#HE'S SO BABY.... HE'S TRYING....... LEAVE HIM ALONE

[rrysbabydoll]

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader.

CW: Explicit sexual content, D/S dynamics, semi-public setting, possessive/soft-dom Harry, consensual power dynamics, clingy/whiny reader, teasing.

Synopsis: While on a family vacation in Italy, you cling to Harry during a crowded bathroom moment, whispering needy things until he gives in and takes care of you in private.

The mirror barely fit them all, but it didn’t matter, the golden wash of the bathroom light made everyone look soft and lazy and kissed by the Italian sun.

The bathroom was cramped but charming, tile floors, a huge vintage mirror, warm bulbs that flickered with every movement.

Harry’s tan was deep now, clinging to every inch of exposed skin, his face darker than usual with a faint pink warmth to his nose and cheeks. He looked like summer had claimed him completely.

You were no better, skin flushed and freckled, shoulders glowing from the sunburn you’d stubbornly earned yesterday after refusing to reapply SPF during that long lunch on the patio.

Now, your skin stung with every brush of fabric, and Harry kept whispering “Told you so” whenever his fingers grazed the red patches, even as he gently rubbed aloe into your back with the softest scold in his eyes.

You’d barely slept. Not that you cared.

Harry had been gone most of the afternoon, helping his mum and Gemma carry crates of wine and limoncello up from the cellar, running errands into the village, letting you nap off the sun from earlier. The italian sun was unforgiving, and it had painted your cheeks pink, made you sleepy, warm, and now, restless.

“Why are you standing so close to me?” Harry murmured beside you, barely above the hum of electric toothbrushes. His elbow nudged yours lightly, smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

You weren’t even pretending to brush your teeth. Not properly, anyway.

“I missed you,” you whispered, pouting as your eyes flicked up to his, mouth still full of toothpaste foam. “All day. You just left me.”

“Didn’t leave you. You were asleep. I kissed your forehead and everything.”

You frowned harder, leaning into his side and letting your hand sneak around his arm. Your sweater sleeves drooped past your knuckles as you tugged on him gently. “Still missed you.”

He rinsed his mouth out at the sink, elbow knocking against yours again. You wouldn’t let go.

Gemma was on your other side, hair dark and damp from a shower, humming something tuneless while brushing her teeth in a sleepy rhythm.

Harry set his toothbrush down.

“You can’t keep clinging to me like this with my mum right here,” he muttered, voice low and even but not unkind. He bent to rinse again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. You didn’t move.

“I want you,” you said softly, squeezing his arm with both hands this time. “Right now. Please.”

He froze, breath catching the way it always did when you said things like that in public, like you were trying to kill him slowly, one innocent-sounding whisper at a time.

His jaw flexed. “Baby…”

“I’m cold,” you lied pitifully, tilting your head into the crook of his shoulder.

“You’re in a sweater.”

“I’m colder than this. Need you.”

Anne looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly. “You two always attached at the hip?” she teased. “Come on, Y/N, let him breathe!”

You flushed slightly, but didn’t let go. “Sorry, Anne. He’s warm,” you said with a shy smile, making everyone laugh.

Harry’s lips twitched at that, your ability to melt even his family was criminal. Everyone adored you. Gemma always said you were like a pocket-sized sunbeam. Anne had already referred to you as “part of the family” twice this week alone.

He leaned toward your ear, voice a little darker this time. “You need to stop.”

You blinked at him, pretending to pout harder but feeling the thrill of his tone ripple through your belly.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You keep whispering like that, you’re not getting anything later. And I mean it.”

You went still, eyes flicking up. “You’d say no to me?”

“I already said no. We’re in a bathroom with everyone.” His voice was calm, slow, the kind that warmed your neck because it meant he was holding back.

You didn’t let go.

He sighed through his nose, jaw clenched, reaching to grab a towel and dab off the corner of your lip where toothpaste still sat.

Gemma turned away to rinse her mouth, saying, “You two make the rest of us look like emotionally stunted robots, you know that?”

Anne chuckled from behind her. “It’s sweet. I like how much she adores him. I was just telling Y/N this morning how lovely it is seeing you so in sync.”

You giggled softly against Harry’s shoulder. His mum calling your clinginess “lovely” made your heart flutter.

But Harry wasn’t laughing.

His arm flexed slightly under your grip, and he leaned in closer this time. “If you don’t stop this right now, I’m going to bend you over that sink the second they leave. Is that what you want?”

Duh.

You flushed so fast and so deeply that your knees nearly gave out.

But you still nodded.

His hand moved to your lower back instinctively, gripping there while the others wiped down the counter and prepared to file out.

“Leave your phone here, Y/N,” Anne was saying. “We’re just going to the terrace for wine and cheese, no tech.”

You nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

By the time everyone else had trickled out of the bathroom, their laughter and footsteps echoing down the stone hallway toward the open-air terrace, Harry shut the door with a soft click behind them.

You blinked up at him. “I was just—”

“You were pushing me,” he interrupted, voice firm now. “You don’t do that when we’re around people.”

“I was cold…”

“You were needy.”

He stepped forward, and you backed instinctively toward the sink until your hips hit the counter’s edge.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice lower now, deep and smooth. “You’ve been clinging to me all day, haven’t you? Whispering things you know I can’t do anything about.”

You nodded slowly. “Wanted your attention.”

“You had it. You always have it. But that wasn’t enough, was it?”

You shook your head, sweater sleeves bunched in your fists as you fidgeted.

“You wanted me to take control, hmm? Wanted me to lose patience, yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

“Say it.”

You squirmed, blushing, but whispered, “Wanted you to get mean.”

His eyes shut briefly, exhaling hard through his nose. When they opened again, they were sharper, hungrier.

“You don’t say things like that in front of my mum. You don’t pout at me in front of Gemma like that. You think that’s cute?” He gripped your jaw gently, but firm enough to make you still. “Do you like pushing me?”

You whimpered. “Yeah.”

“Fucking brat.”

He spun you around and bent you slightly over the sink, one arm bracing you at the waist while the other reached behind to shut off the lightbulb with a soft click. The only glow left came from the hallway, just enough to see your flushed face in the mirror.

“You’re lucky they adore you,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re their favorite. If they knew what you were doing in here… they’d still probably love you.”

You giggled breathlessly, and he hissed softly, not out of anger, but pure restraint.

“Look at yourself,” he said against your neck, voice dropping. “Look how desperate you are.”

“I’m not desperate,” you mumbled.

“You’re dripping through your panties and you’re not desperate?”

Your mouth parted, a soft breath catching in your chest.

Harry smirked into your hair. “No one's even touched you and you’re soaked, aren't you?”

You nodded.

He guided your hips back gently, lifting your sweater and dragging your shorts down with excruciating slowness. “They’re gonna be wondering where we are soon,” he muttered. “And I don’t care. You wanted me to lose patience? You’ve got it now.”

The sink was cold under your hands.

“You’re gonna be quiet, or you’re not getting anything tomorrow. Understood?”

“Uh huh,” you breathed.

He didn’t make it easy to be quiet.

Harry bent you over the sink gently but firmly, the cold marble making you whimper. He hissed softly at the sound, both hands now resting on your waist, thumbs stroking just under the hem of your sweater.

“You want to be good now?” he asked, breath against your ear. “Or are you still going to be a little brat?”

“I’ll be good,” you whispered, thighs squeezing together as you pushed your hips back slightly, needing contact.

“You’ll be quiet too?”

You nodded fast. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Mm.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Let’s see.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down slowly, so slowly it made your back arch with need. He crouched behind you, spread you gently, and let out a low groan.

“Look at that,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re dripping. All that attitude and pouting, just to end up like this?”

You whimpered, biting your lip, hips twitching toward him involuntarily.

He pressed a kiss to the back of your thigh before standing up again, one hand gripping your hip tight while the other reached down to lower his sweatpants. The sight made you moan softly, and he swatted your ass once, just a light smack.

“Quiet,” he reminded. “Or I stop.”

You nodded desperately, pressing your face into your sweater sleeve to muffle the pathetic sound you made when he lined himself up and pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.

You gasped, trying to stay silent, trying not to moan the way your body begged you to.

Harry gripped your hips tighter.

“You’re taking me so well,” he muttered, voice strained with how hard he was trying to stay quiet too. “Like you were made for this. For me.”

You nodded frantically. “I was,” you whispered. “Just for you.”

“Yeah, you were. My sweet thing.”

He started to move, slow and deep at first, the kind of rhythm that made your knees shake. You reached back for him, needing to hold onto something, but he pinned your hand down against the sink with his own.

“Nuh-uh,” he whispered. “You wanted it like this. Now you take it.”

The angle had you gasping again, stars exploding behind your eyes as he fucked you slow and steady, every thrust sending sparks through your belly. He leaned forward, chest to your back now, lips brushing your ear.

“You don’t even care if they hear, do you?” he whispered.

You moaned, nodding again, eyes squeezed shut as the pressure built. “Please,” you begged. “Please can I come?”

Harry growled quietly, hips still rolling into you, deep and filthy.

“You’ve been so annoying today,” he whispered, but he kissed your temple anyway, hand sliding around your front to find your clit. “But you’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your body jerked at the first touch, his fingers rubbing you just right, in time with his thrusts. The coil inside you was unbearable now, and when he said, “Now, baby,” you let go immediately, biting your sleeve as your orgasm crashed over you, trembling in his arms.

He wasn’t far behind, hips stuttering, groan muffled against your shoulder as he came deep inside you, holding you tightly in place like you’d disappear if he let go.

For a moment, the only sounds were your shaky breaths, the distant clink of wine glasses outside, and the way Harry sighed as he kissed the nape of your neck.

“Still cold?” he asked, voice soft now.

You shook your head, boneless.

“You’ll behave now?”

“No.”

He chuckled lowly, swatting your ass one last time. “Course not.

Harry helped you back into your panties slowly, smoothing them up your thighs like he hadn’t just completely ruined you over the bathroom sink. You stood a little wobbly, sweater half-falling off your shoulder, hair mussed, and cheeks flushed, glowing.

He leaned in to tuck your hair behind your ear, eyes still half-lidded from how wrecked he was too, and you caught his face in your hands and kissed him. Just a soft one, lips brushing sweet and full.

He smiled against your mouth. “Baby…”

You kissed him again.

“We really should—” Another kiss.

He chuckled into it. “We need to go back out there.”

You kissed him again, longer this time. His hands found your hips automatically, drawing you close like he couldn’t help it.

“Y’know they’re probably wondering where we went,” he mumbled, lips brushing yours mid-sentence. “Gemma’s gonna—mmph—”

You kissed him again.

“Alright,” he whispered, smiling, his forehead against yours now. “You don’t wanna let me speak, is that it?”

You nodded smugly, kissing the corner of his mouth, then under his jaw, then straight back to his lips. “Exactly that.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like it.”

He huffed out a breath, amused and completely smitten. “Unfortunately, yeah. I really do.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck like you were still trying to crawl into him, like you weren’t close enough yet. His shirt was soft and rumpled under your fingers, and you felt him sigh again as you kissed him slow.

“You’re gonna make me start again if you keep doing that,” he warned, voice husky.

“Good,” you whispered. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to make me wait all day.”

That earned you a sharp look and a tight squeeze to your waist. “You want me to take you over that towel rail next, bun?”

You giggled, hiding your face in his neck.

He hummed, soft again. “Alright. Come on. Let’s clean you up and go back out before they come looking.”

You nodded, finally letting him pull back, but not before stealing one last kiss, the kind that made his hands twitch on your hips again.

[puppybei]

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Choso, Toji

Warnings: Insecure reader, hurt/no comfort, they’re being like really mean and they will hurt your feelings so yeah.. not proofread.. Geto will be added later on…

Wc: around 650 for each character (4.3k in total)

Satoru Gojo

You’ve always been kind of loud around the ones you held close to your heart. Even more with Gojo who’d always match your energy tenfold, it filled you with so much joy to be around someone who enjoyed your company as much as you did his.

Gojo’s sitting next to you, arm slung around your shoulders loosely as he nodded at whatever you were talking about. Your voice had become slightly higher in pitch, excitement evident with every word you let out, after all it was Gojo, he’d always be listening to you,

“So then the male lead said-”

Gojo sighed and you paused in between your rambling, tugging at his sleeve softly, like you were the little girl whose father never looked at her till she was begging him for his attention. Your Gojo pulled himself away, flipping out his phone and scrolling with a bored expression,

“You can be so loud sometimes, you know? It’s just crazy how much you can just keep talking”

Oh

You felt a stutter in your chest, your voice quietening down to nothing as you sat stiff next to him. You didn’t know what to do, let alone think. A million thoughts ran around in your head. Gojo thought you were loud, all this time when you thought that he genuinely enjoyed your company and wanted to listen to you. God you felt stupid, after all you’d never really changed from that loud, annoying kid from the fifth grade had you? Always too much, too loud, too talkative, never able to sit a moment still and that’s all you’ll amount to even if decades pass and you're older.

You wondered how long he had kept this information to himself, how many times he must’ve clenched his fist as he let you ramble on like some stupid school girl while internally he hated every word that came out of your mouth. He must’ve spent a thousand tired nights letting you talk about some irrelevant show just so you would be happy. Oh god, you felt like fucking shit, the self depricating thoughts multiplied one after another as you sat next to your boyfriend, feeling more like a burden he was putting up with than his lover with every passing second.

“Uh ‘toru?, I’m gonna go to bed, night baby,”

Your voice was quiet, so very quiet that Gojo barely made out the words that came out of your mouth. He nodded in response, untangling himself from you and letting you pull away from him.

The bed felt cold and you didn’t know if it was the bed or the hollowness of your own chest that made you feel so empty. The tears came shortly after and you felt like your heart was being squeezed, heavy weight on your rib cage as you tried to be as qiuet as humanely possible. The tears that fell on the silk lined pillows grew cold as you tossed and turned in the bed, trying everything the soften the growing pit of unease in your stomach.

By the time Gojo returned to the bed you had pulled the covers over your face, feeling the bed dip with his added weight. You had stopped crying an hour ago, though the pain settled deep in your bones and you felt like a five year old, tearing up by his mere presence. He pulled you onto his side, arm curled around your waist as you felt him snuggle affectionately into your hair. You let him, you dont know why, maybe the pathetic part of you still craved for him when things got too hard for you too handle. After you were sure his breathing had even out you slipped out of bed, entering the guest room without a word.

Suguru Geto

Mornings are always lazy with Suguru, he’ll whine into your neck about how he doesn’t want to leave and wrap his arms around you, jostling you around just for the fun of it. The twins will pad into your room not soon after, jumping onto the bed and annoying you both, till you wake up and made breakfast for them.

The routine is simple, it’s easy and it’s comforting. Suguru cooks breakfast while you slowly make the girls go through their morning routine. He takes a shower and you plate the food and prepare the lunch bentos while the twins sit politely at the dinner table. Finally, the entire family sits together and eats breakfast as Suguru hears about the twins' progress and all the pretend play they did the day before.

An hour later and everyone’s out of the house, bentos placed securely into their bags and chaste kisses placed onto the twins’ cheeks as Suguru pulls you in for a secret one behind their backs. You’ll smile into the kiss and he’ll murmur about how much he’s gonna miss you, acting like pulling away from the kiss was causing him third degree burns.

Today was like every other day, you shut the door behind you with a soft click. The house was enveloped in silence and you smiled to yourself, after the chaos of the morning faded away the house was all yours and it came with the sudden hit of drowsiness. You barely pushed yourself to the couch before promptly passing out, only awakening when the clock hit eleven.

By this time you’d start cleaning up a bit, the empty dishes on the tables, the clothes strewn across the bedroom of the twins and then a few minutes of gardening. You stopped when a flash of black caught your eye, it was Suguru’s lunchbox, something he should have taken with him to the office. He must’ve forgotten it when the twins tackled him to the ground earlier this morning.

You decided you’d bring it to him, he’d be so grateful if you did. So you got ready, a simple outfit and just the basic amount of makeup, you didn’t want his coworkers to think you were a slob.

His office had twenty floors and he was at the very top, a company he ran alongside Gojo. You hummed a tune in the elevator as you slowly ascended up, the receptionist was already aware of who you were, courtesy of Geto never shutting up about you apparently, it brought an embarrassed but giddy smile to your face.

The heavy metal doors finally opened and you were greeted by Geto’s and Gojo’s secretary, Ichiji who Gojo recruited at college, a man you quite honestly felt bad for with how much they were working him to the bone. He waved at you when he saw you, a tired smile on his face as he told you leave the box on his desk because Geto was on a call.

You wanted to peek at your boyfriend while he was working so you hid a giggle as you stood outside his door, stiffening when you heard your name through the small creak of the door,

“She’s not the twins’ mom, she’s doing too much,”

You don’t know how you made it back to the elevator in one peace, your feet carrying you all the way back home as your thoughts swallowed your time. Did Geto not want you to look after them? They’d even called you mom accidentally a few times and you felt like you had developed at the very least some kind of motherly affection for them.

You spent hours with them daily and they adored you, it was evident in the way they called out for you during their nightmares and clutched at your hand when they fell asleep in your arms. You felt oddly cold, like a wave had washed over you and you were still standing in the middle of the ocean waiting for something that was never going to be yours.

How could he think you were doing too much? You made sure to run every decision you made regarding the twins through him and he’d never showcased his displeasure. He probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but to know that he was going behind your back and telling others that you weren’t suited made you feel like shit.

