain on them, trying to figure out if their entire identity is based on making her mother upset

remus actually helps sirius through this imposter syndrome

there’s lots of late nights by the fire in each other’s arms 

about his mother

if you think for a second that she would not torment sirius

she tries so hard to misgender her

they’ve got this cheeky little smirk on their face because bitch he uses any pronouns

all in all, it takes him a while to get comfortable with himself and their label

but she’s very confident and very content with herself once he does accept it

remus:

non-binary, they/them

was never really confused about their identity

knew from pretty young that they weren’t a boy and they weren’t a girl either

but hadn’t really heard the term non-binary until they were past a few years at school

the second they hear the term they’re like yep that’s me :]

as mentioned above, remus helped sirius a lot with her imposter syndrome

their security in their own identity helped a lot

although non-binary people don’t have to dress androgynously, I believe that that’s just their style

we all know about Moony Sweaters™

a big chunky sweater with some loose, light-wash jeans, and some nice boots?

that’s remus :)

regulus:

trans man, he/him

i have a feeling that when he was younger his mother tried really hard to make him her perfect little girl

she had sirius as her son, and definitely pushed gender roles waaaay too hard on the both of them

when regulus realizes that he identifies as a boy, she’s livid

he’d come to her so confidently, because he thought she loved him

but he realized that she didn’t love him if he didn’t give her what she wanted, which was a daughter

he tried so hard to push it down and muscle through it because he was desperate for his mother’s approval

they had an unspoken agreement that she’d never bring it up again if he didn’t

he was just committed to the act until he turned 18, then he had plans to leave and never come back

but then when sirius got disowned

suddenly walburga was deprived of a son

and to regulus’s horror, he realized that she was going to encourage him to embrace his identity only because it was convenient for her

when he realizes what she’s doing, he breaks down

he uses the floo to visit sirius who’s probably staying at the potter’s

he bursts in crying and now james has two distraught black siblings in his room

sirius and regulus pack up their stuff with james and remus helping them the next day, and boy do remus and james have lots to say to walburga

once regulus is out from under his mother’s thumb, he thrives

he’s finally able to express himself, instead of pretending just to appease the head of the house

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb, part 5.4

I swear folks once I get this and the last part up I’m gonna condense it all

But yeah couldn’t resist some <3

Zhang and Wu Chat

Wu Xie: Um. I’m all done with the shower if you want a turn.

Zhang Qiling: I’m alright without one.

Wu Xie: sooo are you pissed at me still?

Zhang Qiling: ? I have not been angry with you since the ladder incident.

Wu Xie: you’ve barely said anything since the necklace thingy

Zhang Qiling: I believe it is a long-running joke amongst my friend group that I do not, in fact, say much.

Wu Xie: okay but there are multiple gouges in the tea house walls that would suggest you had somewhat strong feelings today

and I kinda caused the events that sparked said feelings

so just checking in you know

Zhang Qiling: I was not angry so much as I was afraid. More afraid than I’ve been in a long time.

Wu Xie: ??? But it has worked out fine??? Everyone made it out alive and Uncle Erbai gets to feel morally superior to the Zhang family for a while so today was a win overall

Zhang Qiling: I heard you scream. I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t get to you right away. Therefore, I was afraid.

Wu Xie: ohhhhh. oh, Xiao Ge. It’s alright now—hey the necklace was actually helping u look out for me:) It’s not like those ppl were actually trying to hurt me, really. Your family isn’t so bad, at least you don’t have any uncles you know of

today was just some big misunderstandings wrapped in some poor life choices. Tbh my memoir title

I feel kind of stupid for screaming but when a glowing necklace wraps itself around your neck it’s a little uhoh moment lol

I did like the design tho def my aesthetic.

Zhang Qiling: I am pleased that it was able to protect you when I was not.

Wu Xie: Uh no you are not allowed to get all emo abt this it’s only like 3pm

damn time flies when it’s flashing before your eyes lol

Are you on the roof? You’re def on the roof. I thought I heard the tiles moving over my head. Come down or I’m coming up.

Zhang Qiling: I will be down in a moment. Do not come outside, it’s cold and raining.

Wu Xie: you know, Zhang Rishan said he thinks the necklace might be linked to you, somehow

something from long ago, even though you wouldn’t remember it.

It’s lucky that it liked me, huh:)

Zhang Qiling: Yes. Quite lucky.

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: AWW LOOK AT HIM NAPPING ON YOUR SHOULDER SO CUTE. BEBES HAD A BIG DAY. YOU TWO ARE PRECIOUS. BE GOOD AND POSE FOR THE PICTURE NOW.

Zhang Qiling: No. Also, I am considering what steps I should take with Zhang Rishan. Regardless of his concern for the Zhang family line, his actions were unacceptable.

Wang Pangzi: HES DROOLING A LITTLE ON YOU WHICH IS LESS CUTE BUT I CAN CROP THAT PART

LOOK I KNOW YOURE STILL PISSED. IM NOT EXACTLY CALM MYSELF, I JUST HAVE WAYS TO SKIRT AROUND TIANZHENS BULLSHIT FILTER THAT YOU LACK

GET ON MY LEVEL

WU ERBAI WILL HANDLE IT, THINGS HAVE SETTLED I THINK

BUT ABOUT THAT NECKLACE

SO INTERESTING HMMM

Zhang Qiling: I am the patriarch of my family. The necklace behaved as I would, apparently, to protect a vulnerable family member. Wu Xie’s bad cold last week activated it, and it responded to a perceived danger to him today. Simple enough.

Wang Pangzi: UH HUH

A FAMILY MEMBER

THE NECKLACE REALLY SAID LOVE WINS

TOLKIEN COULD NEVER

Zhang Qiling: It protected him on a technicality. But I will not allow him to bear the burdens of my family ever again. It has taken so much from him already.

Wang Pangzi: YEAH SURE BLAH BLAH DESTINY BLAH BLAH ANGST

“A TECHNICALITY” WOW WHO SAID ROMANCE WAS DEAD

ANYHOO IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS FOR UR WEDDING RECEPTION SLIDESHOW

YA KNOW DURING MY SPEECH

Friends of Wu Xie Support Group Chat

Hei Yangjing: you’re welcome for everything today<3 I accept PayPal, although of course it is always my honor to assist my friends:)

Wang Pangzi: WE ARENT PAYING YOU SHIT

Zhang Qiling: You did absolutely nothing.

Hei Yangjing: whoa whoa maybe I wasn’t threatening family members or busting up load-bearing walls like some undying divas I could name but I totes helped

or at least I was there for moral support maybe?

Zhang Qiling: The only reason I knew you were there at all was that as I lowered my blade from Zhang Rishan’s neck, I heard the camera click and saw you were taking a selfie making a peace sign, angled to have the two of us in the background.

Xie Yuchen: I saw it on social media just now. The caption is “#greatdaycatchingupwiththelads #blessed”

Wang Pangzi: TBH KIND OF JEALOUS I DIDNT THINK TO DO THAT

Hei Hangjing: okay yeah you see Xiao Ge that is a modern kind of help I should’ve known you wouldn’t be aware

It’s called performance, you wouldn’t understand

it’s a ‘Gram thing

Also it means I’m a great person

Bc letting you handle the situation was my gift to you

Zhang Qiling: Wu Xie mentioned there is something called “blocking ppl” that gets them out of my phone.

Hei Yangjing: nah

Can’t trust that Wu Xie, bae can’t tell a coffin from an urn amirite

it’s not a thing, blocking

Xie Yuchen: It is a thing. I’ll show you later, Zhang Qiling.

Wang Pangzi: YOU BOYS GO GET CLEANED UP AND COME BY AROUND 9 I SNAGGED SOME OF ZHANG RISHANS BOOZE ON THE WAY OUT

Bonnie and Clyde Chat

Hei Yangjing: you looked pretty comfortable in those handcuffs earlier ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Go to sleep, idiot.

Hei Yangjing: You’d have to do something to tire me out ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Are you like this around Wu Xie? Not that I care, I’m just asking.

Hei Yangjing: uh that’s a big nope

First off all Idk when I’ll die but Id prefer it to be on my terms and not at the hands of those other two

Secondly there is a part of me that remembers how adorable he was when he was younger and that makes it weird

(No offense but u were not adorable. He was bebe luke skywalker, you were bebe princess leia I am obvs Han Solo 4lyfe)

Also I’m a little scared that if i flirted with him and he flirted back he’d be better at it.

Xie Yuchen: All valid concerns.

Hei Yangjing: as cute as he is I don’t really wanna tap that.

Xie Yuchen: I see.

Hei Yangjing: do you tho

Main Chat

Wu Xie: okay folks who wants cocoa to top the evening off? I picked some up today:D

Wang Pangzi: UH YOU SPENT YOUR DAY BEING KIDNAPPED AND PLACATING A SENTIENT NECKLACE WHEN DID YOU HAVE TIME TO GET GROCERIES

FRANKLY THATS INTIMIDATING

Wu Xie: the tea house gift shop:)

Wang Pangzi: …YOU BOUGHT COCOA FROM YOUR KIDNAPPERS. FROM THEIR GIFT SHOP. DURING YOUR KIDNAPPING.

WU XIE

WU XIE WHY

Wu Xie: I mean we were there the whole day, it felt impolite not to buy anything.

Wang Pangzi: OH RIGHT GREAT POINT ID HATE TO BE RUDE TO THEM AFTER THEY WENT TO THE TROUBLE OF ABDUCTING US

LISTEN WHEN PPL STEAL YOU IT BECOMES FREE REIGN ON THEIR SHIT

UGH YOU PROBABLY GOT A RECEIPT AND EVERYTHING

WAS UR LITTLE SHOPPING TRIP BEFORE OR AFTER THEY STUCK U IN A DUNGEON TO EXPERIMENT ON YOU

WAIT NVM I DONT WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT

Wu Xie: look, let’s focus on the positives/ we are all okay, and we learned something new, that necklace is still active! It’s really quite nice-looking when it isn’t moving of its own volition.