You knew that you’ll never be the twins’s mother, you never expected to fill that role, just hoped that maybe Geto would appreciate the work and love you put into raising them. But it was clear to you that he’d never see you as any sort of mother figure to the twins and it hurt you, the twisted feeling in your heart caused you to start crying on the couch, rubbing at your blurry eyes as you tried to calm down.

Kento Nanami

You’ve always sort of been kind of clumsy, constantly bumping into the corners of tables, stubbing your toe, spilling water, burning yourself while trying to cook something. Nanami’s known about this and as a precaution for you (and himself if he’s being completely honest) he’s always taken care of the tasks that leave you a bit more injured than before.

Cooking for the both of you is a task he takes great pride in doing, but Nanami’s been coming home late from work. Exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders and even you can see it with the way his smile barely reaches his eyes. So you decided, for a change you’d cook and this time there wouldn’t be any unfortunate surprises.

The meal was simple, a favourite of Kento’s to welcome him home. A dish his mother used to make that he always held in high regard, singing praises about it to the point that even you would start drooling whenever he would talk about it. But the main thing is not only was it absolutely divine, it’s also his comfort food, one he made for himself and never asked for your help, always brushing you off with a gentle smile, telling you that he’d rather you not hurt yourself for him.

You’re almost half way done with, when you hear the familiar jingle of keys and in the process of rushing to greet your husband, you accidentally stub your toe against the door of the kitchen and in an attempt to keep yourself from falling you grab the marble counter, pushing a glassed dessert off and watching it shatter onto the floor and break into a million pieces.

You heard Kento’s voice before seeing him, he called out your name, immediately concerned for your safety as you sheepishly smiled at him. He stood on the threshold of the kitchen door, still dressed in his formal wear with one shoe haphazardly pulled off in his rush to get to you.

He sighed, dropping the suit blazer from the crook of his elbow as an almost stern expression came across his face,

“You don’t have to- I’ve told you multiple times that I’ll take care of the cooking right sweetheart? Why must you be so stubborn and do this when I’ve never-,”

He rubbed his palms over his face, breathing in deeply as you stood frozen in place, apologies spilling from your mouth as you tried to pick up the broken pieces of glasses,

“No stop! I’ll take care of it. Just please, go inside,”

He pulled you away from the kitchen, hand curled around your upper arm as he shut the kitchen door behind you. You felt like a five year old kid again, standing as still as physically possible so your parents wouldn’t get mad at you for messing something up.

You carefully sat down on the worn down cushions, playing with the ends of your fingernails as a million thought ran its course through your head. You knew it wasn’t his fault, Kento’s just been tired and on edge lately but it still hurt nonetheless, to be treated like you were a child incapable of any basic tasks. You knew Kento didn’t think of you like that but it doesn’t help when you’ve been treated like an overgrown child your entire life by the people around you just because you’re a little bit more clumsy than others.

Kento just wants you to be safe, you know that and yet it hurts, it hurts so much to not be able to do anything for the person you love so much because at the end of the day you’ll just be as incompetent as a child. You didn’t want the day to go like this, you wanted him to be surprised, to appreciate the fact that you could do something for him, take care of him like he did for you but in the end you’ve just burdened him more.

Wet, hot tears make it down the apples of your cheeks and you aggressively wipe them away, feeling like you didn’t deserve to cry, not with the way you’d fucked up everything tonight.

Choso

Choso’s sweet, he’s nice and kind and everything that you should want in a man. He holds doors open for you, pulls your chair back whenever you go to a restaurant, always lets you walk on the inner side of the sidewalk and he’s a gentleman overall. It’s just sometimes he can be really really obtuse.

He says things that can hurt though they only wound someone if they’re also insecure. You let the tiny comments slip by, always making sure to educate him whenever you can because he does mean his best. He's just unaware of how certain phrases can have different connotations or how they can mean something other than the literal meaning that the phrase is intended for.

You’re at a party with your boyfriend, recently you both had decided you wanted to go to gym, partly because you’re scared you’ll be sixty years old with chronic back pain and partly because you’ve been putting off getting into shape for a long time. So you both had been rigorously following a diet, making sure to count your macros and micros and following the diet plans you found online.

This party was the first one in a few months you’d felt free enough to let loose, you’d lost some weight gained some muscle and you felt confident enough to splurge a bit more on food, after all what’s the point of life if you’re just constantly restricting.

Choso came behind you as you scooped up another ladle of pasta, the rest of your mutual friends sat in the living room, lounging around as easy conversion filled up the space.

“Are you sure you really wanna get another serving?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning around to make eye contact with a confused Choso. A pit had already started to form in your stomach, the all too familiar feeling of insecurity and shame. Choso smiled at you when you put the pasta back in its bowl, suddenly hyper aware of the Aircon that left goosebumps on your skin, the party music that thrummed through the house, the feeling of fabric sticking to your skin and the humid air that wafted in through the open windows.

Choso said something else and pulled you with him towards the living room where a dance circle had formed, other couples swaying to the music as singles sat on the couch loudly booing. Choso had his hand on your waist and suddenly you felt sick to your stomach, like everything you had eaten was going to come back up and claw its way out your stomach.

You felt too full, like everyone’s eyes were on you and mocking, making fun of you like they did in high school, pointing out every insecurity for shits and giggles. You shook your head as Choso looked down at you, he didn’t mean it like that he just doesn’t know, but what if he did. What if he meant it with his entire heart.

Choso’s the perfect boyfriend and if you were going to lose him because you lacked some self control, you bit your lip, resting your head on Choso’s head and trying to ground yourself by listening to his heartbeat.

He didn’t mean it like that but the old anxiety started to itch at the seams, begging to be let out, to make you drown in self hatred and misery as it took control of your entire life. To poke and prod at your own skin and point it all out in front of a mirror to make you feel like a stupid teenager.

You pushed away from your boyfriend, disgust pooling in your stomach as you made up some stupid excuse and got into the car, looking out the window as Choso drove you home, worry evident in his face as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Once you reached, you said you wanted some alone time and slept in the guest room, tears falling down and staining the cotton pillowcase as you hugged the comforter around yourself, too far in hatred to want your boyfriends comfort anymore.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji’s quiet when he finally comes home, he’s texted you earlier, unusally curt and just slightly cold. He’d be coming home late, actually he’d been coming home late for the past few days, always stressed and pushing off your worries without a second word. Today, you’d decided that it would change, he’d have to talk to you, it’s been ages since you both had a proper conversation.

“Hi baby, how was work?”

You trailed behind him, watching him shrug off his blood stained jacket and plop it into your arms without a second thought. He merely grunted in response and you furrowed your eyebrows, usually you’d take this as a sign that he didn’t want to talk and back off but you really needed your husband back, you were itching at the seams for some cuddles and at the very least a bit of quality time spent together,

“Are you hungry? I made dinner, or do you wanna rest up first? I switched on the heater if you wanna take a bath,”

He walked into the living room now, ignoring your questions as he sunk down into the couch with a disgruntled sigh, turning his face away from you and burying it into the soft cushions on the couch as you stared at him from above, heart thumping irregularly as anxiety clawed at your skin,

“Toji? Baby-”

Toji’s green eyes snapped open and he shot up from the couch, his face twisting in anger and exhaustion as he cut off your words,

“What is it with you woman! It’s either one thing or the other! Can’t you take a fucking hint!? Always fucking yapping off in my ear like some incessant parrot!”

You don’t really remember when you stopped registering the man’s words, taking a step back as he inched closer and closer into your space until your back hit the wall with a soft thud. The weight of his coat felt heavy in your arms and you swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth out of fear.

You could almost feel your face twitching in fear, every minuscule movement that Toji made was being hyperanalyzed by your brain and at the same time you barely had any control over your emotions, let alone your feelings.

Everything felt methodical, at one point the man brushed past you and slammed the bedroom door shut. The anxiety and fear that was running hot in your veins felt cold, far too sudden and you felt sick, like you were going to throw up. Your mind was chanting at you, trying to bring you back to ground as the tears streamed down your face, crouched down next to the wall as you bit your lip harshly.

Toji had never yelled at you, and the apparent effect he had on you was obvious as you tried not to scratch at your own skin. Your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear, your mind was conjuring up images of the man you love, standing above you with a face you didn’t quite recognize. You shut your eyes close trying not to succumb to your own head.

It felt like hours had passed when you finally laid down in the couch, throw blanket pulled haphazardly over you as you rested your head on the old couch pillows, were you really that needy? That loud? had Toji finally gotten tired of you. As much as you tried to shut the self deprecating thoughts out, they only grew in number.

Sleep had found you well past midnight with red rimmed eyes and a stuffy nose. You shivered in the cold night and hugged your own body asleep in an effort to comfort yourself.

If Toji wanted space, then space you’d give him.

Ryoumen Sukuna

Sukuna has always been rough around the edges, formed by years of neglect by his own parents and then fighting for his rights at a place supposed to be his home. He had it all from the outside but if anyone cared to get to know him then they’d know that deep inside lies a little kid who just needs love. And so he tried to fill the hole in his heart with multiple women, girls who fell for his bad boy look, the ones who wanted a piece of him and lingered afterwards like an old coffee stain.

Then came you, too sweet for his own good. You first met him while working on a project together and Sukuna couldn’t help but be captivated by your charm, your kindness that was even able to break his stone cold heart, and somehow he grew on you.

Soon after you both started dating, your lease came to an end and he proposed you try living together. After all, it had been a year and half since you both started dating and it only seemed normal to move in with each other at this point, you agreed without much resistance and soon you both had moved in together.

The little cracks in your relationship had unknowingly started to show, to put it in the least offensive words, you were kind of a slob. It’s not like you didn’t clean up or look after yourself, it’s just that it took you some time to get it done. Dishes would be in the sink to be done at night and by then the entire kitchen would be spotless. You cleaned your room maybe once a week, considering half of the time you were lounging around in the living room with Sukuna.

The problems started to arise when Sukuna was forced to work from home after a nasty fall and a fracture. That’s when he started to notice your habits, he’s start tch-ing at you whenever you left something dirty lying around, cursing loudly when he’d try to get a cup of coffee just to find all the dirty cups in the sink. You’d offer to clean a cup up for him but he’d just push you away and do it himself.

It was day ten on his house arrest that the words slipped out as you were picking up a few clothes when Sukuna unfortunately tripped on them, catching himself on a table,

“She never fucking did this shit…”

It was a mumble, barely meant to be heard by you. Unfortunately for him you did, and unfortunately for yourself, once you started spiraling there really was no end to it. Later that day, after making the house was as clean as it could physically be, you were left alone with yours thoughts.

Usually for you, doing something productive and listening to music would be enough of a distraction to keep the voice in your head quiet, but there was literally nothing you could do and Sukuna was too busy with his back to back meetings for you to annoy him. You’re not sure how you’d even face him after the comment he made earlier.

A second later and you were scrolling through his instagram page, the women he dated in the past always tagged him, making it a point to show him off like some hard earned trophy they won. The last woman who’d tagged him was his ex, the longest one of six months and they had even moved in together.

You mindlessly scrolled through her page, she was pretty- like instagram model pretty. She had an immense amount of following and when you scrolled down enough you could see posts where she plastered all over Sukuna and suddenly all you could feel was the tightness of your chest that shook your entire body.

One rabbit hole led to another and suddenly you were scrolling through all of Sukuna’s exes, the tears fell with every swipe, your vision was blotchy and nose red. Your throat felt uncomfortable but you really couldn’t help but compare yourself, and with every passing minute you started to loathe yourself a bit more.

How could Sukuna not get tired staying with you, a disgusting mess at home who didn’t even try to impress him a bit. You felt like a failure, wondering why Sukuna would even choose you over the girls that he usually went for, chewing your lip and picking at the skin of your fingernails as you shut your eyes and tried to focus on anything else.

You stirred awake when you felt warm air tickle your ear, Sukuna had joined you in bed, tucking his head in between your shoulder and head as he drifted of to sleep. You could feel all your imperfections hit you like a train, could your boyfriend really even stand to be in the same bed as you? Were you even worthy of him considering he had girls lined up to date him after you were gone. You couldn’t do anything but stay stiffened up on the bed as he slept peacefully, unaware of your inner turmoil as you tried calm yourself.

A/n: Ignore Sukuna’s being like 200 words longer than everyone else’s I have a huge soft spot for him sorry for all the mistakes if yall could point it out I’d appreciate it thanks good night

[rafeslvbug]

fratboy!rafe getting gumdrop!reader a labubu…

“here,” rafe grunts as he tosses a package half the size of your body onto your dorm bed beside you. it’s half wrapped- half cardboard box, evident he gave up during the process.

“what is this?” you say confused, nudging the package with your shoe as you sit up in bed.

“don’t kick, jeez, just open it,” he mutters, sitting down on the bed next to you, and scratching the back of his neck.

your fingers get to work on tearing apart the paper, leaving it in a crumpled pile on the floor of your bed. you open the cardboard box, gasping as you pull out the item that’s been invading your for you page.

a labubu - a giant one.

“rafe what the hell! where’d you even find this,” you say stunned, discarding the box as you cuddle the figure to yourself.

rafe provides you with his usual look of disgust, masking his actual satisfaction, while muttering, “so d’you like it or what?”

“like it? obviously! thank you,” you exclaim, leaning over the labubu to press a kiss to his cheek, only for him to quickly turn his head and catch your lips.

pulling away, slightly breathless, you ask, “well? where’d you get this? the normal ones are sold out, let alone this thing.”

he just shrugged, flicking the thing on the head to which you swatted his hand away, like it was your baby as you held it tighter.

“i know someone.”

“labubu’s are expensive too..” you start, and rafe waves his hand as if to dismiss the oncoming topic.

“how much was it?” you ask.

“you’re not paying me back or shit,” he grumbles.

“well no, i couldn’t afford that i imagine.” you state, causing rafe to let out a chuckle.

“no, you couldn’t.”

“so how much did it cost, then?”

“i dunno.”

“rafe! i wont try pay you back, so just tell me!”

he simply shakes his head, getting up and walking towards your door, “see ya later, princess.”

“rafe!”

“bye!” he calls over his shoulder once he shuts the door behind him. walking down the hall, he takes his phone out of his pocket, checking the bank transaction for £300.

ridiculously overpriced, he thinks.

worth it.

[thirteenheavens]

hi! i'm here becoz u said you'd close your req and i thought i should give it go and request what has been on my mind☺️

can you do a sc and fl both idols and their married life👉👈it can be spicy or just wholesome it's all up to you🫶

and i just want to say that your works are so great that i keep coming back to it💗hope you do more and not get tired of it💐💓

Married Life || Choi Seungcheol

Word count: 1k+

Notes: awww anon youre so cute thank you so much I really hope you enjoy this smut!

Seungcheol closes the door to the honeymoon suite behind you, the sound of it locking echoing in the room. He turns to you with a heated gaze, his eyes roaming over your body in the wedding dress.

"Finally alone," he says, his voice low and filled with desire. "My beautiful wife." He walks towards you, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. When he reaches you, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with possessive intent.

You laugh against his lips, the sound turning into a moan as his hands slide down to your waist. "Someone's eager," you tease, your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. Seungcheol chuckles and nips at your bottom lip. "Can you blame me? I've been waiting all day to have you like this."

He spins you around and pushes you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. "This dress has been driving me crazy," he whispers in your ear, his hands moving to the zipper at the back. Seungcheol unzips the dress slowly, his fingers trailing down your spine as he reveals more skin. "You looked absolutely stunning in it," he murmurs, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulder.

"But I think I prefer you without it," he adds with a growl, the dress pooling at your feet. He steps back to admire your nearly naked form, his eyes darkening with lust. Seungcheol's breath hitches at the sight of your lingerie. "Fuck," he breathes out, his hands roaming over your body, feeling the delicate fabric.

"You wore this just for me?" he asks, his voice husky with need. He moves closer again, his hands cupping your breasts through the lace. "You're trying to kill me, baby."

"Only you," you reply, arching into his touch. "I wanted to make this night special for us." Seungcheol groans and captures your lips in another heated kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. "You're perfect," he says between kisses. "And I'm going to show you just how much I appreciate you."

He lifts you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed. Seungcheol lays you down gently on the bed, his smile never leaving his face. He looks at you with so much love and adoration, his eyes filled with warmth.

"I can't believe you're mine," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "My beautiful wife." He leans down to kiss you again, this time slower and more tenderly, his hands caressing your body with care and reverence. Seungcheol stands up and begins to undress, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes his time, teasing you with every inch of skin he reveals.

His shirt falls to the floor, followed by his pants and boxers. He's completely naked now, his toned body on full display for you. You bite your lip at the sight of his erection, already hard and leaking precum. Seungcheol notices your gaze and smirks.

"See something you like?" he asks, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you.

"Everything," you reply, reaching out to touch him. "You're so handsome, Seungcheol." He groans at your touch, his cock twitching in your hand. "And you're so beautiful," he says, kissing your neck. "I can't wait to be inside you, my love."

"Then don't wait," you say, spreading your legs wider for him. "Take me, husband." Seungcheol growls at your words, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "As you wish, wife." He positions himself between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

Seungcheol pushes in slowly, groaning at the tight heat surrounding him. "You're so wet for me," he says, his voice strained. "So perfect." He starts to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours. "I love you," he whispers, leaning down to kiss you again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Seungcheol, harder please." He obliges, picking up the pace and thrusting into you harder, faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with your moans and his grunts.

"You feel amazing," he pants, one hand sliding down to rub your clit. "I can't get enough of you." Seungcheol's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you. "You're mine," he growls possessively. "All mine." He changes the angle slightly, hitting a spot that makes you see stars. "Right there, baby?" he asks, his thumb circling your clit faster.

"Yes, right there!" you cry out, your back arching off the bed. "I'm so close, Cheol!" Seungcheol leans down to bite your neck, leaving a mark as he continues to thrust into you. "Cum for me, Y/N," he commands. "Cum on my cock like a good girl." Your orgasm hits you like a wave, your walls clenching around him as you scream his name. Seungcheol groans at the feeling, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum too," he warns, his movements becoming more frantic. "Inside or out?"

"Inside," you moan, still riding the high of your orgasm. "I want to feel you cum inside me, Cheol." Seungcheol lets out a loud moan and buries himself deep inside you, his hot cum filling you up as he reaches his own climax. He collapses on top of you, panting heavily.

"You're going to be the death of me," he says breathlessly, nuzzling into your neck.

"And you're going to love every moment of it," you reply with a smirk, running your fingers through his hair. Seungcheol chuckles and lifts his head to look at you. "You're right about that," he says, kissing your forehead. "But I think we should rest for a bit. We have all night to continue this."

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Wrecking ball.

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x reader

Summary: You're pregnant, just like Seong-je wanted.

Warning: FWB to Lovers, Violence Overprotectiveness, Possessiveness, Weird pregnancy cravings, Soft Seong-je? Mention of murder, Fat shaming? Arguments, Fluff? Yandere Geum Seong-je, Toxic relationship.

Part one

"FUCKING DAMN IT!" you screamed as the snack you so lovingly prepared for yourself and the baby in your womb fell from the counter to the floor with a booming crash of broken glass and scattered food.

Gripping your eight-month baby bump and the counter, you squaded the best that you could do and started picking up pieces of glass.

This had been happening more often than you would like. Since you got pregnant again, you somehow became clumsier, and no item was safe in your hands. Seong-je, Your boyfriend—yes, your boyfriend—was the one who picked up after your messes.

You just knew he would be pissed for not calling him for help, but he was outside smoking, probably leaning against the rail of your apartment, looking down at the people minding their business. Seong-je had surprisingly tried to refrain from smoking directly around you when you both learned of your pregnancy and you didn't want to ruin his smoke break.

After much more struggling, you picked up all the shards of glass, wrapped them in rags, and duct-taped them before throwing them away along with the food.

You were in the middle of washing your hands when the front door opened and footsteps came to the kitchen, stopping behind you and Seong-je's arms wrapped around your stomach. "How's my girls doing? " he muttered, tracing kisses down your shoulder.

"We're good!" You yelped as he bit your shoulder, snickering meanly. You rolled your eyes with a smile; he was still an asshole, that's for sure.

Once you got done washing your hands and dried them, you spoke up, "We need to go back to the convenience store. I ran out of my favourite snack"

Seong-je hummed before letting you go, "Fine, let's go." He took your hand and led you to the door.

The store was as peaceful as possible being a teen hot spot. Teenage boys laughed and talked loudly; they didn't care who heard them.

Their stares were obvious; it was like you were some blue, tall alien with a tail instead of a pregnant woman shopping for snacks, but the death glare Seong-je gave them coupled with his renowned reputation, they quickly went back to their own business but much quieter.

You walked out of the store, bag in hand. "Fuck. I forgot to get some cigs, I'll be back, Angel face." His arm slipped off your shoulders as he walked back into the store.

Not even a second, a boy came up to you, a smirk on his chapped lips, "Wow, you're so damn fat. Are you having little cows?" He laughed at his joke, his words slurred and his breath reeks of beer.

"Leave me alone." You said, taking a step back, and the boy followed, his hand stretching out towards you. Just when his hand touched your arm he was yanked back by his shoulder and flung back from the bone-crushing punch to his nose. You gasped, frozen in fear as Seong-je picked the drunk by his shirt, drew his arm back, and, with as much force, punched him; blood gushed out of the poor teen's nose like a red river.

Your breath quickened and your bag dropped to the floor, your hands covering your ears, trying desperately to block the sickening sound of Seong-je fist against bone.

Flashes of Hak-Kun, the man who made the mistake of wanting to be more than your friend—to be your boyfriend when you were already marked by Seong-je. Flashes of his body on the cold concrete of night, his features unrecognisable, his plasma a pool under his skull. The Union members laughed cruelly as they watched Seong-je beat the boy until he was no longer breathing.

You could hear his body being dragging carelessly against the concrete.

Your body trembled and the ability to breathe became harder and harder.

A suddenly strong kick from the inside of your stomach snapped you out of the anxiety attack, and your eyes shot opened.

Your boyfriend was still striking the man over and over again, each time he hit harder. People were gathering at the scene and phones were being pulled out. Fuck this wasn't good.

"SEONG-JE!!!" you yelled desperately as you watched helplessly. His fist paused just before he made contact, and he turned his head in your direction. His hardened eyes softened once he recognised the panic and fear in yours. He released the other boy's shirt and let his body drop to the floor with a thud.

You hurried to him, took hold of his arm and rushed him away, the bag of food long forgotten in the commotion. On the walk home, neither of you spoke a word to the other. You didn't care; you were fuming and you refused to argue in public.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!?!" You stormed angrily past him into the apartment and spun on your heels.

"I was thinking I wouldn't let some punk touch my girl. My pregnant girl." He looked at you over his glasses and stuffed his bloodied hands in his jean pockets, the indifference in his tone only made you more pissed.

"You can't just start fights! What if the police came and took you to jail?!" You paced, your heart beating fast at the thought of Seong-je being taken away from you and your baby girl.

He scoffed like your concerns were pointless.

"You could have killed him, Seong-je." You stopped pacing and turned to face him, hoping he'd see reason.

His eyes snap to you, "I should have. I fucking should've scooped his eyeballs out, shoved down his throat and let him choke on em"

Why? Why was he so incapable of seeing your perspective? You love him; you love him so that the mere thought of living without him was like the world ending to you and now you have a daughter on the way. It's like he didn't care about you or your baby.

"Get out."

"What?"

"I said get out! You just don't care! Do you?! Why can't you see things my way! You think only about yourself, not how it would affect me or our baby! You're such a fucking asshole! I thought you changed but you're still the same jerk!!" You wept "I can't even look at you!"

He stood unmoving, simply peering at you; what he thought or was feeling was unreadable, and then he sauntered out the door, leaving you to wallow in your emotions.

He hadn't come back until an hour later; by that time, you cried yourself to sleep on the couch. Waiting for him.

Seong-je sighed quietly, placing the plastic bag beside him as he squatted in front of you, his thumb brushing away the streaks of dried tears, "Angel face..wake up." He whispered softly,"Let me see those pretty eyes."

Your eyes fluttered open, a sleepy whine stuck in your throat.

"I got you something." He grabbed the plastic bag and opened it for you to see the contents inside. Potato chips, a jar of Nutella, Noodles and ice cream are a few of many of your cravings.

He wasn't always the best at apologising but he tried.

You smiled.

[torussoulmate]

                                        ೯⠀⁺ Mr. Perfectly Fine ᰋ

glimpse !   ��� celebrity gojo x afab, "ordinary" reader ⟢ modern au ⟢ oneshot

warnings !     contains angst, depression, eating disorder, self-harm, and insomnia. proceed with caution, MDNI.

notes !     word count is 2.6k. i recommend listening to Mr. Perfectly Fine by Taylor Swift throughout reading the whole thing! enjoy <3

Mr. "Perfect Face" That is who your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, is. The embodiment of perfection. Snow-white hair that shimmered under any light, sapphire eyes that gleamed like they held constellations, a nose carved by a sculptor, lips tainted baby pink and always glossy. His body: tall, lean, but muscular in a way that made even his co-models self-conscious. God, he is perfect. Too perfect.

Mr. "Here to stay" That is what he said when he asked you to be his. You, a nobody, an ordinary woman with no fame, no pedigree, were chosen by him. The golden boy of the acting and modelling world. He found you. He wanted you. He stayed with you.

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" It was not like you had history with him. You were just another fan at a crowded meet-and-greet, one face among thousands. But somehow, you caught his attention. He looked in your eyes like he already knew you. When it was your turn, he signed your postcard, writing his number and a note, 'Meet me backstage, beautiful,' along with his signature. He smiled at you like you were his secret from the start, leaving you feeling not just starstruck but chosen when you left the venue.

Everything was right, Mr. "I've been waitin' for you all my life" It started with late-night texts. Then phone calls. Then stolen moments in trailers, quiet cafés, private rooftops. He snuck away from filming his scenes and photoshoots just to see you. Then, he eventually kissed you, softly and reverently. Suddenly, you were his. His secret. His non-celebrity girlfriend the world was desperate to identify.

Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side" He said that night he proposed. You wore no makeup, had not even washed your hair, but he knelt in his penthouse (you moved into) and offered you the world. A diamond and a promise. You became his hidden fiancée, and people even went out of their way to try and identify you when the news came out.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart" You felt the shift long before he said anything. The good morning texts stopped. The kisses faded. He always looked tired or distracted, or somewhere else entirely. Your wedding plans sat untouched. The 'I love you's' stopped, and when you would say it, he only smiled.

Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart It was a Friday night, two months before the wedding. He comes home, eyes dull, voice distant. He took back the ring. Told you it wasn't working, told you he could not see you fitting into his world. The weight of hiding you became too much. Every time he had to film a kiss scene or hold a co-model's ass, he felt smothered by your presence even in its absence. You begged him to stay, swore you would never complain again, and promised you would adapt. He said he did not want you to, and that he truly fell out of love. You fell apart.

It takes everything in me just to get up each day Sleep became impossible. Food nauseated you. The shower felt like punishment. You took a leave from work, lay in bed for days, even weeks. Socialising with anyone felt like a drag. You went back to your apartment, now that he had kicked you out of his penthouse, and it smelled like silence and rot.

But it's wonderful to see you're okay He was not crumbling. He smiled in interviews. Starred in movies. Posed on the cover of magazines. On your late-night walks, so you may rot somewhere else, you would walk by billboards of his face that is perfect and untouched, and you would have to sit down somewhere because your lungs refused to keep working.

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly fine" He chuckled in interviews when they asked about the breakup. "I've moved on," he said, like your love was a temporary scratch on his polished life.

How's your heart after breakin' mine? You wanted to scream. While he was out there picking co-stars to star with for his next movie, attires for his next photoshoot, you were picking up the pieces of a future that would never exist.

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby The universe mocked you by placing him in your path again. The coffee shop where you had your first date. You did not recognise him at first as he wore those dark, circular glasses he always wore, a mask, and a cap to hide his striking snow-hair. But his voice when he said your name was unmistakable.

Hello, Mr. "Casually cruel" You tried to ignore him and leave, but he gently caught your wrist. His voice was soft, concerned, "Have you been eating?" he asked like he had not wrecked you, "Have you been taking care of yourself?" Like he had not built and burned you in the same breath.

Mr. "Everything revolves around you" You pulled away, cold and changed. "That's none of your business," you said harsher than intended, and it struck him. You were not soft anymore, at least, not for him. You walked out before he could see the tears.

I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye You were. Everything you were disappeared the day he let you go. You did not know how to live without him.

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" He kept rising. Higher. Happier. Untouched.

Mr. "Never told me why," Except he did, and you wished he had not. Would that have hurt less?

Mr. "Never had to see me cry" He never saw the nights you screamed into your pillow with tears. The mornings you could not rise. The cuts you hid. The food you forced down and ended up vomiting.

Mr. "Insincere apology, so he doesn't look like the bad guy" Two weeks after that encounter at the coffee shop, he texted you from a new number since you blocked the one you remember. He sent a "I'm sorry if you're not taking yourself or eating properly because of me. Please change that," then he sent money and food. You sent it back without a word.

He goes about his day, forgets he ever even heard my name He did not text anymore after that. He went back to what was mundane for him. Acting, photoshoots, interviews, and get-togethers for celebrities. You became a ghost in his world, but he haunted every inch of yours.

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same You believed he would be different. The way he talked to you, kissed you, spent time with you, and made love to you. It was all so different until it wasn't. Until he was just another heartbreak wrapped around a pretty face and a good start.

Because I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand new girl The co-star. The one everyone had shipped him with. Dating rumours about them spread quickly, and neither of them denied it. Just six months later, and their chemistry is undeniable. The timing? Unbearable.

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her She was the girl you wished to be, the girl you wish he had dated and proposed to instead. She fit the mould, you did not, and people celebrated their pairing like you never existed.

And I never got past what you put me through Bad turned into worse, worse turned into the worst since those dating rumours spread. You lost your job because you either were not performing well or showing up. Food nauseated you always, so you developed an eating disorder. Sleep was so impossible that insomnia grew in you. Showering once every week became a miracle. You kept yourself behind your apartment's door so much that you lost your friends. The way you cut yourself had more fervour. You did not want to exist anymore.

But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you He lived,

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly fine" while you bled.

How's your heart after breakin' mine? In tack. Yours? In ashes.

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby A year and a few months later, you ran into him again. The same café. The same place of tragedy.

Hello, Mr. "Casually cruel" This time, he did not allow you to ignore, leave, or push him away, not when you looked worse than the last time he saw you. He dragged you to his car with his unyielding grip on his wrist and noticed the way you winced at it. Eventually, he saw the scars you have done on yourself, previously hidden underneath the sleeves of your hoodie. He paused, devastated.

Mr. "Everything revolves around you" You snap. "Everything must always go your way, doesn't it?" you cry and yell at him, "Can you not read the room? I don't want to see you, talk to you, or any of that shit!"

I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye Your anger dies down, but your sobs grow, "You're killing me here."

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" "While you're living life, it's unfair." He stayed silent, but you saw guilt carve into his flawless face.

So dignified in your well-pressed suit "I can't even get myself to shower every day, but you, you're always dressed up for something."

So strategised, all the eyes on you "I don't even talk to anyone anymore, but you, you're out there, so out there."

Sashay your way to your seat "I can't even get up and eat something."

It's the best seat in the best room "I lost my job, I'm running out of money..."

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins" "...but you, I'm sure you just keep getting richer every day."

So far above me in every sense "How do you do it, Satoru? How are you so happy? So alive?"

So far above feelin' anything "All while I'm in an endless loop of dying and crying."

And it's really such a shame "Shame on me, that I can't forget us. While you? It's like we never existed, like I never existed to you."

It's such a shame "Shame on me for loving someone who never looked back."

'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay" You were gonna continue talking—sobbing your words out—but he finally spoke.

"That's not true. Fuck, that's not true," he says your name, his voice so tender it made your sobs pause.

"I loved you, so, so much. I loved us, so, so much. I wanted to marry you, so, so badly."

"Why didn't you?" you sniff, heartbroken all over again with his words.

"Let me finish," he says as he struggles to keep his tears in check, like this is the first time he has ever let his feelings register since he left you.

"I cried too. I lost my appetite too, maybe not as bad as yours, but I did. I struggled to wake up and keep going with my job every day, to keep plastering that fake smile everywhere—that fake joy. Every time I touched Suzu," Suzu is the co-star he has dating rumours with, "or another co-star, I felt like I was cheating on you."

"I want you back, us back, so badly," your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you stopped crying.

"But how can I go back to us when I truly don't feel our spark anymore? How can I go back to you when I can't feel that burning love for you anymore? When I can't see a future with you anymore," you begin to sob again, and he adds the cherry on top," Sure, I am a mess without you—I'm barely making it out alive with this stupid facade—but that doesn't mean I can not be a mess with you."

"You could have tried fixing that with me before you left, you know. You could have told me, communicated—" violent sobs took over you, so violent that he had to embrace you.

His embrace felt like home, but that home did not welcome you any longer. He says your name like it is glass, "I know. I'm sorry. I truly am."

Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday" Months passed. That conversation left both of you on a thread, on a cliff. As if neither of you deserved closure from each other.

But healing started. Living without him for the first time started. Slowly. You fell asleep, even if it's fleeting. Food barely nauseated you, and you ate at least one meal a day. You showered two to three times a week instead of once. You applied for jobs. You started talking to people again. You thought about your cutter but avoided it.

And someday, maybe you'll miss me Six months later, you were sleeping and eating well. You showered every day and got a job. You regained your old friends and gained new ones. You threw your cutter away.

And Satoru? He seemed okay, at least on the outside. But he had been replaying every word he said, reflecting on whether they were actually true. Then, it started to feel untrue. Like his feelings all along were a scam.

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late" Three years later and you have managed to heal almost completely. You've managed to open your heart to a new guy.

And Satoru? He texted for the first time since that conversation, saying he wanted coffee at that coffee shop. You were strong enough—healed enough—to say yes.

He thought you were single; technically, you are since you were not officially dating the guy, so you did not correct him.

Goodbye, Mr. "Perfectly fine" So, another year later, he was devastated when he found out you were taken. Devastated that he thought by taking it slow, he was repairing everything, healing the two of you, so that in time, you two would be in a relationship again.

How's your heart after breakin' mine? His heart broke like never before when he reached out to you again, discovering you are engaged, another year later. He hoped by this time, you would have broken up with your partner, that it was his time to take you back, his time to make you his again, his time to make everything right. Was he too late?