Wang Pangzi: YOU AND YOUR RELENTLESS DUCKING OPTIMISM

ZHANG QILING ARE YOU SEEING THIS

Zhang Qiling: I would love some cocoa. I’ll come to the kitchen.

Wu Xie: I have special marshmallows for you!!

Wang Pangzi: I SEE

WE ARE SUBSCRIBING TO THE PRESTIGIOUS “FUCK IT WHY NOT” SCHOOL OF THOT TONIGHT

LOL SURE LETS GO COCOA IT UP

IVE GOT SOMETHING STRONG TO POP IN IT

Wu Xie: Still thinking about that design… I’d love another chance to examine that necklace under less Zhangy circumstances.

Kinda sad we couldn’t borrow it to use for illnesses and dangerous missions :/

ah well it’s for the best, a family heirloom should be treasured, preserved and protected<3

Zhang Qiling: I put it on your dresser.

Wu Xie: ???????

Wang Pangzi: AND THATS WHY YOU AND I ARE FRIENDS, XIAOGE <3

Wu Xie: I—

Zhang Qiling: Are those bunny-shaped marshmallows for me?

[hufflepuffhollander]

off limits: tom holland one-shot

a/n | this is my submission for @chloecreatesfictions’ 1k writing challenge! i’ve never done the “brother’s best friend” trope and i def got a little too excited and carried away! real talk, this might be the cutest thing i’ve ever written

summary | as harrison osterfield’s younger sister, you’d always just seen his best friend tom as an annoying older brother. until, one day, you didn’t.

cw | tom x osterfield!reader. contains language, alcohol, recreational use of weeeed, teenage angst, sexual tension, fluff n’ stuff. 5k words.

For as long as you could remember, Tom Holland had been a stitch in your side that you could never get rid of.

Growing up as your older brother’s best friend, he was always at your house when you were children— and his favorite pastime when Harrison was boring him was to break into your room and mess with you, stealing your toys or running his hands across the piano keys when you were trying to practice in peace. No matter how many locks you put on your door just to keep Tom out, he was always able to pick them.

As you all got older, he grew to annoy you in a different way, blasting loud, grungy music through Harrison’s bedroom walls late at night or eating things out of the fridge that clearly had your name on them. Once he’d started to garner some attention as an actor, his ego skyrocketed, and somehow he became an even bigger nuisance. He dragged Harrison away from you and took him all over the world while you had to sit idly by and love your brother from a distance.

When Tom would come over now, he would talk of nothing but hollywood parties and getting drunk with the biggest a-listers when he knew you were listening. He would ignore you when he breezed past you in the hallway, and even had the audacity to go into your bedroom when you were out and smoke a blunt on your bed so your whole room smelled like a music festival when you got home; and worst of all, it was your weed.

It was sufficient to say you were Tom Holland’s least enthusiastic fan. And it was rather unfortunate, because you were a big stan of the MCU—and secretly loved getting high and watching and re-watching the spider-man movies the most. Okay, don’t make that face. They have a good storyline.

It was a regular Friday night, you were aimlessly scrolling through your phone while Harrison and Tom were getting ready to go pub hopping. Harrison always invited you, but you never took him up on his offer because you knew how flirty you got with alcohol in your system and wouldn’t dare feel that way around Tom. He was notorious for taking anything nice you said about him and rubbing it in your face for at least a week after. 

“You know you secretly love me, babe.”

You hated when he called you babe, and he knew it. But since you’d both grown up, time had done you both a favor, and there was always an air of something you couldn’t quite place your finger on whenever you interacted...the pet name just made it more interesting.

“Hey, y/n, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Harrison yelled from outside your bedroom door, and you peeked your head out to respond.

“Nah, it’s fine, Haz, go have fun. I have enough uni work to keep me busy.”

“It’s a Friday night, nerd.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and smiled. “Sorry I’m not a budding alcoholic like you, big bro.”

He laughed, blew you a kiss, and he and Tom were off.

Only about an hour later, you decided to take a break from studying and light up a joint, turning on your go-to movie for background noise- but were snapped out of your vibey trance when you heard the front door swing open, and your brother’s loud, drunk voice.

“W-why are we h-home, you div,” he slurred, as his heavy footsteps start to climb the stairs. After a long moment, you heard him collapse on his bed through your thin walls, still stammering out his words. “Thomas, I promise you, I am fineeee...”

“Mate, you’re sloshed. Go to bed.”

You decided to leave them be. This was a typical occurrence- one of the boys went too hard too early, and the other had to babysit until they made it home to pass out cold, usually on the bed, or the couch, or on a good day, the floor.

A few minutes passed while you hotboxed your room, feeling amazingly relaxed, until you saw your doorknob wriggling out of the corner of your eye. Your door was locked, so you ignored it. But the knob kept twisting and falling back in place, making the whole frame shake. After a long while of witnessing a ghost try to make its way into your room, you watched your lock turn slowly and click out of place, the door creaking opened to reveal Tom, swatting at the air when a cloud of smoke greeted him.

You snapped your laptop closed before he could hear his own voice flowing out of your speakers. “Tom, for the last time, stop picking my fucking lock!” You beamed your nearest pillow at him—which he caught before it struck him—and he threw it back, hitting you square in the face. Of course.

He flashed a cocky smile. “Why? It’s so easy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious! I could’ve been naked or something!”

He just stood in the doorframe, giving you a once-over in your thin cotton t-shirt and yoga pants, and kept that smug expression locked on his face. 

“Ew, Tom, you’re disgusting. Get out.”

He decidedly did not get out, instead closing the door behind him and hopping up next to you on your bed, the divot in your mattress leaving your bodies pressed much too close together. You were met with a strong whiff of his cologne and the gin he must’ve been drinking earlier. “I’ll take that,” he muttered as he lifted your joint out of your fingers and took a puff, sucking his breath in as his lungs filled. 

Your stomach filled with a dull fire and you narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”

He turned to face you and blew a big puff of smoke directly into your face, the notorious smirk making its reappearance. “Not at all, thanks for asking though.”

You groaned aloud. “What are you doing in here?” he took another draw and handed you back what was rightfully yours, smoke dissipating from his mouth as he spoke.

“Haz is pissed and I’m bored.”

You relit the bud and inhaled for a long while, figuring you’d need to be pretty intoxicated to not smack him in the face if he tried to talk again. “Well, go be bored somewhere else. I was busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and reached across your lap for your computer. “Doing what?” 

Oh shit. “Dude, can you not-?!” you yelped, but he had swiped it too quickly out of your grasp, and opened it up to find himself paused on your screen. You laid back on your bed so he couldn’t see your cheeks now flushed with embarrassment and grabbed your lighter from your nightstand. It was going to be a long evening.

He leaned himself over to catch your eye and had the stupidest, most prideful look plastered across his face. “Gotcha.”

You punched him in the arm as he erupted into laughter—but the anger inside you had been dulled by the weed and replaced with a childlike silliness—and you started to giggle, too. You looked up into his eyes, pupils now wildly dilated and tinted red around the edges.

“Shut up, Tom, you’re high,” you said in between chuckles.

“Yeah? Well so are you!”

You poked fun at each other for a while, suddenly in a mutually fantastic mood. You knew in the back of your mind that none of this would be happening if you hadn’t gotten stoned together, but you enjoyed the warm company anyway. 

“Well, you gotta finish it, don’t you?” he said, settling back down and fixating the computer on his lap so you could both see it.

“You really want to watch your own movie?”

“Doll, it’s my favorite thing to do.” he smiled at you.

“God, you’re the worst.” you felt some butterflies make an entrance in your chest that had never been there before.

He pressed play and cozied up on your bed, lying back against the wall with his arm lazily draped behind you. You pulled a blanket up onto your lap and had really no choice but to lean on him for support, neither of you admitting out loud that you were full on cuddling and not angry about it.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna share?” he whined, pulling at the corner of your blanket.

“Get your own,” you responded, internally high-fiving yourself for finally getting the chance to sass him back. Sure, you had your head comfortably resting on his shoulder, but that didn’t mean you were suddenly friends.

You let the movie play, the two of you blowing through the joint until it was a dwindling nub. The scene where Peter has his big kiss with MJ started, and you stifled a snigger as their lips met on the screen.

Tom had clear offense laced through his words. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

He sat up to look at you, eyebrows knit together in an angry pout. “Tell me.”

“I just...feel bad for Zendaya, that’s all.” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, and his eyes rolled so far back into his head you were sure they’d be stuck that way forever.

“You’re such a brat,” he started, his ego finding its old place back in his voice. “I’m an amazing kisser. She told me herself.”

You looked away from him, taking a heavy exhale. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

He sat even more upright and paused the movie, taking hold of your shoulder to make you turn to him. “What, you don’t believe me?”

You realized then how physically close you had gotten, as you could feel the syllables of his words in his breath hitting your face. He was doing that thing boys do, when they’re thinking about kissing you but don’t- their stares going back and forth between your lips and your eyes in a not so subtle way. It freaked you out to see him that close and personal, and you whispered back exactly what you knew would irk him the most.

“Nope.”

He moved his face impossibly closer to yours, and you felt his soft lips lightly brush over your own. You weren’t sure if this was real, or just a high hallucination, but you didn’t move away. This was entirely uncharted territory.

“Tooommmm!” you heard Harrison yell out from the other side of the wall. “Where are yooouuu?! I’m so thirsty!” Tom immediately jerked his head away from you and shook himself out of the moment. You brought your hand up to your cheek and shuddered at how hot it had become- your own body was betraying you.

“God, he’s gonna be the death of me,” Tom said, shoving himself off the bed and walking out of your room, glancing back at you for a moment and then closing the door behind him. Just like that, he was gone, and you were left trapped in your own psyche wondering what the hell had just happened.