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby Just two months before your wedding, you saw him again, at the same coffee shop. It broke him further to know that your fiancé did not cancel your wedding at this point, like he did. Still, he wanted to see you in that wedding dress, see what could have been his, see you for the last time. So, he asked to be invited to your wedding. Shocked you are, you said yes. He is, in fact, too late.

Goodbye, Mr. "Casually cruel" It was so cruel, seeing you walk down the aisle when he is not the man at the altar.

Mr. Everything revolves around you So cruel when his everything said her vows to her everything, and it was not him.

I've been Miss Misery for the last time So cruel that the tables have turned, that he is Mr. Misery and you are Ms. Perfectly fine.

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" You are so perfect, so fine—beautiful—even if you kissed your husband, that is not him.

You're perfectly fine You are, indeed, and he is not. Not when he left after that gut-wrenching kiss. He did not even say goodbye when he intended to because it hurt that much.

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" He should have looked you in the eye the night he left you and never gone away, no matter the mess he was. He only realised it now: that if he never left, he would fall in love with you again, feel that spark with you again, want to marry you again.

You said you'd never go away And you never did, at least not in his head and heart. But he let you go, and that is a heartbreak he will carry until his grave.

i know i'm supposed to be working on Stillness to Ripples' chapter one but i got distracted..... reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated <3

lazy write, so if there are any mistakes i apologise, but do not repost, reupload, translate, use for AI (ex, character.ai), or plagiarise in any other way.

                              ೯⠀⁺ © torussoulmate on tumblr ᰋ

[lanabuckybarnes]

“𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮.”

When Paps won’t leave you alone, Buck takes you somewhere they can’t see. At least the view is nice.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Actor!Buck x Reader (F)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰(𝓼): 18+ MDNI. Established Relationship. Alcohol Consumption. Harassment. Voyeurism. Degradation. Dom/Sub Dynamics. Daddy Kink. Mutual Masturbation. Tit Play. Unprotected PinV. Creampie. Buck is a shady character fr. — Any more Lemme Know!!

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2K

𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: So this was read like once while I was editing and is over a year old so please be nice. But yall asked for Buck on a boat, so you shall receive Buck on a boat. Enjoy 🫶

P.s. Thank you to everyone who voted your input is very much appreciated

The paparazzi have been sticking their noses in your life. Like flies on shit, they buzzed around your life, Bucky’s life, trying to drain your relationship of everything it had to offer. Ever since your romance with the award winning actor was confirmed they’d never left you alone.

At the airport. The gym. Swarming your car. Heck you’d even caught a man with a camera in your own garden. Though, he had been swiftly dealt with. Everywhere you and Bucky went, the paps followed.

You hated it. Bucky revelled in it. He loved the high that he got off of pushing them around, keeping you out of sight from the constant flashes, shouting profanities at them. Bucky craved that primal energy he got from making sure you, his girl, was safe.

But, he also loved to show you off. Which is why you were here, in a huge yacht for a party hosted by one of Bucky ’s friends. Dressed in a pretty white dress, you felt all eyes on you. It was way too short, fabric flowing just under the curve of your rear, your matching bathing bottoms peeking out every time you moved. In this moment though, you couldn’t care. You were having the time of your life hanging around your boyfriend, not giving a care in the world about what tabloids would slander you about next. The cocktails probably helped ease that fear too—many cocktails.

The sun had set hours ago, you’d watched it dip below the horizon, glass in hand, your legs tucked under you and your handsome man sitting beside you.

His sunglasses helped him hide the fact he was focused more on you than the amber and purple hues of dusk.

As the cold night air settled across the water you sought out Bucky. He ran hot, even dressed in nothing but swim shorts and a tank. Your own personal radiator. Curling into Bucky ’s muscular body was easy. Practiced. You melted together almost, his thick arm pulling you close, your legs over one of his thick thighs. Your head met his chest, then lips met his skin, venturing up until, now visible, blue eyes bore into yours. His stubble grazed your own face as his lips took yours greedily. The slight tickle your favourite feeling. Time slipped by as your tongues invaded each other’s mouths, teeth nibbling lips—claiming each other.

The boat rocked slowly while Bucky’s tongue danced with your own. His big hand cradled the back of your skull while the other inched up your thigh, fingertips dipping beneath the white fabric.

Your lips smacked as you parted, his hot breath panting ever so slightly against your swollen mouth.

“No, baby, not here.” Your hand gripped his wrist, your thumb soothing over tanned skin.

“Why not?” Chocolate brows furrowed, his nose wrinkling as his lip curled into a sneer.

He knew why. You were scared of them. Scared they’d see the most intimate part of you and plaster it everywhere they could, calling you names you weren’t. Bucky couldn’t think of anything better to wake up to than your tits on a newspaper, but, he understood your apprehension.

“Because…” You sighed, exasperated. Your head fell to the crook of his neck, hands retreating to your own lap. “You know why, Buck.”

These damn Paps preventing him from getting his dick wet. He’d burn them all if he could, he should.

His hand glided down the bare skin of your back, tracing your back muscles, the knots from stress there. You were just a civilian, you didn’t need this. And all Bucky wanted was a normal, human relationship.

He glanced around the dark water, the stragglers on the dock merely ants from where the boat was anchored. Paps couldn’t get photos from here. Surely.

“Baby,” his finger hooked under your chin, tilting your head up. Apprehension and fear swirled in your hues, but there was lust there too. “We’re on boat no one will see us. Look over there, can you see those tiny little ants?”

“Y-yeah,”

“That’s how far away we are. No one is getting a decent photo. And, this was on your list, no?” His voice lowered, a gravelly timbre shaking your core to life.

Your list. A collection of kinks you’d made in the back of your diary one night you were missing Buck and realised that you wanted to do everything with him. You meant to rip it out the next morning after realising how cringe it was, but you forgot, and he read it that night when he came home. It turns out mistakes sometimes work out perfectly. And utterly hot.

Maybe it was the vodka in your ‘Sex on The Beach’ that dulled your logical thinking. Rationally it wasn’t a good idea, but you nodded all the same, sealing your fate with a sloppy kiss on Bucky’s lips

He chuckled, pushing you back onto the cushioned bench. Your legs parted, trapping Buck between them. Eyes studied you, as blue as the water around you, pupils blown wide in desperation. They lingered on your breasts before plunging deeper, between your legs.

“Fuck, baby, can’t believe you were gonna say no to this.” He bit out, trembling hands palming his cock through his shorts. When that wasn’t enough he tugged on the drawstring, breaking the connection between you to pull them off.

His cock, thick and hard, his poor tip weeping for attention. He groaned, lashes fluttering against sun-kissed cheeks; teeth grinding as the cool air seemed to soothe the ache of neglect, his hand assisting a moment later.

Then his eyes were back on you. He took his place back on the bench.

“Come on, baby, give me a show.”

You were more than happy to oblige his ask. Sitting up, you pushed your tits together with your arms, your hand reaching up, letting your fingers trail featherlight over the swell of each breast until it hooked in the low cut of the dress. You took your time sliding the spaghetti straps from your shoulders, watching how Bucky bit his lip in anticipation, his blue eyes almost black now with desire.

He slowed the jerks on his cock, he didn’t want to cum just yet. No, that was reserved for that pretty little pussy you were keeping from him.

Your boobs spilled out over the fabric when you pushed it too far, your hands coming to grope at them instead, your whole body twitching when you ran your fingers over your pebbled buds before pinching them.

“Mmm Bucky,” you moaned his name softly, allowing one hand to drop from your tit, slowly moving down over your tummy before tucking itself between your thighs, the pad of your finger circling your hardened clit over the thick bikini bottom. The zips of pleasure had you grinding into the seat, whimpering for your man.

“Mm good girl. Giving me a damn good show. You want my cock?”

You smirked over at him, turning your body until your knees rested on the cushions, your back to him. You pushed your ass out, giving it a little wiggle.

“Come on, daddy, want your cock. Gimme your fucking dick.” You growled, reaching behind you to pull your soaked gusset to the side.

The nickname, the position, your fucked out little face and those pretty, wet folds. It was all too much for Bucky and his quickly slipping resolve.

He was behind you in a heartbeat, ripping the bottoms off you. He moaned low in his throat as his flared tip slipped through your folds, tapping your clit teasingly until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mm fuck please Bucky! Please—” Your begs died on your tongue as he sunk in, your trill mixing with his hiss. His fat tip grazed over your ribbed sweet spot when he pulled out slowly, till only his tip was inside before he speared right back in.

He tried so hard to keep up the slow pace, devouring the sweet moans and pleas you made each time he dragged out and slammed in. But his brain fogged, his mind short circuiting when he watched the way your pussy ate him greedily.

With one hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place, his other gripped your hip firmly. Bucky lifted a leg, his foot resting on the cushion beside your knee before his pace turned overwhelmingly brutal.

The sea sloshed against the yacht but it wasn’t enough to drown out your loud moans and his grunts. You should’ve been more embarrassed by the obscene sound your arousal made between your legs. Embarrassment evaded you, most thoughts did. Besides the ones about how good Bucky felt inside your walls, splitting you open around him in a pace that made you feel no more special than a sex doll.

Bucky’s body weight lay over you, arching your back, making him hit a whole new depth inside you. His moans and pants invaded your ear, his hot breath snaking down your neck making you gush embarrassingly.

“Fuck babygirl— you feel that fucking dick? Yeah I know you fucking do, so thick and fucking hard inside you. Gonna fill you up so good, paint those fucking walls white with my cum. “

You wailed, pleads falling from your lips like a prayer. A dark chuckle ripped from Bucky at how pathetic you were. His fucking girl.

“Please Buck, I’m gonna—“

He tugged on your hair, pulling you as close to him as he could.

“Fucking cum! Do it.”

Your squeal caught in your throat as white hot pleasure had your body going stiff. Bucky ’s long fingers squeezed your tit just hard enough for it to feel good, his teeth biting down onto your shoulder as his own sounds of pleasure grew louder. His pace slowed, less rhythm to each thrust until he pushed in as far as he could go, moaning your name loudly as spurts of milky cum did exactly what he promised.

“Fuck,” he panted, one arm wrapped around your body while his other gripped the back of the bench to hold himself up. He moved you both gently, until he was seated with you on top of him, his dick softening, still inside you. He bit his lip at the soft sound you made when he pulled out, cum dribbling out of you in waves that stained the upholstery.

“That was fun, wasn't it?” He smiled against the shiny skin of your neck. His hands drifted up to tuck your breasts back into your dress before he grabbed his shorts from the floor and pulled them up your legs, stopping you from making even more of a mess.

His eyes swirled with amusement as he helped you stand, your legs like absolute jelly. He decided carrying you to the bathroom would be easier.

One quick and uneventful shower later—much to your man’s disappointment when you refused to let him eat you out—Bucky massaged lotion all over your bare body, making sure it melted into your skin. His fingers pressing into your hips and shoulders, pulling some delightful moans that had his cock twitching against his thigh, eager to please again.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he tucked you into bed on your stomach, a pillow on top of your arms, your head sinking into the feathers. He kissed softly, from the dimples on your back all the way up to behind your ear. Happiness radiated from him when he noticed you were asleep, leaning down to kiss your cheek before pulling you onto your side and into his chest.

The next morning, Bucky ’s team got word that there were pictures of you both, ones that you’d be mortified to see all over the globe. He paid the bribe without hesitation then gave his good friend, Hansen, a call.

After that night, the paparazzi backed off. An unexpected dwindling of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes reporters had their backs against the wall, fear running through their veins. And you were much happier for it.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated (although if you liked this piece please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience). They let me know that you are enjoying what I’m publishing and gives me motivation to right more.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated, or reposted under a different account. If you see my work on anywhere else except this page I have not given consent for it to be used. Please report and tell me.

Thank you for reading~

Tags: @daystarpoet

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Can you do how jjk men would hold/help you during a panic attack, like shortness of breath and irrational crying/sense of doom. Love your work 🩷🩷

Love you dear - I hope you’re okay and that brings you and anyone reading it a bit of comfort.

ღ Satoru Gojo - Satoru notices it instantly. You’re too quiet. Your breath’s gone shallow. Your eyes don’t meet his. And then it hits; a wave of irrational fear and you start to cry. “Hey. Hey, baby, look at me.” He crouches down and takes your hand gently. There’s no jokes, no cocky smile. Just him, raw and present. He presses your palm to his chest and let you feel his strong and steady heartbeat. “Breathe with me. Okay? That’s it. I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna touch you… not when I’m here.” And he stays there, no matter how long it takes. He’ll never leave, don’t flinch and definitely not judge. “You don’t have to be strong right now. I’ll carry it all for you.”

ღ Suguru Geto - Suguru moves slowly towards you, like approaching a wounded animal. You’re trembling and stuck in the spiral. And you can’t explain why it feels like you’re dying. Suguru doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need a reason. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just let it happen. I won’t leave.” He sits behind you on the floor, legs around you and his strong arms like a shield. You sob into his shirt. “You’re safe. You’re allowed to fall apart. Nothing you say or feel will make me love you less.” And when your breathing finally steadies, he presses his lips to your temple. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

ღ Kento Nanami - Kento isn’t good with emotions, but he learns for you. You can’t breathe. You’re crying and shaking and muttering that something feels wrong but you don’t know what. He doesn’t try to talk you out of it. He kneels in front of you, like a shelter in the storm. “I understand. Let’s just focus on breathing. I’m not going anywhere.” He reads your body language like a map and holds your hand with firm, grounding pressure. He times your inhales with his own voice. “In… and out. Just like that. Good. I’m with you.” Later, when it passes, he rubs your back gently. “This isn’t weakness. This is human. And I love you for all of it.”

ღ Ryomen Sukuna - Sukuna’s not gentle until he is. At first he growls. “The fuck is happening?” But then he sees your hands clenching. Your breath hitching. Your eyes wide and lost in dread. He freezes. And for the first time he softens completely. “You’re alright. Breathe, girl.” He doesn’t know how to fix it, so he offers the only thing he’s ever known—power. He sits beside you, protective and still. “You’re not gonna die. You’re mine. And nothing touches what’s mine.” He doesn’t say “I love you.” But his hand never leaves yours as he sits with you through the storm like a silent promise.

ღ Choso Kamo - Choso understands instantly. The fear. The loss of control. The pain that has no words. He cups your cheeks, presses his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. I know this. I’ve felt it too.” He doesn’t rush you. He just hums softly. His big warm hands stroking your back, whispering over and over, “You’re safe. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen.” He makes you feel like it’s okay to fall apart. That your panic doesn’t scare him. “You don’t have to explain. Just let me hold you until it’s gone.” And he does.

ღ Toji Fushiguro - Toji’s not used to this. Emotions? They’re dangerous. But then he sees your chest rising fast. Your hands shaking. Your words crumbling. And suddenly? To hell with his fear of intimacy! “Hey. Hey, breathe. You’re okay. You hear me?” He presses your face into his shoulder, hands braced around you like you might break. “I’ve got you. Let it out. Cry if you need to. Scream. Hit me. I don’t care.” He doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask. He just holds you. Later he presses a kiss to your temple and mutters, “Next time this happens, you come straight to me. You don’t have to fight it alone anymore.”

ღ Takuma Ino - “Oh shit, baby? Baby, what’s wrong?” Takuma panics for half a second, but then drops everything. He’s on the floor in front of you, wrapping his hoodie around your trembling frame. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I got you. Just squeeze my hand, okay?” He talks to you gently the whole time. Nonsense sometimes, just to keep your brain somewhere safe. “You’re the strongest person I know. I’ve got you. I love you so much. You’re gonna get through this.” He kisses your knuckles when the tears stop and holds you close. “You’re never a burden. Never. I’ll sit through every storm with you.”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Hi, can you do a Seongje fic where he goes home and finds his partner bruised and covered in blood, crying and trembling while trying to treat their injuries and he finds out some of the Union members beat her up after failing to do other things (iykyk) with her. And she asks him to stay the night, afraid of being left alone

“I’ll Burn It All Down”

Seongje x Reader | ~500 words | Complete

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

You didn’t scream when it happened.

You tried to fight — clawed at arms too strong, shouted through the back alley with no light and no witnesses. Your throat was raw. Your breath burned. You only remembered the laughter. One of them had said you were "asking for it."

You spat blood at his face.

That’s what made him hit you. Over and over again. When his friend laughed, he tried to grab your shirt — said you should smile more. You didn’t remember the rest. Only the sound of footsteps that sent them running. Only the sting of gravel in your palms as you crawled away, not daring to look back.

It took you nearly an hour to walk home, blood smearing down your wrist, skirt torn, knees scraped. You unlocked the door with trembling fingers and locked it three times behind you. Only when you saw yourself in the bathroom mirror did you collapse.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You were still shaking when Seongje found you.

"Y/N?"

His voice was so soft. Too soft. Like he already knew something was wrong the moment he stepped inside.

You didn’t answer.

"Where are you?"

The bathroom door was cracked open. You couldn’t find the strength to call out, but your small sob — the one you thought was quiet — must’ve been loud enough. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and the look on his face when he saw you…

You’d never forget it.

"Y/N—" He dropped to his knees beside you, arms reaching out but not touching. "Baby, what—what happened?"

You couldn’t look at him. Your lip trembled. You were trying to stop the bleeding on your side, but your hands wouldn’t work.

"It was the Union," you whispered. "They found me."

His entire body went still.

"They—" You swallowed hard. "They said they were gonna ‘leave a message.’ One of them tried to touch me. Said you couldn’t protect me forever. That I was just a warm-up."

Seongje’s fists clenched. His voice dropped an octave. "Did they—?"

"No," you whispered. "Someone passed by. Scared them off. They just… hit me. A lot." A pause. "They said they'd finish it next time."

Your voice cracked.

"I’m scared, Seongje. I thought I was going to die."

That was the moment he touched you — really touched you — cupping your face so carefully like he was afraid to break you. You leaned into him instantly, shaking like a leaf.

"They're not gonna hurt you again," he said. "I’ll kill them first."

You didn’t know if it was a promise or a vow.

He didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night.

He carried you from the bathroom to the bed, cleaned your wounds with shaking hands. His jaw was locked the whole time, gaze lingering on every bruise like he was memorizing them — not to pity you, but to avenge you.

When he pulled your torn shirt away and saw the red handprint on your collarbone, he froze.

Then he exhaled. "That’s the last thing he’ll ever touch."

You let him help you change, holding your arms out like a child, letting him button one of his shirts over your bandaged skin. You didn’t want to be alone — not even for a second — so he stayed in your bed, wrapping his arms around you like a fortress.

You hadn’t stopped shaking.

"Will you stay the night?" you whispered, voice small.

He didn’t even answer. He just held you tighter.

You woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare — sweaty, panicked, your heartbeat racing. Seongje was already awake, his arms tightening around you the moment you whimpered.

"I’m here. I’m right here," he murmured into your hair.

You were crying before you could stop it. He let you. He didn’t tell you to quiet down. Just kissed your forehead and let the storm come out.

You hadn’t even realized what you were saying until the words slipped out.

"Don’t leave me. Please."

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I won’t. Not now. Not ever."

Then his voice turned darker.

"But I have to make them pay."

You nodded.

"Not tonight," he said, kissing your knuckles. "Tonight, I’m staying with you."

Two Days Later

You hadn’t left the apartment. Seongje made sure you had everything. Food, blankets, clothes — his voice always low and calm with you, even when his phone rang and his tone turned sharp the second he stepped into the other room.

He hadn’t told you what he was planning.

You didn’t ask.

But you knew the rage in him had only grown colder. Focused. His smile never reached his eyes now. His fists were bruised. His hoodie sleeves stained with blood he didn’t try to wash out.

When you asked if he was okay, he’d only answer:

"I'm getting there."

That Night

He came home later than usual.

There was blood on his knuckles again. A small cut on his cheek. His hoodie smelled like sweat and rain and smoke.

You rushed to him immediately. "Seongje—what happened?"

He pulled you into his arms before answering.

"They won’t be coming back."

You froze.

His voice was steady. Hollow. "One of them's in the hospital. The other two…" He didn’t finish the sentence. "They got the message. They won't breathe your name again."

You didn’t cry this time. You just leaned into him. "Did it help?"

His silence spoke volumes.

"Not enough," he whispered. "But it’s a start."

You guided him to the bathroom. Cleaned his wounds this time. You kissed the cut on his cheek and he closed his eyes.

"They should’ve never touched you."

"They didn’t get what they wanted," you said softly. "But they still took something. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again."

"You will." He cupped your face. "I’ll make sure of it. I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again."

You nodded, voice trembling. "Will you stay? Not just tonight… but always?"

"I’m already yours," he said.

And he meant it.

That night, when you pulled him into bed again, he was hesitant to touch you — like he thought you were still too fragile. So you kissed him first. You took his hands and placed them on your hips. You whispered: "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid of breaking me."

His lips were gentle. His hands traced every inch of you like you were sacred. He didn’t rush. Just held you through it all.

There was no sex — not yet. But there was intimacy.

You laid there wrapped in his arms, head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

For the first time in days, you weren’t afraid.

EPILOGUE

Later, Seongje stood on the balcony in the dark, a cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the city.

He’d buried his fists in someone’s face for every bruise you came home with.

But the rage didn’t leave him. It sat heavy in his chest like lead.

When he came back inside, you were asleep — curled in the blankets, wearing his hoodie, breathing softly.

He kissed your forehead again, whispering:

"If they ever touch you again, I’ll burn this entire city down."

And he meant that, too.

end

author's note: kinda did this at ike 6 am so idk if i showed that the union tried to do stuff with her like enough idk so im sorry i need.more cofee after this T_T ok ilysm

[xoxochb]

thinking about percy jackson and pregnant! reader. and I’m talking about percy who’s glued to your side 24/7, always making sure you’re comfortable and cared for. and percy who’s always talking to your growing belly and singing it lullabies at night. and he starts calling the baby his “sunshine” because he believes it’s bringing just that into both of your lives. and he opts to try all of your pregnancy cravings alongside you so you don’t feel alone. and he’ll purposely put himself through the same hardships as you as well, no doubt about it. and he’ll shower you with constant praises on your appearance as it changes so drastically over these next few months. and while he’s scared shitless, he won’t leave your side all throughout labor and the birth, remaining holding your hand and tying your hair back from your slick forehead. and, of course, percy jackson who’ll hold his baby with such delicacy, and running his fingers over their delicate face in such awe that it’s his baby. made by you and him. how grateful he is to have the both of you in his life <33

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Love Blues (Part 3) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairings: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore (Sinners)

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sexual Content, Romance, Violence, Angst, Smoke's POV, Pre-Sinners movie.

Series Summary: Smoke Moore has returned from WWI with his twin brother Stack and meets Annie for the first time. Smitten immediately by the young Creole beauty, Smoke longs to make Annie his own. But he has to get past his brother and another rival suitor first.

Word Count: 10.4K

Masterlist HERE.

"I love you baby so please don't you

Leave me here all alone

I can't stand it baby when you

Leave me here all alone

So wherever you decide to go baby

Just don't stay gone too long"

Keb Mo – "Love Blues"

Smoke drove his father's car with Stack on the passenger side.

They traveled through the cluster of shacks that made up a close-knit community near a river tributary run-off not too far from their mother's home that everyone called Gator Walk because of the occasional sightings of alligators. The fearsome beasts often climbed out of the water to sunbathe on the banks before crawling back to their liquid sanctuary, floating downriver toward the swamplands to lay their clutch of eggs in nests of sticks and mud. Stack wanted to pass by Annie's home to catch her leaving if he could…and to see who with.

Her residence was a modest dwelling that rested on short wood stilts to help protect it from sudden river floods that could spill over into the shacks during the rainy season. Surrounded by tall, sweet-scented lilac bushes, the home appeared empty of occupants.

"Slow down, Smoke," Stack said, lowering his black fedora to hide his face.

"If she sees me driving, she's gonna know it's you right next to me," Smoke said.

"Shut up! Pull over there where she caint see the car…between those trees over there."

Smoke drove where he asked, and they watched for signs of Annie.

"Maybe you should go knock on the door," Smoke said.

"Nah, her daddy might be home. He real strict with her. Shotgun strict. I tried sneaking by her bedroom window one time—"

"When was this?"

"Last Sunday. There's an old tree stump by her room and you can step up on it to tap the shutters. Ain't no glass on it. I thought I could sneak in without the neighbors seeing me while her parents were at Sunday evening prayer service with Uncle Jed."

"What happened?"

"Her parents didn't go to service and her daddy caught me talking to her. I told him I was walking through and seen her looking at the lilac bushes and wanted to know if I could take a few flowers home to my momma. He told me to keep steppin'. But man…the way she smiled when her daddy chased me off. I only got to speak to her for a few minutes. She told me how I could chew on lilac leaves to treat a sore mouth, and all I could do was stare at her mouth while she talked to me. Her lips look so soft. I caint figure her out. She likes me…I know she does. I mean really likes me…but she won't let me get to that next step."

"Maybe she's figured out that you only want her for one thing."

"That's not true. Okay…in the beginning it was…but now…"

"Now?" Smoke asked.

Stack sighed and took off his hat.

"She makes me think about things. Asks me so many damn questions about myself that I never thought about before. She talks to me like the fellas do…like a regular friend."

"Maybe that's all she wants."

"She stares at me sometimes like she wants me. When I try to get close to her…going in for the kiss, cuz you know I knock 'em out with a good kiss…she always pulls back. Ain't no woman ever turned down a kiss from Big Stack. I kinda like it though. It builds up anticipation and shit. I just wanna get her alone and on her back… hear her talk all that Creole to me while I'm stroking my way to glory. Shit gets my dick hard."

"Alright…you ain't gotta share all that."

"It's true! I caught her walking home once from our place and she's telling me about something momma showed her and she stopped talking English, like she's too excited to get the words out and forgot we ain't in New Orleans. I'm listening to her and lookin' at them big ol' hams she got for titties. That girl got me all twisted. My pecker started swelling up and I had to leave her before she caught me pokin' outta my pants. She real different, Smoke."

Stack glanced over at the shack again.

A restless unease settled in Smoke's chest. He toiled with telling his brother the truth of his own attraction to Annie.

"Don't get your hopes up tonight or get mad if she avoids you. We don't need to hear y'all fussing and messing up the mood," Smoke said.

"I ain't talkin' to her. I made up my mind that she gotta come to me first if this thing between us is going to happen."

"What if it don't happen?"

"Oh, it will. Once she gets a gander at me with other women. She'll get jealous. Miss Annie Belizaire will come jiggling over to me, speaking all that sweet Creole in my ear, and I will sweep her off her feet. Watch and see."

Stack stuck his hat back on his head.

"Let's go," Stack said. "Ain't nobody here."

Smoke shifted gears and drove out of Gator Walk, headed for the jump up. A soft breeze bathed their faces in the late summer air. Fall would come soon. He thought of projects that needed to be done around his mother's property and calculated a budget for him and Stack to live on that would carry them over into the New Year and beyond.

Arriving at the secluded location, Stack leaned over the door of the automobile, catcalling the young women that strolled toward the old abandoned barn where Cornbread's party awaited them. Six horse-drawn wagons rolled in, one at a time, filled with young people. A couple of field trucks loaded with more revelers arrived, and the rest traveled on foot. The sun slanted to their left, keeping the temperature bearable. The excitement of being around a host of other young adults crackled the atmosphere with a vibrant energy. Smoke couldn't wait to submerge his entire self in good country fun. It would be the twins' first post-war party with their own people.

Cornbread's elder uncle Lodie and his older brother Matthew took on the important task as barbecue pit masters for the event. They lorded over two ground pits covered with tarps and held down with large stones where two huge roasted pigs had slow-cooked for hours overnight. The men pushed away the big rocks and yanked back the tarps. Heavy white smoke drifted across the main set-up area in front of the barn where a giant fire pit waited, piled with chopped wood for the bonfire later in the evening. Smoke sniffed the heavenly scent of smoked pork and almost salivated thinking of eating it with red sauce and white bread.

"Slow down, Smoke. Let's give these pretty women a ride so they can rest them nice thick legs," Stack cajoled, waving for the two women, Geeshie and Mayola, to come over to him.

Smoke slowed down their all black Model T, and Stack hopped out, opening the side door for the women to climb in. Geeshie grinned and Smoke couldn't help but glance at her slinky orange dress and enticing wide hips. Mayola carried a svelte frame and her Marcel waves framed her oval face like a movie star.

"That's it ladies, make yourselves comfortable as we escort you to this here jump up," Stack purred.

The new gold on his teeth gave him a trickster's persona, and Smoke slid his tongue over the bit of gold on his own teeth worn on the opposite side. Both men had to take care of decayed teeth worn down from lack of dentists willing to repair colored teeth in Clarksdale. Thankfully, the army paid for their dental work. Taiwo had been so shocked to see their two mouths full of gold like their daddy.

He parked in back of the barn to hide the car from prying eyes and helped Mayola out while Stack helped Geeshie out on his side. His brother left his jacket on top of Smoke's in the back of the car. He tugged on his suspenders and swiped his hand down his clean shirt. Stack advised they dress casual and comfortable. If any fights broke out from drinking, their good clothes wouldn't get ruined with bloody cuts or tears.

Smoke expected at least one or two people to test him and Stack. Their unsavory reputation preceded them and since they'd been gone for three years, other young men might think they were the top dogs of Clarksdale. Wouldn't hurt to set some men straight if they started puffing out chests. Smoke carried a gun on his ankle in case he needed to add an exclamation point for any man brave enough to step to them.

He could already feel the ripple of nervousness among a few of the young people who didn't know them personally. They gave head nods and a few handshakes. Cornbread rushed over, thankfully pulling him away from Mayola.

They joined a slew of young men and women dressed to party gathered inside the barn where an old cutting table held Coca Cola bottles and root beer, along with Wonder Bread, warm hushpuppies, and fried okra in big pans. Stacks of tin plates waited to be used right next to a spread of forks. Everyone buzzed with anticipation as a group of musicians warmed up their instruments near stacks of old hay being used as seats. Two fiddlers, a guitar player, and a man wearing a metal washboard holding two spoons riled folks up with the first song.

A slick buddy named Ghost Eye Terry pounded his hands on a crate to create a drum beat. As kids, Terry tried Smoke one time too many, and he busted the man's eye with a fist when he stole Stack's penny candy on a fishing trip, injuring the retina. It never healed properly and eventually clouded over, thus the nickname Ghost Eye followed Terry through life.

Once the harmonica player started wailing away with a yearning sound, no one wasted time dancing.

Mayola resumed her grip on his arm and tried to walk through the rest of the barn with him, pretending he brought her there as his date. He scanned the growing group for signs of Annie. So did Stack. His brother's lips poked out with disappointment.

She wasn't there.

A few men started carrying haystacks out toward the circular firepit prepping seats, and Smoke's stomach grumbled. Cornbread laughed.

"We'll be eating in five minutes, promise," Cornbread said.

Smoke nodded.

Lodie, Matthew, and Cornbread soon loaded up the wrapped pigs onto two nearby carts. They cut away the chicken wire and then the protective burlap bags that kept the moisture in. Several people came out to watch as the succulent meat fell off the bone.

Cornbread rubbed his hands together.

"Yeah, they seasoned up real good. Uncle Lodie stuffed them with carrots, onions, and oranges…look how tender it is…ooh wee, we gettin' some good eatin' tonight," Cornbread enthused.

The birthday host headed to the barn with Smoke close on his heels.

"Grab you some plates, everybody! Time to eat while it's hot!"

"Get you a plate first," Smoke said.

"I surely will," Cornbread said.

Cornbread lifted a plate and added some bread and hushpuppies to it.

"Somebody help me grab the pots of sauce," Cornbread said.

Smoke lifted an iron pot, and another young man grabbed the other. Both had spoons in them to ladle out the tomato-based condiment. Once Cornbread piled up his plate, a line formed, following him out to the pit masters where they loaded up on pulled pork slathered in barbecue sauce.

Smoke strolled back to the barn to get a plate and noticed Bo rolling in on a small horse cart chauffeuring Grace, Annie, and two other young Black women he didn't know. Bo guided the horse to the spot others left their animals and wagons. Smoke trotted over to greet them.

"Bo," Smoke said.

His eyes stayed on Annie. Bo jumped down and assisted Grace out first. Smoke helped the two other women out, and then Annie last. Clasping her warm hand caused his heart to thump faster. She held it tight and let go quickly out of modesty.

"Hi," she said.

She recognized him from his brother easily by the way his lips never curved upward animatedly, the way Stack's did. He glanced over her short-sleeved, pale yellow summer dress with a collar and pearl buttons that fastened up the front.

Her luminous dark skin smelled like she slathered it with calendula-scented oils that wafted off of her hair, too. She decorated the twists in her tresses with yellow sewing thread all the way down the back of her neck, adding a cluster of baby's breath flowers at the ends. She looked regal, especially with the touch of ruby lipstick she must have borrowed from one of the other women. He knew her parents forbid make-up for their daughter. Church people thought red lips were a sign of the Jezebel spirit.

Bo slapped him on the shoulder.

"We made it in time for barbecue hot off the pit," Bo said.

"Yep," Smoke said.

Bo glanced at Annie, then Smoke. He cleared his throat to get Smoke's attention.

"How's it going, Grace?" Smoke asked.

"Good. Where's your other half?" Grace said, looking over his shoulder for signs of Stack.

"Around here somewhere, probably in line for the food," Smoke said.

Annie lowered her eyes at the mention of Stack.

"We should get in line before Cornbread goes for seconds," Bo joked.

Annie brought forward the two other young women with them.

"This is Donetha and Caldonia. Ladies, this is Smoke Moore," Annie said.

Caldonia took a step back and Donetha gasped out loud.

"Smoke, as in the Smokestack twins?" Donetha said.

"They don't bite," Annie said, winking at Smoke.

"Go on and get your food," Smoke said, stepping aside.

Bo and Grace strolled over to the barn, and Smoke stayed near Annie as she walked with the other two women.

"Donetha, stop acting so scared," Annie hissed.

"I'm sorry, but I heard nothing but bad things about you and your brother," Donetha said.

Caldonia smacked her friend's shoulder.

"Ow!" Donetha said.

"Don't be rude in front of the man's face. What if he shoots us?" Caldonia said.

"I won't shoot you ladies, not unless you do something that deserves it," Smoke teased.

His deadpan expression encouraged the women to shuffle ahead to get away from him.

Annie gently pinched his shoulder.

"Why would you say that to them? Now they won't come ten feet near you."

Her grin lightened the scolding she gave him.

"Annie?"

Smoke turned to see who called her.

Beau Willie.

He walked up to them from the barn. Smoke didn't notice him earlier when he first arrived.

"I didn't know you were coming. I would've asked your father if I could pick you up. Me and Buster went around gathering a few folks here in my father's wagon," Beau Willie said.