Over the course of the next week, things has become exponentially weirder between you and Tom. He seemed to be spending much more time at your house than he normally did, even sleeping a few nights there instead of driving the five minutes back to be in his own bed. One unsuspecting morning, you knocked on your bathroom door, annoyed that it had been shut for such a long time. 

“Haz, if you use up all the hot water again, I’m gonna kill you,” you said in between knocks. You were taken by surprise when it swung open, steam billowing out into the cool air.

“Whoops,” you heard a voice say, immediately realizing it wasn’t your brother. You took a step backward to see Tom emerge, wearing nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp and clinging to his forehead, and he looked like some glowing magazine model. 

“Uh, sorry,” you stammered, accidentally inhaling the yummy smell of his soap and shampoo emanating off of his skin.

He noticed you eyeing him and a sly grin appeared as he rolled his bottom lip under his teeth. “Shower’s all yours, babe,” he said, bumping your shoulder with his own as he walked away. You were stuck in place and didn’t see him glancing back at you as he wandered down the hallway. 

Another day after that, Tom and Harrison were looking for a certain record to play, but it was nowhere to be found. “It might be in y/n’s room,” Harrison said, sitting back in his lounge chair. “Wanna go grab it?”

Tom coughed. “Why do I have to get it?”

“Because I’m comfortable.”

Tom felt a mix of annoyance and nerves in his chest as he walked the short distance down the hallway to your room where the door was already cracked open. He invited himself in—excitement faltering a little when he saw you weren’t in your usual spot on your bed—and started to sift through your bookshelves.

You had been in the bathroom getting dressed after your shower, but realized you left your shirt in your closet- and seeing that Harrison’s bedroom door was still shut, you figured it was safe to run across the landing into your room without anyone seeing you. In just a bra and spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, you swiftly made your way across the hall and walked through your door that was still open a crack to see Tom kneeled down as he shuffled through your record collection.

He heard your small gasp when you entered to find him, and swiveled around to you standing only a few feet away from him in the least amount of clothing he’d ever seen on you. He abruptly stood up but didn’t move, eyes sparkling as they rolled down your body.

“What the fuck! Why are you always in my room?!” You were too shocked to think about finding something to cover yourself with, and put your hands over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment. Tom remained glued to his place on your carpet, clearly at a loss for words.

“Tom, can you leave please-”

“Right, yeah, okay, uh, bye-” he hurried out of your room, swinging the door almost shut but leaving just a crack so he could speak into it.

“...I like your shorts.”

“TOM!”

He chuckled and closed the door, and you slumped against the wall, still holding your head in your hands. What was this sudden hold he had over you? And why did you love the way that he was staring at you?

That night, you had a big paper to complete, and you were perched in your bed typing away as it got dark. In between two songs on your playlist, you heard the familiar jiggle of a doorknob. Looking up over your screen, you watched as the metal turned in its socket, and heard a soft “crushed it” as the lock undid itself. Your door opened steadily and slowly, a familiar face peeking in at you.

“Hi.”

“Oh sweet jesus,” you mumbled.

“You busy?”

“Clearly.”

“Cool.” Tom let himself into your room, shutting the door behind him and sauntering over to your bed, sitting down next to you, bouncing like a little kid and singing his words. “Whatcha doooin’?”

“Homework,” you said, continuing to type and trying your best to ignore the way the sound of his voice was waking up something electric inside of you. He leaned into your body to peer at your computer screen, pretending to be interested in whatever you were writing about. His elbow got in the way of your hands, and you had to stop typing.

“Thomas, is there something I can help you with?”

“Haz is asleep,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder like it hadn’t been a week since your almost-kiss and you hadn’t been actively avoiding bringing it up.

You felt jittery. “And?”

He gently pushed your hands away from the keyboard and closed your laptop shut, giving you a sheepish smile. “Wanna get high?”

Honestly, you did.

You turned on your lamp and turned off the overhead light, put on that record he finally found, lighting a candle and then another hand-rolled blunt. This time, Tom sat upright with you perpendicular to him, your legs swung over his lap. When he made a joke, he’d give your leg a little squeeze- and whether it was purposeful or not, you were filled with schoolgirl nerves every time it happened.

All the angsty barriers built up over years of a sibling-like rivalry had come down between the two of you as you smoked together; you suddenly found all of his bad jokes funny, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the cute way you scrunched your nose when you laughed. Every time you exchanged the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how his lips had just been on it a moment before yours. The night came and went, and you ended up falling asleep wrapped in his arms as he dozed off with his chin pressed to your forehead.

You both woke up at the same time in the dead of night, unsure of how late it had gotten. Still nestled into each other, you exchanged sleepy glances and no words, taking a moment to realize the position you had put yourselves in. 

Tom grazed your jawline with the back of his hand and lifted up your chin with his thumb. You let your eyes flutter shut and he kissed you in the dark for one long, everlasting moment. He pulled back from you hesitantly, leaving you breathless. Did that really just happen?

“We...we can’t,” he whispered, his words tinged with sadness.

Your heart broke for him just hearing his voice. “Why not?”

“You’re my best friend’s little sister, y/n.”

“And you’re my brother’s best friend. So what?” you were almost upset with yourself for being so vulnerable; so visibly pining after him.

“So, you’re off limits,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Says who?” 

That prompted Tom to meet your gaze again, and this time you took initiative, moving your face to his and taking his bottom lip in between yours. He took a sharp inhale as you kissed him and seemed to let all inhibition go as he put his arms around your back and pressed you into him hard, all of his pent up feelings for you suddenly flowing out of him. He kissed you in a needy, desperate kind of way, and you loved every second of it. You ran your fingers through his hair, traced his jawline, using your hands to feel every bit of him that you couldn’t before. The strangest part of it all was how natural it felt- like you had been practicing for this very moment all your lives. 

Your record had stopped spinning a while ago, the room now filled with just the breathy noises of your kisses, your contented hums and his tiny mews when you bit his lips. You were both still barely lucid, and after countless minutes of nothing but innocent kisses, you were on the brink of falling asleep again, serotonin whisking you away into dreams. Tom sighed into you, and clasped his hand around yours.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?” you felt your heart preeminently sink in your chest; like you should’ve known this was too good to last.

“I don’t want him to wake up and find us here,” he trailed off, staring down at your intertwined fingers fiddling together.

“So that’s it?” you tried to swallow back the sudden upwell of feelings inside you.

“No, no...” his eyes filled with some type of emotional strain you’d never seen. “I- I don’t want this to be it. But I don’t want things to get...messy.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t blame him, because you understood.

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” you whispered, very not ready to let his spot next to you grow cold.

“I don’t know...”

You looked up at him doe-eyed, cooing. “Please?”

He nodded, looking away from you before he completely caved and stayed there forever. “I’ll come back.”

He pressed one last kiss onto your lips and slowly got up, reluctantly letting go of your hand as he left your room. “Goodnight, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe, finally free of demeaning sarcasm, made your heart soar. 

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The door shut and you were left alone, the stillness of your room sticking out in sharp contrast with how quickly your heart was racing.

For the next few nights, Tom spent the evenings at your house with Harrison, waiting until he fell asleep to make his way next door to you. You’d smoke together, watch his movies—and in heated moments got a little handsy—but you never went past kissing, though you both desperately wanted to. It was too risky having your brother right next door; and you knew all too well how paper thin your walls were. But in those secretive hours after solar midnight, just being able to exist next to Tom and letting him hold you, you were the happiest you could ever remember being. The second night he left your room to let you sleep, he placed a light kiss on your forehead after he stood up that made the whole thing feel a little too...real.

The next day, you walked into the kitchen and found Harrison at the fridge. You were in a great mood for obvious reasons but couldn’t let it show. “Hey, got any fun plans today?”

He turned around after shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth. “Nope, got some admin stuff to do and gonna turn in early.”

“Oh, Tom isn’t coming over?”

“No, I told him to take a night off. He’s been smothering me, y’know?” he laughed and ate a few more grapes, but then turned to you, confused. “Since when do you care if he’s coming over?”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Just want to know if I need to stay out of the way,” you faked a laugh and blinked hard, hoping he wasn’t paying too much attention to your facial expressions.

“Uh, alright then. You two are always so fuckin’ weird around each other.” He seemed to feel that was a good way to end your exchange and walked out of the kitchen, throwing a grape at you.

You rolled your eyes at your brother, but then felt the sadness bubble up upon registering that you weren’t going to see Tom tonight. But really, how long did you think you could keep this up? The feelings you were developing for him scared you, you didn’t know what to make of them; all you knew was that your days suddenly seemed much grayer without him.

Nighttime came around, and you couldn’t sleep, so you did the unthinkable and sent Tom a text. Your thumb shook as you hit send, knowing that there was now tangible evidence of the connection you’d developed, that it wasn’t just some invention of your mind.

hey, are you awake?

T: yeah, can’t sleep. you?

obviously, i just texted you.

T: shut it.

A minute passed...

T: got room for one more over there?

You smiled like an idiot at your phone.

maybe.

Less than 10 minutes later, you heard the familiar wriggle of your doorknob. You don’t know why you even bothered locking it anymore.

“Hey you,” he whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Tom, you know you could’ve just knocked and I would’ve let you in- you don’t have to keep picking the lock.”

“Old habits die hard.”

You chuckled and stood up to greet him at your door as he unexpectedly wrapped you in an amazingly tight hug. He rested his chin on top of your head and started to sway your bodies back and forth. You laid your head on his chest and said hello to his heartbeat.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was almost hard to fall asleep without you,” he murmured, placing another one of those domestic kisses on your scalp.

“Well, now you don’t have to.” you smiled. He waddled you backwards to your bed and you sat down as your legs hit the bedframe, prompting Tom to fall onto you as you giggled into his body that was now covering your face.

“Okay, goodniiight,” he said, refusing to move. You poked at his sides making him jump, and he grabbed your waist and rolled you on top of him. You instinctively leaned down so your lips could clash together in the way you were so used to, trying hard to not confess that you’d completely fallen in love with him when you finally had the breath to speak. He pushed your hair to cascade to one side of his face, and nuzzled your nose with his own, closing his eyes and humming with a smile. “Mmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Just happy.”