He completely ignored Smoke.

"I rode over with Bo Chow and three of my girlfriends. My parents don't know I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way," she said.

"Understood. Can I get you something to drink? They have Coca Cola and root beer," Beau Willie said.

Smoke grew agitated. Annie sensed it.

"Maybe later, Beau Willie. You know Smoke Moore?" she said, bringing Smoke into the conversation.

"I know him. You ain't been back long, Smoke. How's it feel to be in Clarksdale again?"

"No different from when I left."

"Come get in line for a plate, Annie," Beau Willie said, gripping her elbow to guide her away from Smoke.

"We'll speak again real soon, Annie. I think you and I have an appointment to kick up our feet later," Smoke drawled out.

Annie grinned, and Beau Willie's jawline clenched. He whisked her away and Smoke didn't feel the need to one-up Beau Willie in that moment. Annie knew he was coming for her.

Stack appeared, carrying a plate of food already. He looked at Beau Willie escorting Annie to the end of the table line.

"Hmmph. She thinks Beau Willie is supposed to aggravate me? That boring ass goodie-two-shoes?" Stack said.

Smoke glared at Beau Willie. He was a little too comfortable with Annie. Touching her arm. Brushing lint off her shoulder. Cockblocking. They must've known each other well already. Beau Willie was a pious Christian, the type Mr. Belizaire would like for his daughter.

"This food is good," Stack said, scarfing down his pulled pork sandwich. Barbecue sauce painted the corners of his lips.

Smoke went and grabbed a plate and waited his turn to fill up on a hearty meal of tender pork meat. There was plenty of food, and he softly tapped his foot to the music spilling out from the barn. A barbecue under a pleasant country sun was what he needed to get acclimated into the slow southern way of life again.

After he fixed his sandwich, he took a seat next to his brother outside who entertained a bevy of beauties who weren't afraid to get near the twins. Cornbread joined them and Smoke was pleased to see his friend so happy. From his viewpoint, he watched Annie take her plate indoors with her girlfriends alongside Bo. Annie and Grace seemed close and laughed together while their shoulders touched. Beau Willie followed behind her, carrying his plate and two root beers.

Annie towered over a lot of the other women, and it only enhanced her attractiveness. She literally stood out with her unique hairstyle and the bright yellow dress that reminded him of corn silk. Granted, there were plenty of gorgeous women wandering about that could've tickled his fancy. He only had eyes for the woman his brother wanted.

A gnawing at the pit of his stomach brought him back to reality.

Clearly he had to compete with Beau Willie, too.

He picked at the rest of his food and listened to all the chatter going on around him without participating. Stack regaled the women sitting next to him with stories about the war and Europe. Some men gathered behind him to listen in on the danger they faced, the food white people ate overseas, and how many men died gruesome deaths. The stories enthralled them. Stack could weave a tale like a spider and create enough sticky webbing to hold an audience for hours. Their daddy was like that. He would mesmerize men on their old porch, pluck at his guitar or the old banjo, and orchestrate a rousing good time. Maybe that's why he beat Stack so much. Too much of his nature bled through his baby boy. Whatever demons Cash wrestled with, whatever life-altering thing that happened to him when he went out into the world, he clocked it bubbling up through Stack. Noticed it in Smoke, too. Then the fists came. All the beatings. Split lips. Black eyes. All the blood-curdling screams from Taiwo as she fought to pull Cash off them.

Smoke's hands shook with tremors, and he put his plate down on the ground. Stack noticed. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers. Made Smoke a cigarette. He lit it, took a drag first, then handed it to Smoke.

The musicians cut the music to eat some food before the party kicked it up a notch. No one noticed the lack of music playing. They were busy catching up and passing around a fat bottle of hooch that they poured into cups. The warm communal feel of the gathering seduced him into relaxing for a change. Stack was in his element, impressing the ladies, and Smoke wouldn't have to watch over him so much for the night.

Life could be good for them.

The bank sidetracked them, but the spirited enthusiasm of their peers bolstered his sense of hope for the better. He had a mother to care for and younger relatives who looked up to him and Stack. If he played his cards right, he could have a woman as well.

The music cranked back up and men grabbed the hands of the women they desired and danced until dust kicked up inside and outside the barn. No one cared.

Cornbread pulled out dice from his right trouser pocket and shook them in a fist.

"You boys ready to throw these bones and wager some bets?" Cornbread said.

Stack passed Smoke the flask of whiskey they shared and swallowed a sizeable amount that heated his blood. His brother pulled out some cash and a group of eight men shadowed Cornbread to the side of the barn where a large slab of wood rested against the wall like a flat table. Stack heckled the other men, and Smoke took a smaller sip of whiskey before handing the flask to Cornbread. Sauced up by the liquor, Cornbread passed it around to the others.

"I got three more bottles of corn liquor and gin for later. Summa you fellas might get lucky up in the barn tonight! Get your peckers wet in some hot juicy pussy."

They tossed their coins and cash on the ground. Smoke shook the dice in his closed hand first. He blew on them for good luck three times and threw them with expertise. They bounced against the barn wall, rolling the number he wanted.

"Muthafucka!" Cornbread yelled.

Smoke came out hot with a seven on the first toss.

"There ya go, big brother! Spank these niggas' asses with that Moore magic touch," Stack cackled, throwing more money down.

They played, drank, and laughed uproariously. Smoke enjoyed the camaraderie and laughter of his brother by his side.

Smoke kept his eye on Annie.

The party turned out to be a lively ring-a-ding-ding, and she flitted about, easily attaching herself to various clusters of conversations and line dances. Beau Willie hovered near her and Stack kept true to his word, staying away from Annie despite the occasional sneak peeks he took to see if she paid any attention to him.

She didn't.

Every time she looked Smoke's way, she smiled at him before her friends pulled her off to mingle with others. Smoke noticed she drank the harder stuff and wasn't shy about speaking to other men who vied for her attention. He stood near the musicians and watched folks sway and rock their bodies. Annie cut loose and danced a few times with Beau Willie while Smoke played dice earlier, but as the rosy-orange alpenglow of the setting sun struck her face, and the music changed to a more sensual offering, he made his move on her.

He passed by Stack who danced close and slow with a woman named Josephine. The way his brother's hips moved, he'd probably drag Josephine back to their car or up to the second level of the old barn to hike up her dress and get busy. With his brother's preoccupation and Annie no longer a concern to him, Smoke seized the opportunity to act.

Cornbread and some other men lit large kerosene lamps and distributed them throughout the barn, setting a romantic mood early. Bellies were full, and most people were tipsy from the liquor. Matthew started the bonfire and the crackling of the kindling and the odor of fresh smoke shifted everyone's mood to thoughts of partnering with someone for the rest of the evening.

Annie spoke to Grace and Mayola. Mayola grinned and waved at Smoke like she expected him to come to her. Annie noticed her enthusiasm and Mayola whispered something in her ear. The expression on Annie's face withered, but she quickly recovered when she looked at Smoke again. Before he reached her, Caldonia approached her.

"Annie, should we bring the cakes out now before it gets too dark?" Caldonia said.

"Oh, shoot! I forgot about the birthday cakes. Lord, where is my head right now? We better get them and sing happy birthday to Cornbread before he gets too drunk to remember," Annie said.

"Guess I'll have to wait for that dance, then?" Smoke said.

"Not for long," Annie said. "Could you get Cornbread for me and have him go to the food table? We can sing to him and cut the cakes up before the sun goes completely down."

"Sure."

"Thank you," she said.

Smoke trudged over to where Cornbread cracked jokes and flapped his gums about the signifying monkey. He was in the center of a small circle of men clapping their hands and building an intricate rhythm on their thighs and chests, while he took verbal shots at his friend Lil Percival. Cornbread's verbal dexterity almost rivaled Stack's ability to rap with the fellas in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, he's talkin' 'bout yo mama and yo grandma too… and he don't show no respect for a nigga like you! Now you weren't there… and I'm sho' is glad… 'cause what he said about ya mama… made me mad!"

The men threw back their heads and howled with laughter that ricocheted against the barn wall outside. Lil Percival took his turn to out-do Cornbread. His short stature made their exchange look comical since he had to look up to Cornbread's big, wide body. Lil Percival wagged a finger up at his face.

"Signifying monkey stay up in your tree… you don't wanna mess with a man like me… always lying and signifying… signifying monkey stay up in that tree… but ya better not monkey with a killa like me!" Lil Percival barked out, keeping his words sliding on the beat of the handclaps and hambone body slapping.

Smoke listened to a few more lines before breaking up the verbal sparring.

"Hey, Cornbread. Annie wants you back inside for something," Smoke said.

"Oh, yeah? She wanna dance with me?" Cornbread said, tugging on the straps of his overalls.

The expression on Smoke's face told Cornbread to not even think about it.

"Guess I'll go see what she wants," Cornbread said, shambling off.

"Y'all can go in too…help sing happy birthday," Smoke said.

Everyone crowded into the barn where Annie and Donetha lit candles on three big chocolate cakes with white icing.

"Aw Annie, you ain't have to do all this for me!" Cornbread said with delight in his round eyes.

A woman behind Annie belted out Happy Birthday, and all the others joined in. Cornbread blew out the spread of twenty-two candles across all three rectangular cakes. Annie cut Cornbread a big chunk, and he ate it with his fingers, letting the icing paint his greedy lips.

Everyone who wanted a piece ate cake, and the music continued. Stack headed for the fire pit to get a sip of gin, and Smoke made a beeline for Annie.

"May I have this dance, Miss Belizaire," he said.

The radiance of her smile warmed him.

"You may, Mr. Moore."

He took her hand and followed behind Bo who swept Grace in his arms and twirled her out before pulling her back in.

Smoke held Annie's hand and took her to the center of the barn. The flickering of the lights in the kerosene lamps glinted on her earrings. They stood face-to-face, and he touched her dangling silver earrings with tiny blue gemstones at the bottom.

"What took you so long to ask me to dance, Elijah?"

He exhaled softly at the sound of his birth name rolling off her lips.

"I had to wait my turn, I guess. You're the most popular woman here."

"I only wanna dance with you."

Smoke stepped closer, letting her breasts brush against his chest. He wrapped both his arms around her waist, and she curled her delicate hands around his neck. Rocking their bodies slowly, he led the pace in time to the music.

"You're good," she said. "I thought maybe you couldn't dance because I didn't see you out on the floor at all."

"Been a little busy."

"Shooting craps and drinkin'?"

"Yeah. Is that a problem for you?"

"No. I drink. Can't shoot craps though."

"I can teach ya."

"I wanna learn."

"Okay."

The feel of her lushness in his arms awakened a need in him. He wanted her for himself and would have to tell his brother about his feelings before the night was through. They swayed in another direction and Beau Willie stared at them, his mouth fixed in a scowl.

"Is Beau Willie fixed on courting you?" he asked.

"He asked my daddy's permission two years ago, but I was too young then. We tried sneaking around, but my father would've found out. I'm the youngest of seven daughters from a seventh daughter. My daddy made sure all my sisters were married off to respectable men in New Orleans. He aims to do the same for me in Mississippi. Beau Willie knows that."

"What about now?"

"I'm old enough. He has my daddy's permission, too."

"How you feel about that?"

Her head rested on his neck, her lips blew warm air on his skin that curled his toes.

"I used to be crazy about Beau Willie. When I was sixteen, I couldn't wait to be old enough to step out with him. He was the first boy I ever kissed."

"And?"

"I like somebody else now…I like you, Smoke. But didn't you bring Mayola here as your date?"

"Nah, I gave her a ride from the road to the barn. Dassit."

"Good, because I don't like drama. I ain't never fought over a man in my life and I don't plan on startin' tonight."

"My brother really likes you, Annie."

"I know. But he ain't you. He'll have to come to terms with that on his own."

"Will your daddy let me court you if I ask him for permission?"

Annie lifted her head and looked at him.

"Your uncle told him about you after we first met. Warned him to keep me away from you and your brother. My parents don't even know I hang around your momma every day. They don't want me practicing Hoodoo."

"Why not?"

"My grandmother taught me back in New Orleans and I carried what I know here with me. The moment I met your momma, I was drawn to her. I recognized a kindred spirit, but my parents…they're Christians who only want the power of Jesus to guide me. There's more to that, like our ancestors and the power of healing through rootwork, and I want to hold on to what I've learned since I was seven years old. I'm saying all this Smoke because my daddy…he'll never give you permission to be with me."

Smoke ground his molars together.

Uncle Jed.

The uncle who partied hard with his big brother Cash ran from town-to-town with him back in the day, whoring and fornicating with the odor of liquor seeping from his pores. The man who told Taiwo that sometimes his brother had to step out on his wife to keep the peace in their house.

A fucking hypocrite.

Smoke ran his hands up her back, squeezing the softness there and pressing his crotch against her front to feel the warmth of her body all over. They slow dragged through several songs, and he never wanted to let her go. Ever.

He slid his hands below her waist and palmed her backside briefly, just to cop a quick feel.

"You ain't slick," she said.

She leaned back with a smirk on her face.

"I was just moving my hands, and they slipped," he said.

Her eyes twinkled.

"You can smile," she said.

She touched his right dimple and then dragged her finger across his lips to the other side of his face to touch the other one.

"Your face lights up so bright when you smile. I want to see you smile more…for me."

He lowered his gaze bashfully and pursed his lips to keep his face composed.

"No, don't try to hide it…it's out now. Can't take it away from me," she teased.

She lifted his chin to raise his eye level to align with hers. He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed.

"I'm going to see your father tomorrow. I will ask him for permission to see you properly. If he says no, I'm going to keep asking him until he says yes. I know he wants the best for you…wants to protect you and make sure the right man comes along who can take care of you. A father is supposed to do that for his daughter. I respect that. I'll do whatever it takes to gain his trust in me."

Annie stared at him. He'd stopped moving in time to the music and rushed out his thoughts before he lost the nerve.

"I ain't got much right now, coming back from the war and all…but I'm a hard worker and I plan on owning my own business one day. I ain't no good Christian. Been baptized, but I backslide a lot. Got a lot of my daddy in me that I try to control…drinkin', gambling, hangin' in places of ill repute all night. But I'll never lie to ya, Annie. I want a wife and family one day…and I guess I'm tellin' ya all this because it's important for you to know that I won't play with your heart. No matter how terrible me and my brother's reputation may be to you, I sincerely hope you'll give me a chance to prove myself worthy of being yours."

He clamped his lips together. The rush of words unsettled him. Lightheaded, he stepped back from her.

"You can really talk when you want to Elijah Moore," she said.

She entwined her fingers with his.

"Let's go get some air," she said.

He nodded and led her to a side door in the barn that took them out to some small trees. The sun left completely and the evening air felt cooler.

"Look," she said, pointing ahead toward an open area.

A swarm of fireflies darted about, creating the illusion of hundreds of yellow stars dancing in a black velvet sky.

Smoke marveled at the sight. The wonderment of it all seemed extra special with Annie by his side.

"Watch this," she said.

She left his side and the space where she once stood created an uncomfortable vacuum to his peace of mind. He watched her saunter over to the flurry of firefly activity and stand in the middle of the sparkle, holding her arms out to her sides.

The swarm parted at her invasion, their synchronous flashing lights glowing all around her until hundreds alighted upon her hair, arms, legs, and dress. Annie appeared to him like a queen of the fairies in a balmy southern night. Heaven must've looked like that.

She was magic.

Smoke touched the left side of his chest where his heart used to be. It had flown over to be with Annie, floating near hers, beckoning him to walk toward her. He sauntered through the flickering display, the whirring of tiny wings lightly grazing the skin on his face as he joined her in the center of the twinkling.

"The scent of the oil on my skin draws them like nectar," she said.

She indeed appeared to be a dazzling and delectable flower for the insects. But she was more than that to Smoke.

He'd listened to her talk for weeks with his mother and learned parts of her she probably didn't even know he heard. How she prayed for him and Stack with his mother while they were away. She shared the burden of her mother's fears for them in Europe, without even knowing them herself. All she had to go by were the pictures he and Stack took before they traveled overseas, the pictures his mother kept above her mantle. A traveling photographer took the black and white pictures in front of the house where the haint blue Taiwo kept the porch and door painted didn't even show up as a shadow on film. Stack grinned wide and Smoke only looked directly at the camera, hoping the photos gave his mother solace while they were gone fighting. Annie had used those pictures to be his guardian angel.

Had she made her choice then on who to pick based on the photos?

Annie spun in a circle and the fireflies swirled around her like a cloud of bursting nebulas and streaks of gold lightning. Her playful laughter drifted up into the dark sky, where starlight and a silvery moon bathed her skin in deep blue hues.

"Annie," he said, ignoring the fireflies prancing on his shirt.

"Yes?"

He cradled her face and kissed her.

Her lips were so soft.

Pliant.

He slipped his tongue between the seam that she parted for him and sought the relief that only she could give him. Her tongue followed his lead and slid back and forth against his before she explored his mouth on her own with gentle plundering that pulled moans from him that he couldn't hold back. He slanted his head for her to take what she wanted from him and they did an awkward dance to figure out what worked best for them until he locked in on holding her tight. They kept tilting their heads and sucking on tongues with a breathy desperation. He loved the feel of her full lips brushing against his plush ones, and when Annie started tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, her mouth became ravenous.

His arousal came on strong and the thickening in his pants pressed into her. He rocked his hips forward to grind against her and she released his lips, licking a trail along his neck and up to the shell of his ear, where she nibbled the top of his earlobe. He groaned and his mouth fell open. Exhaling and panting, Smoke melted under her touch.

"Mwen ka renmen ou pou tout tan," she whispered in his ear.

"Whatchu say, baby?" he panted.

The tip of her tongue traced swirls along his earlobe in a slow circular fashion and she kept speaking Creole to him as if she were telling him all the nasty things he wanted her to do to him. He quickly understood the allure that her native tongue brought out in his brother. His erection strained against his trousers and she kept seducing him with whispery Creole. The tip of his dick leaked pre-cum and the root already started throbbing with anticipation.

"Dis-moi que tu es à moi?" she said.

"W-w-whatchu sayin'?"

"Tell me you're mine, Smoke."

"Baby, I'm all yours."

Her teeth grazed against the tender flesh of his ear again and she slipped her warm tongue inside his ear, darting it in and out with slow gentleness. He whimpered and gripped the side of her throat. His tongue sought the tender parts of her neck as he sucked, nibbled, and licked on it with an ardor that nearly overwhelmed him. It was her turn to hiss and whimper as he scraped his teeth down to her collar.

"I gotta take you somewhere else," he panted, pulling away from her.

Threading his fingers with hers, he pulled her from the twinkling mist of fireflies.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Ahead of him, his father's old car shined under the pale moonlight.

"My car," he said.

He could've taken her up to the second floor of the barn, but Stack may have noticed. Beau Willie, too.

"Here, get in the back," he said, opening the door for her.

Annie shook her body free of the remaining fireflies. He did the same. She climbed in the car and followed behind her. The moon was bright enough to flood the interior. Her eyes shined with the anticipation he also felt in his gut. God, she was so beautiful. Nineteen and so full of life.

He touched a soft tuft of hair near her ear that unraveled from the yellow thread. There was no telling when he'd be able to see her again. If her father kept a tight leash, he'd have to savor every moment with her that night. He leaned in and she met him halfway. Their lips touched, and he let her discover the parts of his mouth that satisfied her curiosity. Every time she sucked on his tongue or whispered Creole in his ear, his dick jumped in his pants.

He finally reached his tipping point and fondled a breast. The abundance in his hand spilled over and he groaned louder while squeezing. Annie pulled away. Her eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Arousal bathed her face in lust. He glanced at her breasts.

"You want to touch me?" she asked.

He bit his bottom lip and nodded in the affirmative.

"I'll be a little sweaty from dancing and all this heat, though."

"I don't care."

She unbuttoned the top of her dress and he helped her pull down the sleeves in the cramped space of the back seat. Her white bra seemed to glow. She slowly pulled down each strap and her voluptuous breasts spilled out.

"Fuck," he said under his breath.

He stared at her titties like he'd never seen breasts before.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"No…you're beautiful Annie. I just wanna look at you. Drink it all in, baby."

The moonlight on her skin dazzled his eyes. She looked unreal. Beyond ethereal. With any other woman, he would've pounced and got down to business, exploiting a carnal situation to his complete satisfaction. But the eroticism she displayed for him had Smoke shook.

She looked down at his dick and swiped her tongue across her top lip, exciting him more. He finally reached over and touched her left nipple. It pebbled quickly and extended out to his delight. Big tits and big nipples. Heaven.

He pinched and played with her nipples, learning the best touches that she liked along the way. Soon he squeezed and lifted them with both hands, fearful of cumming in his pants because she had him under her spell. Her lips quirked and bunched up with all of his gentle breast play. He lowered his head and sucked on a plump nipple, tasting the salt on her skin from the perspiration she warned about. He didn't mind. It gave her skin extra flavor. She moaned out loud and called out his name several times. He kept right on sucking, switching it up with the other nipple, and then smashing her big tits together so he could flick his tongue quickly across each nipple back and forth.

"These titties are so big, Annie," he grunted.

He palmed them and she helped arouse him more by lifting their weight and holding them together for him.

"Tryna tease me, woman?" he said.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling up tight. Her gaze drifted to his lap. She licked her lips again.

"You want to touch it? You made it hard…so fast," he huffed out.

"Yes."

He pulled down his suspenders. Annie started unbuttoning his shirt. His curious eyes met hers.

"I want to touch your chest, too," she said.

He let her finish. She liked what he presented. Her index finger traced a path across his pecs. He unfastened his pants and lowered them with his underwear. Her eyes grew wider looking at his dick. He reached for her hand and guided it to the stiffness.

"It's so hot… and big," she panted.

Her hand knew what to do. She stroked him firmly up and down. Pre-cum gushed out of his deep slit and spilled all over Annie's nimble fingers. He stared at her tits and let her jerk him off. No wonder Beau Willie chased after her. Those big areolas and dark satin coloring on fat tits had Smoke wiggling in his seat. Shit felt so good that he gasped when his balls started pulsing with the friction she created going up and down. He became feverish with lust and licked his lips.

Clutching a breast, he held it with a firm grip. The heft turned him on in the worst way as he imagined taking her from behind. He craved the sound of her breasts smacking together while he fucked her, holding her bent over somewhere private, plunging into some slippery wet pussy that drained his balls. His groan deepened and Annie worked his fat dick up and down…up and down…up and down with such exquisite dexterity that his right leg shook. How deep was her pussy? Could he cram all the thickness she stroked inside of her?

His thoughts turned to Beau Willie. Had he fucked Annie? She didn't seem nervous, like someone inexperienced. He clenched his jaw with jealousy. If Beau Willie had her first, Smoke would have to turn Annie out to erase that man from her memory. His dick throbbed hard in her grasp. The heavy spilling of pre-cum helped keep his dick slippery for her delicious hand-job. His lips bunched up, and she had his dick on the verge of spitting everywhere.

He reached for his pants pocket and pulled out the handkerchief he kept there. He'd need it for the explosion that built up in his nutsack. Annie wouldn't want him to mess up her pretty dress if he wasn't prepared.

"You want me to put my mouth on it?" she asked.

Her sweet voice saying something so filthy caused a hearty chuckle to burst out. If her father ever found out, Smoke would have a dozen bullets in his body like Swiss cheese. Fuck it. She was worth dying for.

"Only if you want to," he said.

"Will you promise to cum in my mouth?"

Jesus Christ!

"Yeah, I'll cum wherever you want me to."

Excited, Annie hunkered above his dick and her breasts hung down the way he thought they would. He almost passed out. She licked his dick like a lollipop and kissed the wide head. He would have to teach her what to do because she wasn't giving him the service he was used to—

Fuck!

Her lips slid down his pipe with the suction he needed to get off. His eyes rolled back for a second, and he lost all comprehension of what his part was in the matter.

"Annie! Goddamn, girl! Suck that dick…aw shit…dassit…fuck girl….!"

She gagged, trying to go past her reflex, but she relaxed into the sucking. Her saliva coated his dick, and he almost started crying as she bobbed her head in his lap. He wasn't expecting that much pleasure from her mouth.

"Suck it…suck that dick…get it all deep in your mouth…"

He praised her efforts and offered her more dick down her throat.

She took it.

Took it deep.

He grabbed a titty and squeezed, needing something to ground him as the surge of his climax rose into his dick. Smoke slammed a hand against the roof of the car and shouted Annie's name as semen spurt into her mouth.

She swallowed.

Everything.

Her succulent lips made a loud popping sound as she released his dick. She sat back and wiped her mouth.

"I always wanted to do that," she said.

"You ain't never sucked dick before?"

The incredulous look on his face caused a giggle to escape from her.

"My first time."

"You a virgin?"

Her eyes darted away from his face.

Goddamn that Beau Willie.

"Was Beau Willie your first?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'ma be your second and last, hear me?"

She beamed, and Smoke kissed her full on the mouth, wanting to taste himself on her tongue. He played with her tits again, stuffed as much in his mouth as he could get, and she stroked his hair.

Voices.

Nearby.

"Shit!" he grumbled.

Annie started fixing her bra and Smoke pulled up his pants.

Too late.

"Nigga, getcho ass out here! Bo is about to propose to Grace and wants us with him when he does it!" Stack shouted. "You in there stankin' up the car gettin' some nookie?"

Stack yanked open the passenger door on Smoke's side. Annie tried to fasten her last few buttons, but Stack caught an eyeful of what went on seconds before.

"Stack, I was gonna tell you about me and Annie," Smoke blurted.

Stack took several steps back in a daze.

Smoke climbed out and stuffed his shirt in his pants and fastened his trousers. He pulled his suspenders back up.

"Stack?" Smoke said.

"What the fuck are you doing with her, Smoke?" Stack said.

Smoke glimpsed Bo waiting for Stack near the barn.

Annie stepped out of the car and faced Stack.

"I like your brother, Stack. You and me were only going to be friends. Don't be mad at him."

Stack's eyes watered.

"Why it had to be my brother, Annie?"

Annie reached for him, and Stack pushed her hands away. Smoke stepped in front of her.

"I was going to tell you how I felt. Since you spoke to her first, I let you have a chance with her. But she wants to be with me. I'm sorry. I ain't mean for you to find out like this."

"What he got over me, Annie? I look exactly like this nigga! I know I'ma lot more fun. Why you ain't want me? Huh?"

"I can't explain why, Stack. Something about him makes me feel…I just…"

Annie's eyes welled up. Smoke reached for her hand and pulled her in close. She hid her face in his shoulder.

"This is fucked up!"

Stack stomped away, turned back, and looked at them.

"Fuck the both of you!"

Bo patted Stack on the back as he passed him to go back into the barn.

"The fuck, Smoke?" Bo yelled over to him.

"Go pop the question to your woman, Bo," Smoke shouted.

"I want you there, too. I need my two best friends to give me courage."

"Give me a minute!"

Bo nodded and went after Stack.

Annie trembled in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I'll talk to him later. He'll get over it."

He held her and rocked his body against hers.

"He'll find him another woman in no time."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be. I'm not. Shit happens and then you gotta move on. I promise, baby. We'll laugh about this one day."

He used his fingers to wipe away her tears and then blotted away the rest with his handkerchief. Once she calmed down, he held her hand and walked her back to the barn.

There was a noticeable shift in the group when people caught on that Smoke had claimed Annie for himself. It sparked whispers and curious glances. Their community always viewed the twins as troublesome catches. They were attractive, but the risk of being Smoke's girl would change how others interacted with Annie. They would admire and fear her.

Moving through the barn, Smoke ushered Annie out through the other side to the bonfire. Bo stood next to a visibly shaken Stack. Grace, Donetha, and Caldonia sat on haystacks, laughing and smoking cigarettes, oblivious to Bo and Stack standing behind them.

Cornbread tapped Smoke on his shoulder with a finger up to his lips. One fiddler stood next to him.

"We're going to have Chauncey serenade for Bo while he proposes," Cornbread whispered.

Smoke nodded and moved aside with Annie, giving Chauncey room. Bo slinked over and pulled out a ring and showed it to him.

"I'm so nervous," Bo said.

"Do you love her?" Smoke asked.

"I do."

"Then you're ready."

Smoke nodded toward Grace.

"Go handle your business, man."

Bo took a deep breath and pointed to Chauncey. The fiddler dragged the bowstring down and the pleasing sound alerted Grace and the others sitting around the fire that something unexpected was happening.

Bo walked around Stack and stepped over an unoccupied haystack. He stood before Grace. The firelight illuminated the couple, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Smoke glanced at Annie, and the flickering flames danced in her eyes. She slipped her arm around his and tilted her head up. Her lips enticed him and he kissed her…openly. Let his tongue slip into her mouth. She squeezed his arm.

"Grace," Bo said with a shaky voice, "You are the most important—"

The punch to Smoke's face came out of nowhere. Annie screamed, and he tumbled back, holding his cheek. The pain stung like hell.

Stack held his fists up, his face contorted in rage.

"Hey now…this ain't right. Brothers ain't supposed to be fighting. What's going on?" Cornbread shouted, stepping between them. "Smoke? Stack?"

"Fuck it!" Stack yelled.

He waved a dismissive hand and walked off toward the darkness, away from the fire.

Smoke rubbed his face. The pain wasn't as sharp, but it still hurt.

"Sorry, Bo," Smoke said. "I'll be back, Annie."

Smoke strode in the direction his brother went.

"Stack! Stack! Hold up!"

Smoke jogged after him.

His brother stopped and held his hands on his hips with his back to him.

"Talk to me, Stack."

"You should've told me. The moment you knew you had feelings."

"I should've…but you went for her, and I stood aside."

Stack sighed.

"I could never figure out why she held back with me. She made me laugh…listened to me. Never judged me. I dunno…made me feel like I could be something."

"What are you talking about? You're already something. We're both going to be something more when we start our own shit. C'mon, now."

"Cut the crap, Smoke. You and I both know people see us as two ain't-shit sons of Cash Moore. The man they believe had the devil in him and passed that evil onto us."

"We not evil. Stop believing that shit."

"They call our momma a witch."

Stack sighed. Tried to talk.

"Annie…man, she…..aw forget it!"

He threw his hands up and pulled out his flask. Gulping down the contents, he handed it to Smoke.

"How's your face?" Stack asked.

"It's going to have a bruise in the morning. Momma is going to wonder what happened."

Smoke took a huge swallow and choked, almost dropping the flask.

"The fuck is in here?" Smoke gasped.

He coughed and Stack whacked him on the back a few times.

"Pure grade moonshine, whipped up by Cornbread's uncle Lodie."

In the distance, an old truck kicked up dust, charging toward the bonfire. It stopped just short of the haystacks, and a group of men hopped out.

Smoke and Stack hurried back to see what the commotion was about.

The moment they reached the others, Smoke sensed trouble. Cornbread looked nervous.

"What's going on, Cornbread?" Smoke asked.

"These boys are from Cedar Mound."

Cornbread wouldn't look at Smoke. His eyes stayed planted on the leader of the new arrivals.

"Friends of yours?" Stack asked.

"Nah."

A bulky young man with slicked back hair, beady eyes, and clothes that looked too new to be trusted, stepped forward.

"We're friends with Terry," slick hair said. "He said for us to come around for the birthday party and barbecue."

"Terry who?" Cornbread said.

"The nigga with the fucked up eye," another man with a muscular frame and bitter-looking face interjected.

His eyes dragged up and down Annie and Caldonia. Donetha, too.

Smoke placed himself in front of them.

"This here is a private function," Cornbread said. "I don't know ya, and nobody can invite people I don't know to my jump up. I'll kindly ask you fellas to leave and find someplace else to have fun."

"Nigga, we told you Terry said we could come here!"

The muscular one lunged forward like he wanted something to jump off.

Both Smoke and Stack had already reached down to their ankles and pulled out guns, aiming them in strangers' direction.

"Guess you niggas caint hear too good. The man said you ain't welcome," Smoke challenged.

"We can help clean those big ass ears out if ya want," Stack added.

Annie snickered, and the muscular stranger curled his lips into an angry snarl.

"Bitch, what are you laughing at?" he barked.

Smoke cocked his gun, but Annie reached into the deep pocket of her dress and whipped out a straight razor.

"Call me a bitch again and I'll slice your balls off," Annie spat right back.

Smoke and Stack glanced at her and quickly looked at each other.

"Maybe it's best you keep her, Smoke. Caint have my balls cut off if she gets mad at me," Stack joked.

Ghost Eye Terry ran out from the barn, waving his hands around.

"Aye, Cornbread! That's my buddy Randolph…I told you earlier that he might come through," Terry huffed out.

"You said one person. Terry. Not four," Cornbread said.

Randolph, with the slick hair, grinned widely.

"I'm sorry, that's my fault. I didn't want to come all this way alone. The klan been busy this summer as y'all know. Didn't want to take a chance and get caught on the road by myself. Brought me some back-up just in case," Randolph said.

Cornbread scratched his head and sighed.

"That is true," Cornbread said.

He glanced at Smoke and Stack.

"I guess it's okay to let them stay. I told Terry he could have a friend come since he helped drive people over."

Terry nodded enthusiastically, relief spreading across his face.

Smoke moved closer to the muscular man and kept his gun aimed directly at his head.

"Ain't nobody stayin' until this nigga apologizes to my woman," Smoke said.

Cornbread blinked twice and stared at Annie.

Randolph smacked the muscular man's shoulder to comply.

"Apologize to this beautiful lady, Wilson," Randolph said.

Wilson spread his greasy lips into a caricature of a smile and bowed his head at Annie.

"I am very sorry for calling you outchea name, Miss…?"

"Annie," she said.

"My apologies, Miss Annie. My mother taught me better than that," Wilson said.

Everyone waited for Smoke.

"Is that good enough for you, Annie?" Smoke asked.

Annie folded her straight razor and tucked it back in her pocket.

"It'll do," she said with her haughty dark eyes cutting into the new guests.

Smoke reared back his hand and pistol-whipped Wilson across the forehead.

"I said sorry, nigga!" Wilson wailed, pressing a hand onto the new bloody gash on his face.

"That'll teach ya not to run ya mouth next time," Smoke said.

"Come get something to drink. Might be some cake and food left," Terry said, rushing his people toward the barn.

Cornbread looked over at Annie.

"You sho' is full of surprises tonight," Cornbread said.

Annie smirked.

"I don't trust these niggas. Klan or no klan," Stack said to Smoke.

"I agree."

"I'll go check on 'em. Make sure they don't kill the party with their musty asses. Lawd almighty, that thick neck one smell like a dead skunk," Stack said, his face scrunching up at the odor left behind.