You rested your sleepy head on his warm chest, and fell into a deep sleep, letting the steady drumming in his chest be a metronome to breathe to.

~

“Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.”

You woke up abruptly, the bright light of day blinding you as you tried to open your eyes to the string of expletives you’d just heard come from a familiar voice. Once you’d opened them, though, you wish you had kept them shut so you hadn’t seen who had spoken.

“Harrison?!”

He was standing in your room, peering at you with hands half covering his eyes when you realized that there was a sleeping Tom underneath you.

Your brother paced in a circle and exhaled loudly. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

You nudged Tom awake with your elbow and immediately rolled off of him, trying to hide the very obvious fact that you had slept together all night. You never let him stay the full night for this exact reason, but he had been so ridiculously happy holding you in his arms that he forgot to set an alarm to wake him at the crack of dawn and leave. You sat up straight in your bed, twisting your hair in your hands, bracing yourself for the inevitable tirade.

Tom picked his head up to see Harrison standing there with his arms crossed, and flopped his head back on the pillow. “Fuck. Hey, mate.” He tried to play it off like this was the most normal thing that could happen on a Thursday morning.

“Is this why you’re always such bumbling fools around one another? You’ve been, what, fucking each other when I’m not around?” Harrison looked like he wanted to throw up at the thought.

“Haz, no, it’s not like that,” you said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “It’s just been smoking together and cuddling, really, that’s it,” you were torn between wanting to console your brother and admitting to both him and Tom that this was more to you than that. But Tom already knew that, because it was for him, too.

Tom looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m so sorry, dude-”

Harrison walked out of the room, and the two of you were left sitting in your bed, worry filling your eyes. Only a moment later, your brother reappeared in the doorway.

“Look, you idiots, I don’t care that you’re snuggling off the clock—you’re my two favorite people in the world, and to see you together, honestly, it’s about damn time,” he started, making both your and Tom’s jaws fall slightly agape. You exchanged a knowing look. Wait, is he not mad? Wait, about damn time??

“But I wish you would’ve told me so we could all hang out together. I don’t appreciate the sneaking around.” 

You cocked your head at him, sending him a loving gaze for always just wanting what’s best for you. 

“I’m just mad you aren’t including me in your hotbox sessions, really.” He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his face back to make a wild expression.

All three of you started to chuckle out of sheer awkwardness and relief.

“Come here.” Harrison held his hands out and you both gave a mutual aww as you ran into your brother’s arms, squeezing him tight.

“I love you, big bro.”

“I know. Now I’m gonna get out of here before you start kissing in front of me, or worse,” he moaned, swiftly exiting your room. “This is gonna be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen...” you heard him say to himself as he left.

You turned to Tom, still shocked at how well that had gone considering what he was assuming would happen. You swallowed the butterflies that you’d welcomed as friends and stepped back to him still sitting on the bed, putting your arms around his neck.

“And you,” you started, swinging your legs over his lap to straddle him. “I have to confess something.”

Tom placed his hands back on your hips where they rightfully belonged and smiled at you. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t mind you calling me babe anymore.” you grinned at his face drop, obviously assuming that you were going to say something else.

“Oh, and why’s that?” he prodded.

You looked up and off to the side as you squeezed his shoulders. “Maybe because I’m just a tad bit in love with you,” you trailed off, stiff as a board at what he could possibly say next.

“Well, babe,” he put emphasis on the pet name, “That’s a relief, because I was worried I might be the only one falling here.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him, kneading his soft cheeks under your thumbs, whispering exactly what you knew would get him the most.

“Nope.”

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: five

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.2k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: alcohol, profanity, mentions of sex

author’s note: this chapter is v self-indulgent + fluffy but i hard a hard time getting it to flow while covering everything, so i’m sorry if it some parts seem kinda confusing. as always, thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

After another week of deliberation, you were no closer to determining if another relationship with Suna would be worth a shot. You didn’t hear from him or speak to him at practice, even after you rejoined the team on the court later in the week. He kept his distance, seemingly wary of talking to you after you left him at his kitchen table Saturday morning. 

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it. Based on his reaction Saturday, you guessed he was probably pissed at you, and you didn’t blame him. He had specifically warned you about regrets on Friday night, and you completely blew him off, just to tell him you regretted everything the next day. It was a dick move on your part, and you understood that. There weren’t any excuses; it was simply your drunk versus sober self warring against each other. 

Nonetheless, you still felt awful. You kept your distance; you didn’t want to further anger Suna with your presence. During practice, you kept to the sidelines, performing your duties with a calculating eye and absolute precision. 

Still, by the end of the week, you were exhausted. Besides the intense contemplation you were performing in your head, work was also draining. Sakusa Kiyoomi sprained his wrist (apparently, it happened quite often), Yaku Morisuke nearly tore his ACL (a devastating injury for a libero), and on top of it all, Hinata Shoyo somehow managed to break two toes, his pinky finger, and got a concussion. Top it all off with the fact that Tobio Kageyama was always hovering over Hinata when he was injured, questioning your every move, and you had a recipe for disaster (or at least extreme exhaustion). By the time Friday’s afternoon practice was finished, you were ready to fall asleep while standing up.

You said your goodbyes to the team, approved the weekend’s schedule with Iwaizumi (it was your turn to work Sunday’s practice match), and took the train home. After unlocking your apartment, you debated whether or not you should go straight to bed without dinner or suck it up and make something quick and easy. In the end, your desire to not wake up starving at five in the morning won, and you went to change before starting dinner. You threw on some old running shorts and Suna’s stolen jersey, which had become your new favorite sleep shirt (who could blame you, it was comfortable as hell). 

However, a quick search through your cabinets and fridge showed that you had almost no food, whatsoever. Not a big deal, you could just run to the convenience store down the street. 

So you did, with no makeup, dressed in sleep clothes, hair in a messy bun. 

Grabbing a basket, you made your way around the small store, ignoring the stares you received from other customers (you chose to believe it was just because of your tangled hair, but you knew it was because you were wearing a Japanese National Team jersey). You picked up some eggs and noodles for ramen, along with some broth. You were in the frozen food aisle, considering the merits of cookies and cream versus matcha ice cream, when someone tentatively called your name.

You spun around, cursing yourself for not at least putting on a jacket, when you began to curse yourself even more for wearing the stupid jersey. 

You came face to face with Suna Rintarou, who was considering you with a pained expression on his face. 

“Hey, Suna,” you switched your basket from one hip to the other, “what are you doing here?”

He held up the package in his hand. Jelly fruit sticks. “Had a craving.”

You inclined your head. “Cool.”

“What about you?”

You looked down at the basket. “Needed stuff to make ramen.”

He nodded, then looked off to the side before looking back at you. “Um, y/n, who’s jersey is that?”

Panicking, you laughed. “Just an extra I found.”

“Really? It has my name on the back.”

Shit. “Oh, well, must be a coincidence, I guess.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I also lost mine a few weeks ago.”

“Oh wow, that’s awful, I’m sorry.” You turned, trying to make an escape.

“Y/n.”

You looked back at Suna. “Yeah?”

“That’s my jersey.”

You laughed again, dread really becoming apparent now. “What? No way.”

Suna just continued looking at you. “Your bra is at my apartment.”

You quickly shook your head. “No-”

“So is your torn skirt.”

“No, tha-”

“We slept together.”

“Yeah, but only-”

“Twice.”

“No, def-”

“And you knew.”

You were really starting to panic, hands waving around, like that would somehow convince him. “No, no, no.”

Suna looked you in the eye. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, accepting defeat. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

---

After awkwardly paying for your food and an even more awkward walk back to your apartment, you and Suna were finally in private.

“D’ya want anything to drink? Water, soda, juice? Wine, something a little stronger? Vodka?”

Suna just sighed, shrugging out of his jacket. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

You poured him a glass of water and yourself a glass of wine, but not before taking a few shots of vodka. You were going to need it to get through this. You approached with the glasses, setting one down in front of Suna before curling up on the other end of the couch. 

“Nice place you got.”

“Thanks.” You sipped from your glass, waiting for Suna to make the first move. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to speak until you did, you spoke up. “I’m-”

“We-”

You laughed, setting down your glass. “You can go first.”

Suna took a deep breath. “We both have fucked up, in the past and now. I’ll admit it. The way I treated you in high school was shitty, and it’s taken me a long time to own up to it. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you back then. And I don’t know if it’s you getting back at me, or purely coincidental, but I’m kinda hurt that you hid this from me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, y/n, I talked about it in front of you. And you just kept quiet!” You silently watched as Suna took a sip of water. “I guess my main question is why. Why didn’t you say anything to me? Were you just hoping that I would never find out?”

You assessed Suna, allowing yourself a moment to think. “I didn’t hide it from you to get back at you. I’ve long since forgiven you for all of the shit in high school, and it wasn’t just you. I was immature and insecure back then, so for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I think I didn’t say anything because I was scared. I mean, I woke up that morning in your apartment, with no memory of the night before, and I hadn’t seen you in eight years. I had no clue what happened or why I was there. I didn’t know why you were in Tokyo, and honestly, I thought you would’ve been disgusted. We hadn’t spoken to each other in a long, long time. I didn’t want our first meeting after all those years to be an awkward morning-after. And about the jersey,” you laughed a little to yourself, “that was pure coincidence. I had no clue what I had taken until I got home, and I had no idea how to return it.”

Suna nodded, seemingly thinking something over before speaking. “I forgive you. I’m not even that upset about everything, to be honest. I think it just kind of hurts that you kept it from me. And I’ll admit, I was really bothered when you just left last Saturday. I don’t know how much of what you said Friday night is true, and I was a little drunk too, but I meant everything. I didn’t want you to have any regrets, and I don’t regret it.” He chuckled to himself, “I mean obviously, I wish we had slept together under different circumstances, and I wish that you didn’t regret it either, because it clearly made you upset.”

“I think it just took me by surprise, that was all. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t get drunk and sleep with you again, and I did exactly that. I was upset at myself, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” You made eye contact with him, hoping that your eyes could convey the emotions that your words could not. “For what it’s worth, I meant everything as well. I did miss you, all those years we were apart, but I hope you understand why I had to leave back then. We were tearing each other apart, constantly. I had to do the hard thing and get out before there was nothing left.” Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away. “I had to leave. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because I loved you,” your voice broke, “no, because I still love you, so much. For eight years, I focused on bettering myself, and I tried every single day to forget about you, but you were always on my mind. And I was terrified when I saw you again, fuck, I’m still terrified. But you’re my best friend, you always have been, and I love you, Rin.” You couldn’t stop the tears that were flowing now, after bearing your heart. You let Suna pull you in, and cried into his chest as he stroked your hair and whispered calming words. When the tears finally stopped, you remained tucked into Suna, your head underneath his chin. 

“I never stopped thinking about you, or loving you.” Now Suna was the one who sounded close to tears. “You can ask ‘Tsumu. I always asked him for updates on you. I remember, when I got my National Team letter, the first thing I did was ask ‘Tsumu if you’d be a trainer here. I kept up with you, and I knew you had just completed your training with another team. So I knew you were gonna be here, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, this was my chance. Our chance to fix the whole ‘right person, wrong time’ thing we had. ‘Cause that’s what I’m convinced it was. We just didn’t know how to balance each other out yet or how to be in a real relationship yet. We were still kids, learning about ourselves and the world. When you left, I was determined to not make it the last time I ever saw you. I knew you had to leave, had to find your place in the world, without me. I never blamed you. You did the hard part by leaving. What you didn’t know, though,” Suna hugged you a little closer, “is that I was always there, right next to you, cheering you on.” Now the both of you were crying. “I want to fix things with you, make things right. If there’s anything I learned last Friday,” Suna gave a wet laugh, “it’s that we can still talk to each other, and we can do it better than we ever did. I want to be with you, again. I want there to be an us, again.”

You sat up a little, putting some space between the two of you. This, you weren’t so sure about. You looked to the side, trying to avoid Suna’s pleading eye contact. “Rin,” you looked back up at him, “you know I love you. You know I missed you so, so much. But I just need a little bit more time. And I’m sorry to even ask you-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He held you close as you began crying again. “I understand, I do. I’ll wait, as long as you need me too, I’ll wait for you. Just promise me that you’ll let me know when you’re ready.”

You nodded against his chest. “I promise, Rintarou. Thank you.”

You stayed there, head on his chest, just listening to his heartbeat. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. It was nice to get everything off of your chest, to figure out where the both of you stood with each other. It was nice to know that you would have the time and space to sort your head out, to fully work out if a relationship with Suna was a good idea or not. There were still so many aspects of your high school relationship that you had pushed to the side years ago, and you needed to sort through it. You needed to separate that Suna from this Suna, the old you from the present you. You needed time to be in a better mental state, one where you could give him your all. 

But you knew, no matter how much time it took, Suna would be waiting for you. 

---

When Suna finally left your apartment, it was hours and a teary goodbye later. You promised to keep in touch, and he promised to give you time and space. 

You went to bed feeling significantly lighter, dreaming about a future where you could fall asleep on Suna’s chest every single night. 

taglist: @sunasexual @call-me-lulu​ @ntimacy​ @circleglasses​ @porcolie​ @keikotaro 

[hematomes]

genshin impact: the neverending suffering of artifacts’ farming

hi, don’t forget to drink water, do you daily commissions in genshin and get your daily bonus on the mihoyo lab website thingy

so today, since all... idk, 12 of you seemingly asked for it, i’ll be rambling about genshin’s artifacts and how to boost your character’s performance with them. get ready for broken english and me going on and on about stats (but not too much bc i hate maths). let’s goooo

quick disclaimer before we begin: this is just the opinion of one (1) single player. i just enjoy the strategy a lot and the fact that this forsaken game forces me to think long and hard about stats. at the end of the day, if you’re satisfied with your DMG, you don’t have to listen to me.

finally, if you want personalised help in building a specific characters, i’ve been studying most of them (especially 4* since I have all of them zkzezek) so you can DM me anytime! or even go with the asks if you want to remain anon, i don’t mind. i’m happy to help anyone!!

table of contents

I. data about the different artifacts (stats when maxed out, info)

II. ideal stats for each type of character

1. main DPS

2. sub/burst DPS

3. healers and tanks

III. CRIT rate/DMG and the 1:2 ratio

I. data about the different artifacts

so, first, a little bit of info/data about the artifacts!

you’ll get an added substat at lvl 4, then substats will improve every 4 levels. one random substat improves, so you’ll have to pray and cross your fingers

the substats cannot be the same as the main stat

5* artifacts go up to lvl 20, 4* to lvl 16 and 3* to lvl 12

the percentage bonus is added on your character’s base stats

the flower and the plume’s main stats are always HP flat and ATK flat. focus on their substats to pick the best

added bonus: every set of artifact has extra lore in the archive. for example, eula’s set (pale flame) has incredible lore about the fatui harbingers and has dangerously increased my need to see scaramouche again

and now, the maxed out stats of artifacts. i’ll go over 5*, 4* and 3* for new players!! baby genshin players are literally the best idc.

flower: 3* goes up to 1,893, 4* to 3,571 and 5* to 4,780

plume: 3* goes up to 123, 4* to 232 and 5* to 311

HP%, ATK%, DEF%, elem DMG bonus%: 3* goes up to 23.1%, 4* to 34.8% and 5* to 46.6%

phys DMG bonus%: 3* goes up to 28.8%, 4* to 43.5% and 5* to 58.3%

EM: 3* goes up to 92, 4* to 139 and 5* to 187

ER%: 3* goes up to 25.8%, 4* to 38.7% and 5* to 51.8%

CRIT rate%: 3* goes up to 15.4%, 4* to 23.2% and 5* to 31.1%

CRIT DMG%: 3* goes up to 30.8%, 4* to 46.4% and 5* to 62.2%

healing bonus%: 3* goes up to 17.2%, 4* to 26.8% and 5* to 35.9%

a. sands of eon/timepiece

so the sands of eon aka the timepiece is quite decisive for the type of character you’ll be doing: either a main DPS or a support (tank/healer/sub DPS). as such, it has similar drop rates & maxed out levels on the big 3 stats: HP, ATK and DEF. however, when building a support like a sub DPS or a healer that relies on their ult (like diona for example), you’ll need energy recharge (ER), which is a lot rarer. elemental mastery (EM) isn’t generally recommanded as a main stat, it’s best to find it in sub stats. DEF% is also not a good option unless it’s for specific characters that rely on their defense, like albedo or noelle.

basically, a main DPS will most likely have a ATK% timepiece, while a support would need an ER%. that being said, supports like xiangling must also have a good chunk of elemental mastery because her ult can deal insane amount of damage with elemental reactions. you’ll need to balance both ; for example, a weapon with elemental mastery (like dragonbane) and a ER% timepiece, or good EM/ER substats etc.

b. goblet of eonothem

the goblet is where you’ll typically get your elemental/physical DMG bonus. it’s the only artifact that gives this bonus at all (it’s not found as substats). you can also drop EM, ATK%, HP% and DEF%.

there’re little characters that would need phys DMG. if you’re building a physical DPS, consider their base ATK and the stats of their normal/charged attacks. albedo, for example, would not be your typical phys DPS. the main phys DPS that exists is razor, and now there’s also eula; razor is an especially good physical DPS bc he gets a phys bonus either way so at lvl 80 + a lvl 20 goblet you go up to 105% phys DMG bonus. however, electro DPS is also a nice option! claymores tend to be very good physical DPS because their normal attacks easily go over 100% of their ATK, but i heard that fischl and xiangling are viable as well. all in all, anyone can be a physical DPS, but some of them are better off as elemental DPS. you do you, though!

c. circlet of logos/hat

the hat is crucial, because it’s where you’ll get your main CRIT rate/DMG. CRIT is super important, especially with your DPS; i’ll talk more about the best way to build CRIT in a bit, but just know that the main theory is building the 1:2 ratio: 50% CRIT rate and 100% CRIT DMG.

you might also know that there’s the healing bonus, needed for... healers. like crit rate/dmg, you’ll only find the healing bonus on the hats.

II. ideal stats for each type of character

now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about the ideal stats for each type (main DPS, sub/burst DPS, healers, tanks).

1. main DPS

there’re a lot of good main DPS characters in genshin. mine are xiao, yanfei, razor and hu tao, for example. there’s also childe, ganyu, ningguang... and usually you’ll build them the same way (with exceptions). as such, your goal would be at least 1.5k ATK% (unless your DMG depends on something else, like hu tao and how it relies on her HP%), 50% CRIT rate and at least 100% CRIT DMG.

your substats priorities would be: CRIT rate/DMG > ATK% > EM (unless it’s a physical DPS) > ER%. there’s always exceptions, like hu tao once again (i talk a lot about her but im pissed bc i can’t drop a good HP% timepiece).

as such, your timepiece will generally be on ATK%, with CRIT rate/DMG subs. elemental mastery is an added bonus on characters like hu tao, yanfei, etc. DEF% and HP% are generally secondary (except for hu tao because, as i said, her DMG relies on her max HP & her burst on her health bar status), so focus on the big 3. flat stats (no percentage) aren’t very good either, but better than nothing.

your goblet will be either on ATK% or on elemental/phys DMG bonus%. the easiest way when you’re building a set is to leave the goblet as your broken set (aka the 5th piece with no set bonus), since the drop rates on elem/phys goblets are very low.

your hat will be on CRIT rate/DMG, depending on which one you need. ATK% is a viable alternative, but crit is really good. however, if you’re just starting to build, you can use a temporary ATK% hat.

2. sub/burst DPS

support DPS are very interesting characters to build and play. unlike DPS who focus on DMG/ATK/etc, this time you’ll have to balance energy recharge% and elemental mastery. the substats are also very important and should be focusing on ATK%, EM and ER%.

when building a support, you need to keep in mind that they’ll be buffing your main DPS’ damages, so they rely a lot on elemental reactions. which is why your substats priority becomes ER% > EM > ATK%. CRIT is always good but not as important, especially if you have around 200 EM and your main DPS is already past 50% rate/100% DMG.

your timepiece should be on ER%. with a sub DPS that relies on their burst, the ideal ER% is around 150%, especially if they need a lot of energy to build their burst. xingqiu, for example, is better around 170%, but chongyun would be fine at 150%. since the timepiece is the only artifact with the ER% bonus, it’s kinda crucial.

your goblet needs to be either on elemental DMG bonus% (not physical!) or ATK%. EM can be an alternative, especially if it helps you reach +50% on elemental reaction DMG. otherwise, elemental DMG bonus% is the safest option.

your hat should be on EM or ATK%. EM is better because it’s super rare and really helpful for elemental reactions so, if you drop one with good substats go for it.

3. healers and tanks

they are absolutely vital in dungeons like the abyss thingy, because you can’t use food so you’ll need to heal with characters. currently we have qiqi, jean, zhongli if you have his c6 (god), diona, bennett, barbara (free) and noelle (free). there is two type of healers: those who only heal on their ult, like jean, bennett and diona (moreover, bennett only heals 75% but he gives an ATK% bonus so he’s still incredible), and those who heal with their elemental skill like barbara, c6 zhongli, qiqi and noelle. the first type will need a focus on their ER% while the second on HP% (except qiqi, it’s on her ATK%). zhongli in particular needs as much HP% as you can because at c0 he’s a tank & his shield is the best of the game. it relies on his HP%, so aim for around 30k at lvl 80. if you can go higher, even better! and if you want a run-down of my stuff for zhongli i can too, mine is at 49k HP and his shield is at lvl 10, so he can basically shield me from anything. anyway.

healers that rely on their ult

your timepiece will need to be on ER%. aim for at least around 150% energy recharge, maybe more depending on how much energy their ult needs. ideal substats would be HP%, the rest isn’t that important.

your goblet has to be on HP%. if you can get an ER% sub it’s even better.

your hat, in healing bonus%. same thing, if you can get an HP% and/or ER%, even better.

healers that don’t rely on their ult

this time, the focus would be on HP%, but ER% is always important so look for it in substats. same hat.

exceptions: qiqi, noelle

qiqi’s heal is based on ATK. her e is based on her ATK but the ult is based on the character that deals the DMG. meaning if qiqi has ult and the opponent is marked with a talisman, and if your character deals like a 1k DMG, they’ll get 1k HP. so switch your timepiece and goblet to ATK%, and keep your hat on healing bonus%.

noelle, however, relies on her DEF. same thing than qiqi, switch timepiece and goblet to DEF%. noelle as a healer/tank doesn’t have a very useful ult, but if you got lucky and have ATK% ou CRIT rate/DMG% substats, see if you can up her ER%!

III. CRIT rate/DMG and the 1:2 ratio

if you’ve done some research on the ideal crit rate/dmg, you might have heard of something called the 1:2 ratio. it basically means that you need to have half as much CRIT rate% as you have CRIT DMG%. the starter would be 50% rate & 100% DMG but, in my opinion it’s not really enough if you’re around AR 45 or aiming to clear the last stages of the abyss spirals. 50% CRIT rate is enough but if you can up your CRIT DMG% to like 125/150% it’d probably be the best. i got super lucky with my xiao and went up to 200% CRIT DMG, but it’s because he already has a CRIT rate bonus as you level him up so it wasn’t my priority.

anyway, i’ve been playing with around 50% CRIT rate on my DPS (except xiao bc he also has the CRIT rate polearm + his lvl bonus) and frankly it’s been enough for now. dealt a 98k with the hutao & mona ults combo, hu tao around 50% rate & 150% DMG while mona was at 30%/150%. naturally, the higher your CRIT rate, the better, but the 1:2 ratio is just a good start. don’t obsess over it!

conclusion

well, this was fun. now, it’s your turn: if you have questions or you disagree with something i said (very plausible, i might have said a lot of dumb stuff and i could be a terrible player lol), do tell! keep it polite though, i don’t want to start a fight but i’m always interested in other players’ experience. i’ll say it again: drink water. mwah

[fandomtookoverlife]

Spiral

Pairing: Hotch x fem!reader 

Summary: you received some life-changing news the day before, now you’re trying to keep focus and get a confession out of an unsub. Keeping focus has never been so hard, with your mind spinning and Hotch sending you further down the rabbit hole. Somehow things get even worse when the psychic unsub announces your news for all to hear. 

Note:  italics are reader thoughts 

Warning: anxiety/panic attack, break down, swearing 

Word count: 1.7k

Category: angst(?) 

A/N: this is not based on the cm with a psychic. Def channelling my own breakdowns while writing this, I hope it comes off how I intended.

I might do a second part where we learn of Hotch’s and reader’s relationship and we then jump to his reaction

Back story: in my mind the reader and Hotch like each other fucked, it became awkward and here we are

Other blog: @mac99martin

Masterlist  

---

Fuck psychics, sitting there all-knowing when everyone knows they’re full of shit, you don’t like psychics on normal days, when they’re unsubs, you hate them even more. Fuck psychics. 

Ok maybe your new found hate for psychics isn’t totally about them, (although the one in front of you definitely plays a part in it) you may have found out some very stressful, very shocking, life-altering news yesterday and you also may not be dealing with it very well. And by not dealing with it well, you mean not dealing with it at all. You've been avoiding and ignoring it, the rational part of your brain is telling you that this is not something you can ignore, but the other part of your brain is absolutely terrified and is using the case as an excuse not to deal with it. And you are using your dislike for psychics as an outlet for your emotions, is it right? No. is it healthy? No. but it’s helping and you’re freaking out so what are you going to do? 

Speaking of not helping, Hotch is with the unsub now. Not only is he not getting anywhere with her, but he is also so horribly distracting. You seriously need to focus but looking at him, all it’s doing is sending you into a spiral. All you want to do is put this unsub behind bars but your mind is fighting with itself: one part actively fighting to keep your brain far away from the topic that will remain nameless and unthought about. The other going in circles of panic and anxiety and terror. The unsub is helping the first, she’s a handy distraction. Hotch is helping the latter, you so much catch a glimpse of him and you revert into the frenzy that is your mind. Fuck, this fucking sucks, ok come on can’t focus on that, you can’t cry or stop breathing that can wait till later, now you need to focus. 

And that’s where the loop starts all over again: Focus-Hotch-Spiral-Focus-Hotch-Spiral...

-Focus You’re so lost in the war going on in your mind you completely lose all sense of reality only noticing that Hotch is not only no longer in the integration room when he calls your name. 

You try your best to snap out of it and control your breathing, but looking at Hotch, Hotch looking at you, you feel like you're shaking while your body remains perfectly still, your heart is pounding and you stop breathing. Okokok-breathe, focus, what’s going on right now. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Ok not bad that sounded pretty normal if you do say so yourself. 

“I asked what you thought.” His voice was stern and annoyed but his face looked worried. 

Snap. The. Fuck. Out. Of. It. “Oh um,” wait who’s said what, shit I really should have been paying attention. “Well clearly she wasn’t responding to you,” ok pretty good, actually now that you think about it she wasn’t responding to any of the male officers when they arrested her, “and she didn’t respond to the male officer earlier, anytime she talks to a man she becomes confident and flirtatious” Flirting: Hotch-Spiral, Focus “we should see how she reacts to a woman.” 

Ok, so you had your ups and downs but all in all that went pretty well. You avert your eyes from Hotch’s, focus focus focus focus… “Ok you’re in.” 

“Wh- me?” 

“Yes… you.” 

You know what? this can be good, small room, nothing to focus on except the case, no Hotch, ya I can do this. You give a nod, pick up your file and walk into the room. 

“Hello Ms.Shaw, I’m ssa Y/N Y/L/N.” you look down at your file making a show out of opening it while also keeping an eye on her. 

When Hotch entered earlier, doing something similar, she straightened her back and leaned forward, making a show out of her breasts, she half smirked and half-smiled when she looked up at him. 

When you introduce yourself she sat back in her seat, crossed her arms and glared at you. Unlike when she saw Hotch, she looked very displeased with you. 

You sat down across from her and gave her a smile, she narrowed her eyes and furthered her glare towards you. She eyes you up and down for a second before practically sneering at you, “what do you want” 

“I just want to talk” you put simply 

Maintaining eye contact she leaned forward “Bet you do” 

At this point, with Hotch, she had a smile on her face, enthusiastic to speak with him. Right now, she’s almost challenging you, she’s even getting defensive. 

“Probably want to talk about those murders you think I did” 

“The murders you did do” you respond all while having a sweet smile on your face. Won’t that just piss her off, and it does. 

She just hums in response, her face stone cold, staring you up and down, and then, she smiles, “I think we should talk about you.” She says it almost sweetly but you can tell that there’s mischief behind it. 

“Oh?” 

“Ya, you’ve been… busy lately…” 

you really couldn’t guess where she was going with this at this point, nowhere good so, “as have you” you retort back. 

“Hmm, but in different ways,” she smirks 

Hell ya in different ways, I’ve been working my ass off and you’ve been murdering people. 

“See I’ve been busy working, as a psychic, I use my power to help people, it’s very time-consuming-” 

Right power, helping, you don’t have and you don’t do shit 

“While you,” she looks you up and down again, “have been getting a very different sort of busy, haven’t you?” 

….wh- what is she- what is she even implying right now?

Busy like- and that’s when you’re reminded of your… state. Remembering hits you like a ton of bricks, solely because you had forgotten, the thought has your mind clouded again and your anxiety spiking. 

You’re back down a spiral, get back on topic this isn’t the time, “I’m not sure what you're getting at.” Breathe, “Oh come on, you know,” and she looks down again, if the table wasn’t in the way, you would say that she’s looking at your stomach, no no she’s not why would she- how could she- your mind is biased, it was already thinking about that and it jumped to conclusions, get back on topic. You can’t be thinking about this now. -focus. 

She leans in but doesn’t lower her voice, glancing up at the mirror, she’s very aware that people are listening in, and she doesn’t mind, “you’re pregnant” 

Wtfwtfwtfwtf no no no no, how could she possibly know that, you just found out, it’s not like your showing, she can’t know, how the fuck did she know that? 

She can see it all over your face, your mind is jumbled with thoughts again and you’re freaking out. 

She just sat back and smiled watching you break down, but she wasn’t done yet. 

The people behind the mirror couldn’t see your face to see how bad you’re freaking out, that mixed with their own shock, they weren’t helping, not that they nor you would know how they would help. 

“You looked surprised that I know that, you doubt my skills” skills- what- psychic- whatever 

“Or maybe you’re just in shock, you just found out recently right,” she clicks her tongue, “must be quite the surprise.” You feel so overwhelmed, this was supposed to get you away from all of that, your spiralling again, unable to pull yourself out of your break down that has been going on since you found out. Once again just the thought, the reminder, has you feeling like you can’t breathe, like you're going to be sick, like your head is spinning. “I can see this is a lot for you, but I think you’re forgetting one thing,” 

Spiral-spiral-spiral forgetting? Wha- wh- spiral-spiral-spiral-Hotch 

Your heart stops, you look her dead in the eye, you can see it, the mischief, she knows, she opens her mouth to say something- “SHUT UP” you stand up and yell at her. You’re panicked and desperate,

Your outburst shocks everyone behind the mirror, but it only makes her smile wider, “what you don’t want everyone to know?” 

“STOP” your losing it 

“Or you don’t want him to know?” 

(ok fine, maybe she is psychic)

“SHUT UP” you scream, your voice is cracking and your breaking 

“What you don’t want everyone to know your pregnant and that one of them got you-”

“STOP!” You slam your hand on the table and your eyes are watering. 

Morgan busts through the door, taking you into his arms and steering you out of the interrogation room and into the viewing room, only giving the unsub a glance as he slams the door behind him. 

Once you are in the viewing room you turn away from your team, your eyes still glossy, you’re shaking, you can barely breathe, that panic attack-mental breakdown you’ve been putting off, it’s finally catching up to you, and your feeling every second of the overwhelming… you don’t even know, just everything, and still trying to hold it in as you hyperventilate and remember the people around you. 

You do your best to hold in your emotions for a little longer as you go to leave the room, away from people. You hear Derek’s voice, “how much of that was true?” 

One more second one more second one more second, 

In out, in out, in out, “every word” is all you get out before you lose it and you basically run away. 

“Shittt,” the event weighs heavy on the team’s mind as they make sense of what just happened, “well, it wasn’t me.” Morgan, trying to lighten the mood best he can 

The team looks around the room “Well it certainly wasn’t me” Rossi horrified at what has just played out in front of him 

Spence's face goes absolutely red when Derek looks at him; he doesn’t have to say anything because as hotch speed walks out of the room, it is very clear who the father is. 

“Shitttt” 

---

Tags: @spencers-renaissance @averyhotchner

(I’ll tag anyone in part 2 who asks for it in the comments😘😘)

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

Tell me more about this fake relationship au I’m interested 👀

I AM GLAD YOU ASKED

So its not all that thought out right now, because I thought it up last night. I'll make a whole post on it when I'm done because it has become clear to me that this is about to become one of my AUs (aka way to thought out and researched). So you're about to get what my brain decided to spit ball at me last night. It was basically 3 dif scenarios. One was time travel of all things 🤷‍♀️

So the root of all these is that Jacques did something (again) that upset a lot of people, and people are huddled up in a group (in the training room? break room?) talking about it. Someone mentions how it doesnt matter what anyone does, it doesnt really effect the guy personally. Marrow says something along the lines of "I wish we could hurt him personally, just once, just to finally get a hit in" (is he allowed to say that on the job? idk but its fanfic so). And either Weiss or Winter suggests the fake dating/marriage idea. I like to think Winter has a lot of personality inside her, she just only expresses anger/irritation outwardly, which Marrow will discover through this journey 😏. So does she like the idea of facing her dad when he's mad? Its canon that she doesnt but Weiss seems to enjoy making him mad when she's not there to get yelled at so I'm transferring that to Winter and dialing it up a bit. So basically Marrow wants to take a potshot at either Jacques or just Atlas elite society in general and Winter is always down for pissing off her dad.

Now heres where things get shifty. Right now Im only coming up with Married For Years dynamic or Oh Shit This Is Serious level of situation which doesnt quite work with the prank vibes this began as. Like Winter and Marrow being forced to have dinner with her parents and stuff after they "eloped", which is just angst, and i was going for Winter and Marrow playing into whatever crazy thing the tabloids are saying. And like by doing this (real or fake) they could be breaking a lot of fraternization rules, turning a fake scandal into a real one. Granted the media, and therefore everyone Jacques has to talk to at functions, cares more about a Schnee dating a faunus. Winter and Ironwood are pretty tight so I dont think either would loose their job. They might try to get Ironwood to officiate their wedding, in a version where they go all in, and he has to say no because if he does that he will officially burn every bridge he has with Jacques and the military kinda needs his dust.

so basically i gotta decide if its gonna be funny, and in turn how much i can stretch their personalities before they get OOC, or it would be serious, with Winter and Marrow trying to keep this up when they dont actually know much about each other and the Ace Ops making unhelpful commentary (*cough* referring to Winter by names Marrow now knows Winter hates, like "cold-hearted" *cough*). I dont see it as "we were drunk and in Vegas and thought it was a funny idea" type thing but also that would be HILARIOUS and i just cant take it off the table yet. Im also having trouble coming up with why Marrow would agree to this, because someone would def try to talk him out of it and a lot is on the line for a prank

as for the time travel one (it was actually this first one that popped into my head and i dont even like that trope, and now its kinda my fav option for this) it was Winter (and Marrow?) ending up back in time during V7 or before era, and present!Marrow seeing a whole nother side of her when she slips and acts like this version of him is her husband, and the Ace Ops actually seeing her express emotion since future!Marrow has managed to pull some personality into her external expressions. And the whole reason they are happily married never wouldve happened if they hadnt gotten married to piss off Jacques. Also Ice Queen Schnee glaring at everyone but being soft around her fun guy husband. Like she's staring daggers at Harriet while Marrow hands her a ice pack and sits next to her on the couch before putting his arm around her and she leans in. Maybe the fight with Cinder left her with lasting injuries (it prob did. I mean she was in a exoskeleton just to walk in V8) and in the following year Marrow got hurt too, so Ruby is over in the corner calling them "old" when they start complaining about how the Atlas cold is making their bodies hurt and "this is why we moved to [insert warm location here]"

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Hoodie Headcanons

Pairings: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: None, just more fluff from me!

Characters: Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou, Amajiki, Kirishima

A/N: I highly recommend listening to Jacob Sartorius’s Sweatshirt song while reading ;)

                   ꒰ෆ❛ั ु▿❛ั ु꒱            ٩꒰• ε •꒱۶

Midoriya:

● I wanna start this off by saying that Midoriya unironically likes that song ^^^. There's nothing I can do, it's canon.

● That said, he's super chill about you stealing his clothes

● Already owns a crap ton of hoodies and loose t-shirts, so you have quite the number to choose from

● Understands completely how you like the way they smell

● It was initially his idea to offer you his hoodie one evening when you looked cold

● After you put it on, he just couldn't stop staring at you

● You were so cute !!! and wearing his hoodie !!!

● 100% a yes from him when you asked to borrow it for a while longer

● And any other time you so happened to want to snatch one

● Wearing some of his clothing is def a cuddle turn on

● Your relationship in general is just soft vibes and fuzzy sweetness, but Izu will get nearly twice as tender curled up next to you in his hoodie

● A forehead and cheek kiss simp all the way, just smothering your face in little pecks

● Fall and winter only gain more appreciation from him, since it's perfect sweater weather and time to share warmth any way he could think of with his cutie (that's you (*~‿~))

● Is also down to see you in his t-shirts when it gets a little warmer

● It makes him feel some sort of way when he sees you in one of his old All Might tees

● A good way, mind you

● Maybe it's the nostalgia of the shirt seen on his favorite person

● Literally two of his top three favorite people right there in front of him for him to hold (but only one in the flesh. Both would be weird)

____________

Bakugou:

● We all know Baku's fashion sense is on point

● A lot of his clothes aren't for comfort, but he does have some baggy tees to sleep in

● Actually, not anymore

● Because they're all gone

● He feels like he's going crazy, trying to figure out how he's misplaced so many shirts

● Until one day when he catches you in the act, rummaging through his closet for another t-shirt to add to your collection

● "So that's why I haven't been able to find any of my clothes!"

● His voice makes you jump, whipping around to meet his triumphant expression

● So he wasn't just a dumbass who couldn't keep track of his own pajamas. That was a relief

● But then . . . you'd taken his stuff, and acted like he was crazy when he'd mentioned it missing in passing

● Now he's a little pissed

Your back was to his closet, guiltily holding a black t-shirt. "Katsuki, I—"

"Where's the rest of them?"

"Huh?"

"I know what you've been up to. What have you been doing with my clothes?"

You sheepishly lead him to your room, opening a drawer in your dresser where you'd been storing your stolen goods.

Katsuki looks into the nearly full drawer, then back at you, and you can't help but notice a hint of respect flickering on his features.

"You're pretty good," he admits, putting a hand in the drawer and pulling a shirt out at random. "I didn't even realize I was missing this many."

"I was going to give them back," you try to explain, now attempting to hide your face with your hair, "but they still kinda smelled like you, and they're so comfortable to sleep in—"

"Oh, so that's what you do with them." Katsuki's frown deepened, letting the shirt fall back into the pile. "Why don't you just come see me?"

You averted your eyes, shrugging. "I don't know. You just go to bed so early and sometimes I have to stay up and study but I still miss you, so having your stuff is really nice because it's like . . . you're there . . . ."

Katsuki sighed and pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'm here for you, babe. You don't need a piece of cloth when you can just ask."

"But what about when you're not here?"

He paused, realizing you had a point. "You can keep some," he finally grumbled. "But for heaven's sake, not so many! I'm running out of things to wear. If you need another one, tell me."

"Thank you." You hugged him back and finally watched as he lugged an armful of t-shirts out of your room and back to his.

● Eventually Bakugou realized that seeing you wearing one of his shirts oddly boosted his ego; especially seeing you so often, now that he knows your secret, more than happy to wear his clothing while the two of you hung out together

● He starts to insist that you wear some of his t-shirts around the common areas, letting people see you in them

● But before you get the chance, he makes sure to wear it frequently so everyone knows it's his, and then gives it to you to wear so everyone knows you're also his. It's just one of his pride things

● You soon start to expand from just shirts, eyeing the singular hoodie at the back of his closet

● He doesn't think it really fits his vibe, only having worn it alone in the confines of his own room when he was cold

● You insist that you want it, though, so he grumbles and starts wearing it in secret so it can smell like him for you

● He has to admit you're freakishly adorable in it, even though it's not really oversized or anything

● This prompts him to wear it more often, just not in front of anyone other than you

● You finally buy him another hoodie for his birthday, although it's more of a gift for yourself than him

●And now we move on to: Bakugou's baggy pants

● Maybe our favorite explosive blond boy likes his tops to be a little more put together

● But dang, do he got those loose-as-heck pants

● You steal them out of spite mostly, just to see his reaction to your hips filling out his pants

● Boy does he like it

____________

Todoroki:

● "Why are you taking my clothes? Do you not have enough of your own?"

● Doesn't really own hoodies, per se, but definitely has a steady supply of jumpers, knits, and turtlenecks

● Or, he used to

● Until you came along

● Is kinda confused at first, completely baffled at where all his clothes were going

● Then he finally caught you, recognizing one of his sweaters on you while you made a quick trip to the kitchen for tea

● Legitimately does not know why you'd take it, surprised that you'd steal from him

● You hastily explain that it's normal, and that you only do it so you can have something that smells like him for when he's not around

● After that, he kind of understands

● Took you shopping with him once, just to see what you liked. He thought he'd be buying you some sweaters of your own, but instead ended up purchasing his first oversized hoodie (with a few extras to share) (who wants a quick Buying Hoodies with Shouto drabble?)

● Now you're both obsessed with the hoodies, Shouto being surprised at how comfortable they are

● Loves showing up for cuddle sessions in a hoodie, pulling you close to him so you sink into the soft fabric

● 100% Shouto's new favorite clothing item

____________

Shinsou:

● It started out when you took a nap together for the first time at his house

● You'd asked to borrow one of his larger shirts to sleep in, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the top you had worn that day (I for one cannot sleep in my day clothes. I don't know why, it just feels wrong. Does anyone else feel like that too?)

● He let you wear a large, gray tee, which was so big on you it fell around your thighs

● He thought you looked so cute in it, especially since it mostly covered your shorts

● Thus began your obsession with wearing his clothes whenever possible

● Pajamas, t-shirts, and hoodies are your prime targets

● Totally wear them to bed whenever you're not sleeping with him (as in sharing a bed, not that)

● The scent makes it feel like he's right there with you

● Shinsou noticed immediately what you were doing but never made any moves to stop you, thinking it was cute

● Absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes

● You look so cute but also it's low key hot, jus sayin 👀

● I've briefly mentioned this before, I think, but 'Toshi has some nice pajamas

● Nothing over the top expensive or anything, no

● I'm talking peak COMFY

● Ya ever see the pants with fleece lining and stuff?

● Mmm *chef kiss* do he have a pair of those fo sure

● Also, many with cat themes!

● Seeing you in his purple cat PJ pants only solidifies further for him that you're his Kitty

____________

Amajiki:

● Gets kinda flustered but at the same time is super flattered

● You actually ask to 'borrow' one of his sweaters, and he lets you, blushing as he watches you slide it over your head

● You're so frinking cute in it, and he feels this almost foreign sense of possessiveness wash over him because you're there and you're adorable and you're in his sweater and all of you is his

● Spontaneously hugs you and is even brave enough to press a few little kisses all over your face

● You wearing his sweaters and hoodies becomes a regular thing; asking every few weeks for a replacement top and him obliging, letting you pick something from his closet

● This doesn't stop you from occasionally stealing his clothes anyway, him sometimes catching you in one of his jumpers and briefly wondering if he'd ever actually seen you choose that particular one before shrugging and brushing it off

● He never fails to provide you with extras whenever you have to be apart for whatever reason, trying to help so you don't have to miss him so much

● Is 200% more inclined to hug you when you're wearing them. You just look so soft and warm, which he quickly finds out for himself that you are

● Definitely has thought about trying on one of your hoodies, but is a little too scared to ask

____________

KiriBaku:

● You alternate between wearing Bakugou's hoodie with Kirishima's sweats and then vice versa

● Neither of them can handle how cute you look practically drowning in hoodies that they bought oversized for them

● They're just that much bigger on you, especially Kirishima's since he's more willing to buy baggier hoodies than Bakugou

● If either one of them catches you wearing their clothes, they will literally just flop on top of you, overwhelmed by how much they want to hug you

● Even Bakugou will drop what he's doing just to go give you a hug, pulling you onto his lap for a minute and giving you a sweet kiss

● Eijirou will straight-up full-on tackle you, peppering kisses all over your face while he hugs you close to him

● If it's both of them at once though, get ready

● An impromptu cuddle sesh is guaranteed, most likely starting with Kirishima picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom while Bakugou follows close behind, ready to jump into bed with you

● Like I said way up top, Bakugou wasn't super into hoodies at first, but once you start stealing Kirishima's along with the one or two he does have, he starts buying and wearing them for the sole purpose of seeing you add them to your collection

● Bakugou's are better for going out in since they tend to fit you a little better, him opting to buy hoodies a little closer to his size

● Kirishima's are great for hanging out around the house, snuggling into the excess fabric and inhaling his scent while you wait for him to get home

● The two of them eventually start to just wear each other's hoodies interchangeably too, to the point of nobody really knowing who's hoodie is who's anymore

● E: "I'm pretty sure you got me this one for my birthday."

● K: "No, I bought it for myself, and then you decided to steal it on your birthday."

● Before all the confusion, though, you would rotate, having little hoodie parties where both you and Bakugou would wear one of Kirishima's hoodies while Kirishima wore one of Bakugou's

● Bonus: Kirishima has 100% decided to repay the whole clothing stealing thing and took your leggings, wearing them around the house just waiting for one of you to notice

● "Are those my leggings?"

● "Yeah."

● "What the hell."

● You just roll your eyes and go back to what you were doing

● Not ten minutes later, from another room—

● "EJIROU, WHAT THE FUCK!"

● "What?"

                  ꒰ෆ❛ั ु▿❛ั ु꒱            ٩꒰• ε •꒱۶

Author's Note:

I will be posting a quick Eijirou drabble about him catching you stealing his hoodie, so expect that soon (find it here!). Also I didn't do TodoDeku but that was because I ran out of both motivation and time so  ╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭

Writing these made me realize how few hoodies I own. Also how single and alone I am.

*Waluigi voice* WAH

-Sugar

[meat--grindr]

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

·       It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

·       Even better, you aren’t alone.

·       Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

·       The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

·       Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

·       The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

·       The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

·       Okay. Sure.

·       It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

·       In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

·       “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

·       Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

·       “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

·       “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

·       “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

·       And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

·       The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

·       You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

·       In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

·       So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

·       He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

·       You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

·       His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

·       He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

·       “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

·       And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

·       He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

·       “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

·       Limp or lifeless?

·       The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

·       You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

·       You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

·       When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

·       He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

·       “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

·       Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

·       “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

·       He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

·       You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

·       You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

·       “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

·       And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

·       “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

·       The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

·       You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

·       Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

·       Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

·       You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

·       Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

·       For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

·       The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

·       You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

·       When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

·       “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

·       You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

·       His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

·       The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

·       “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

·       You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

·       Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

·       You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

·       “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

·       Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

·       There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

·       “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

·       There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

·       “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

·       “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

·       “Oh, yes.”

·       “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

·       Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

·       “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

·       Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

·       “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

·       The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

·       Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

·       Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

·       Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

·       “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

·       “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

·       You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

·       Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

·       Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

·       Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

·       “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

·       Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

·       “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

·       Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

·       You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

·       You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

·       “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

·       “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

·       You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

·       “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

·       Clever boy.

·       You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

·       He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

·       You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

·       He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

·       His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

·       You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

·       With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

·       His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

·       You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

·       “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

·       “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

·       You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

·       “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

·       “They are aware, yes.”

·       The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

·       Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

·       You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

·       Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

·       “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

·       You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

·       “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

·       The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

·       You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

·       “Oh yeah? How?”

·       “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

·       He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

·       ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

·       You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

·       Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

·       You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

·       He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

·       But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

·       This is going to be fun.

·       You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside.  Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

·       Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

·       “What was that, Count?”

·       “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

·       The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

·       Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

·       “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

·       With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

·       The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

·       “Their…blood?”

·       You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

·       “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

·       Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

·       The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

·       Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

·       The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

·       Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

·       Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

·       You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

·       “What’s going on, Count?”

·       “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

·       “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

·       Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

·       The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

·       Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

·       His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

·       Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

·       You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

·       “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

·       “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

·       Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

·       He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

·       With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

·       The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

·       His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.  

·       He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

·       The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

·       Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

·       He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”