"We good?" Smoke asked.

Stack looked at Annie. Her big brown eyes and pretty lashes were hard to stay mad at. His brother's shoulders relaxed. He tucked his gun in the back of his pants for easy access.

"Yeah, we good."

Stack walked over to Annie. Looked her dead in the face. She reached out and ran the back of her hand across his cheek. Then kissed the side of his face.

"You'll always be my favorite twin," she said.

"I'ma be salty with you for a minute. Don't think we not gonna have a conversation about this between you and me at some point."

"I know," she said.

Stack turned and headed inside to keep his eyes on folks.

Smoke held out his hand. Annie clasped it.

"A straight razor was in your dress while we were fooling around?" he said.

She touched the hidden pocket that blended into her dress seamlessly.

"I gotta protect myself at all times."

"Not from me."

"Especially you," she teased.

"I think we're a good match, then."

He scanned the groups of people relaxing and chatting by the fire.

"What happened to Bo and Grace?"

"He tried to finish his lovely words to Grace, and she jumped up to go puke in the bushes over there. That moonshine Cornbread passed around is rough. Bo postponed the proposal until she feels a little better."

Sweet music and laughter drifted out from the barn. Smoke placed his gun back in his ankle holster.

"May I have another dance with you, Annie?"

"Yes you may, Elijah."

Smoke allowed a tiny sliver of a smile to show on his lips. Annie kissed her fingers and touched his lips with them.

"The best part of my night," she said, "Seeing you smile at me."

He kissed her on the temple and made plans to speak to her father first thing in the morning.

Part 4 soon come....

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[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: what i've become

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

words: 7k 

song inspo: 'monster' by skillet

warnings: angsttttttt.

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

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

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

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

He's just so angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't care."

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

"I said shut up!"

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

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

Her son who just put his hands on her.

Her son who just put his hands on her.

Her son.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-------

"Is he by you?"

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

He pushed me

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

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

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

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

She closes her eyes. He has no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Solana, I'm getting conc—"

"He pushed me."

A pause. Long. Longer. And, then—

"What?"

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

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

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

"You have to tell Rom—"

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

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

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

"You gon call him now?"

I don't want to. "yeah."

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

That was difficult.

This will be devastating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trenbolone.

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

An anabolic-androgenic steroid

Tama is using steroids.

—--------

“Where is he!”

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

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

She feels anything but merry.

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

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

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

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

A pause. “What happened, Solana?”

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

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

“Solana.”

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

She feels so helpless.

Silence. Prolonged, continued, hefty silence.

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

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

Angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger.

He’s angry.

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

“Roman—”

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

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

She hates every bit of it. 

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

“Roman, please—”

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

With anger. 

“Tamasa!” 

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

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

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

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

“Roman!”

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

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

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

Calming the fuck down.

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

“Where—”

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

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

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

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

And especially to take anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's a nurse for crying out loud.

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

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

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

It’s Tama he needs to talk to. 

—----

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

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

Actions that led up to this very moment.

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad—"

“Tamasa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the most brutal of ways.

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

Tama knows he deserves this.

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“It’s not….I didn’t mean—”

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

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

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

There’s concern.

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

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

And, he shares as such.

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

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

Tama swallows, voice tight. “The pressure.” 

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

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

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

Roman’s shoulders drop. “What?”

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

“Tamasa—”

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

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

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

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

Not nearly this much.

More than the Tribal Chief could have ever guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same thing he’s now done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More like his dad. 

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

“Even—even after—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama—”

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

He nods. “Yes ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

So, that’s what will happen. 

“Tama.”

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

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

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

And an apology.

He nods, “yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

She sees him. 

Sees her son.

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

------

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

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

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter One

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

Mafia!au

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

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

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

Off doing unspeakable things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” He asked her.

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

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

So, she did.

***

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

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

He was in charge of the crime family now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your sister.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando wanted them answers. He wanted them real bad.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the matter, Lan?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you remember my old friend, Carlos?"

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

[notevenhayleyhart]

Red Lipstick - Yandere!Batfam X RichGirl

Preview: The party is dreadfully boring. Bruce is desperate to leave, until a certain family arrives, that is. Only chaos ensues, trouble in the shadow of the family. Not to mention, an odd girl has captured the attention of Bruce and the others.

Word Count: 4.4K

Pov: Bruce Wayne

Chapter One:

The party was boring at best. All these events are the same with smiles so shallow that these people make a puddle seem like an ocean. 

Bringing a glass of ginger ale to my lips, everything Tim was saying to me was completely going over my head. There was a dull throb in my temples and the room was just a bit too warm, shoes too tight, people too chatty, drink not enough, and I felt like I was a second away from snapping. 

Tim continued to ramble despite it all. “These upgrades will help the Robin suit become more durable. Why does Batman get bullet proof crap and the Robin suit has the safety of a stripper's outfit?”

“Have Dick look into it.” With one swing, I downed the rest of the drink. 

We were going unbothered by some miracle. For now at least. Usually, people would try to strike something up with me by now, useless deals for me that would only benefit the other guy. Wayne Enterprises is both a blessing and a curse.

Instead of being here, I could be out patrolling, put on the suit and be the symbol this city desperately needs. Not only the city. I need Batman. Without—I'm just a billionaire playboy. No different than the other sleazebags here. 

A whole lot of assholes is what they are. 

My eyes skim the crowd. Speaking of Dick. He has two women chatting him up, their revealing black dresses making me roll my eyes. He talks animatedly, that familiar smile is on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. Then there's Jason behind him, not even sparing the woman a glance as his grey eyes glared at the tie he was tugging at.

The women of the family were missing at the event, along with Damian (who was too young and—who would frankly—pick a fight with anyone who looked at him a certain way). Stephanie and Cassandra opting for a girls' night. Originall,y I planned to come here with them. When I found out they wouldn't be coming, I dragged the boys along with me. 

Like I’d suffer in this hell alone. 

Tim suddenly went quiet and my gaze traveled back to him. 

He asked, “you're not listening to me, are you?”

“You’ll keep talking regardless.”

“Fair point.” And then he went on and on about details I wasn't in any mood to discuss. His innovativeness was a gift, but at the moment, I wished I hadn't brought him along.

A sudden buzz entered the air only seconds later. Searching for the source, I came up empty handed. My brows creased together and I grabbed another flute off a passing by waiter's tray, placing the empty one down. Tim was no different from me, I could tell from the look on his face he was alert. 

Force of habit. 

With our gigs though, it was a given to be aware of your surroundings. 

“They're coming . . . you see them outside don't you?” a woman whispered too loudly. 

A man muttered, “it's been months since they’ve been to an event.”

“Do you think the son will marry my daughter?”

“Bizarre lifestyle, couldn't be mine even if I tried . . .”

Then there was a baby crying. Who the hell brings their kids to this kind of event? 

Coming back into focus, I saw a confused Tim, you could all but see the gears turning in his head. Ever the detective, it didn't take long for him to figure it out. Under his breath he said, “ the MorningStar’s-”

The main doors opened and it was like floodgates to a dam were opened instead. Are these people that significant? The name MorningStar was only a blimp on my radar. They were up and coming years back, making splashes but not anything to do with me—so I disregarded them. Apparently, not many did the same. 

The family of five were surrounded by journalists and cameras before they could get through the doors. 

This time, I sought out Tim. “What do they do?”

Tim crossed his arms, smirk corked. “Do I look like google?”

“Tim.”

“Right.” He sighed, eyes unable to move from the people of the hour. “Oscar MorningStar was a pretty average guy in his early years. Nothing special about him as a dock worker. But then he came up with this ingenious design. Simple yet complex, honestly, I would kill to-”

“Don't even think about it,” I gave him a look. “Not now at least.”

“I like his designs! I’ve incorporated some of the mechanics into the batcave you know? It's just—it's not something you or I would think of—it almost like his work is intimate. His designs are so precise, I envy it.”

That got a snort out of me. He cleared his throat, put up a bravado. 

“Anyhow, that's his wife, Willow. Then he’s got three kids. Oldest to youngest, there's Pacifica, Prince, and Penelope, I believe.”

Out of the corners of my eyes I noticed Dick’s attention in the same place as ours. The two women were pouting, huffy about the attention being stripped from them. 

“Why do they catch so much attention?” I asked myself more than him. 

It was as if the rest of us were pests attracted to their honey. 

“Likely because they're just not . . . one of the rich. There's still a shine in their eyes, a lack of greed in their outlook. You can practically see that in Oscar's way of doing business.” For the first time in a long time, Tim Drake was lost for words. “You won't find anyone else like that in this room. Some hate that, are confused by it, or fascinated.” He looked at his father and narrowed his eyes. “I'm assuming you're the last one on that list.”

There was truth to his words. 

I found myself just as captivated by them, no different from the other pests. 

It wasn't like a group of common citizens walked into a room they weren't meant to be in. It was something different than that, far more different. Though they didn't exactly act like the other rich patrons either.

They looked at each other with sincerity, care. Tightly bunched together, finding comfort in each other's presence—so despite all the cameras in front of them—you would’ve thought they were in their home with how untense their shoulders were. Yet, with each camera shudder, there was a small tightening of brows here and a smile becoming falterier there. Oscar was protective of his family, my eyes landing on his hand wrapped around his wife's waist. Simply another show of their care. And in the center, who they were encompassing, was Penelope (or so I guess, as the youngest, it would make sense for her to be surrounded by the barrier of her family, protected from the circling vultures).

Penelope, she was an older teenger by the looks of it. She was the most uncomfortable, first to have her smile crack. She said something to her father that got the group to laugh. Without another moment passing, they broke free from the vultures and found a table for five. 

Dick came walking over to us, Jason in tow. There was a stupid lost look on the eldest's face. 

“The ‘MorningStars?’ Why is this the first time I'm hearing of them?”

Tim didn't miss a chance to mock his older brother. “What are you doing over here in the slums? I thought you were talking to Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

He sent a glare Tim’s way. “Can it.” He looked to me. “Are they news to you?”

“Not necessarily.” I rubbed the scruff of my jaw, my eyes darting between Dick and the family. “They're rich, major players, just not in our industry. They don't make themselves known. I know of them, always have since Osacar made his big break. But they're  . . .”

“On the lowkey,” Dick finished. 

Jason narrowed his eyes. “They must be up to something.”

The three of us said in the same moment, with conviction, “no.”

They weren't suspicious, per se. They were just set apart—different. As if that fact hadn’t been emphasized thirty times in one night. I sighed and resisted looking back to them one last time. Suddenly, all thought of being Batman and wanting to leave were the farthest thing from my mind. Penelope’s tense face flashed behind my eyes. 

“You should go talk with them,” Dick told Tim with a sly smile. 

“What!? Why me?”

“Well, our options are between sir broods a lot over here.” Dick pointed his thumb in the direction of Jason. “Then there's B, who would probably scare them, since they look like such laid-back people.”

Tim raised a brow. “And you?”

“Well if it all goes to shit, I don't want it to be on me. At least then I can sweep in and clean up the pieces, giving me a perfect opening to talk with ‘em.”

Jason, meanwhile, was nowhere near on board with this scheme. I couldn't say I was all that agreeing either. “Why should we associate with them?”

My voice is gruff, “I agree.”

“Sure, they're sparkly and new, but it's not like we need any more attention. Even if you just want to make friends, we all know how loaded that is. Nothing good could come out of being in close relations with us.” There was more left unsaid, but his message was clear enough. 

Time frowned and looked at me. 

I was already shaking my head, eyeing the flute in my hand with still amber liquid. Taking a sip I didn't bother looking up. “Don't look at me. I agree with Jason.”

That snapped heads his way. 

A muscle in my jaw clenched. “I don't want to hear it. They're already different as it is among the rich; we’re set apart in our own way as well. Let's keep it that way. Besides, how interesting can they be? We have enough on our plates. We have no reason to associate with the MorningStar's-”

“That can be changed,” a charming voice said. 

Lost in their own bubble, they never realized the quiet presence of Oscar approaching. 

Four pairs of eyes blink at him, dumbfounded. The man's smile was genuine. Dick was the first to return it, extending his hand. 

Oscar shook his hand, a small scrunch in his brows. “Dick Grayson, right?”

“Right.”

At the affirmation, a fuller smile spread across Oscar's face. “Well, I’m Oscar MorningStar. It's nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Oscar.” Dick’s head lolled to the side, looking at me with a look that screamed ‘see? We can make nice.’

Tim piped up. “It's good to see you here, Mr. MorningStar.” There was an unmissable look of rare admiration in his gaze. 

That got a laugh from the older man. “Call me Oscar, you're making me feel old.” His eyes drifted to me but went back to my son slowly. “Honestly it's a miracle me and my family are here.”

“Yes, you rarely attend gatherings. Why is that?”

Oscar shrugged. “It's not really our thing.”

“But something here is your thing,” I said, “or else you wouldn't be here.”

“Guilty,” the grin on him goes bashful. 

Curious.

He’s rich, not as rich as me, but his company is making millions and his stocks are only on the rise. How does a man do that with a personality like that? He's not nervous, but not exactly the definition of confidence. The air surrounding him isn't exactly threatening either.

“In all honesty,” his hand rubbed the back of his neck, eyes unmistakably meeting mine. “I'm here because I wanted to talk business with you.” 

He's firm. To the point. Maybe that's what makes his methods effective?

Regardless, the request got a shit eating grin on Tim’s face. He took the stage. “You know, if Bruce doesn't want to work with you, I’d be more than happy to. I’d love to get my hands on-”

“Tim,” I said. 

The boy pursed his lips and turned away with a frown. 

“While I appreciate the offer, Mr. MorningStar, I don't believe our business would clash well.” A false smile pulled at my lips.

Oscar countered. “You do plenty of work in biotech and tech in general, manufacturing, shipping; I’m not such a fool as to approach a man for business without doing my reading on him.” He stood tall with his shoulders back, but there wasn't anything looming about him. “My tech will help yours. Improve upon the foundation you have already set. This way, people in Gotham will be working with a more efficient system. I won't get into the details now, but the effects of what I plan to accomplish with you will help your average worker. 

“We can put less strain on the people who are responsible for the clothes on our backs. Someone has to sit behind the sewing machine after all, why not give that person a little help? In the ways we can, at least.” 

Tim got one thing right. There was a lack of greed in him. His words were disgustingly genuine.

“Those are some high expectations. How can I be sure that your supposed plan will meet them?” Behind the mask, I was still a businessman. 

I could all but feel Tim and Dick glaring at me for trying to deter the man. They’ve made their cards clear; they wanted to see what this man was about. And here I was shutting him down so quickly. Jason was nodding approvingly. What none of us expected was the youngest MorningStar to take to the stage and tap a finger on the microphone. 

“Hello? Hear me? Check one, two, three?” Her voice has a bit of an edge to it, not what I expected from her appearance. 

The boys catch sight of Penelope on the stage and Tim's mouth falls open. An amused expression crossed Dick’s face while one akin to annoyance passed Jason’s. 

They're so distracted that they don't notice Oscar's soft groan. He rubbed a hand down his face, “idiot,” he grumbled behind his hand. 

A soft hum left me, I bought the flute to my lips. Based on his unreactive response, this wasn't all that new of a thing. 

Interesting. Just who are you, Penelope?

The most pressing thought on my mind was something along the lines of thinking her a fool. She would no doubt embarrass her father and make a scene. Here I was brushing her off as a reckless teenager, because clearly she fits the bill. So much for the MorningStar's being mysterious, their only human.

“So,” she said into the mic. “I want to make a small announcement, courtesy of my sister.” She effectively had the room's attention. A smirk was on her face while she gestured to the right wing of the stage.

Climbing the stairs to the stage was her brother, Prince I took it, carrying who must Pacifica. The girl was squirming and struggling to get out of her brother's grip, legs kicking. Prince winced when the stiletto stabbed his thigh, though his grip was unrelenting. 

Tim laughed beside me. Oscar tensed all the more. 

Penelope went on. “This is Pacifica. She is looking for a suitor.”

Prince leaned over—holding a feral young woman—and said into the mic, “preferably between the ages of 20 to 25.”

The youngest nodded, talking to the crowd as if they were on a game show. “She’s sorta rowdy. But there's no return policy, so if she steals your heart or you hers, no backsies. And she's . . . um . . . well she will make sure you're the most stylish man around. Shit, I forgot, she's into women too!”

The male leaned back over, “she’ll make you into the most stylish woman around.”

“She's also super nice and will cook you some good meals. Keep you in tip-top shape. But she is stingy and can be an ass sometimes. Newsflash, she doesn't like lazy people.”

A whole shit show was taking place right before my eyes.

And the crowd of drunken rich men and women were eating out of this young lady's palm. They laughed and I didn't miss the looks mothers and fathers sent to their children. Backs were patted, urged forward. 

The eldest sister protested, “I do not need you jackasses to set me up!”

Prince rolled his eyes. “Trust me. You do. Nobodies touching you with a ten-foot pole with that attitude.”

“My attitude is just fine! Let go! Your dirty hands are messing up my dress!”

“Dirty!?”

As her sisters continued to bicker in the background, Penelope stepped forward and blocked them from view (not that that did much). Her little red smile twitched. “Anyhow-”

“Nell!” A whole new woman came onto the stage. Based on the semblance, I assume that's Willow, the mother of the family. “Get the hell off the stage!” There was a symphony of whoops and hollers. Some shouting they should let the girl speak. To which the mother glared at those individuals, a look that pierced their souls no doubt. “I’ll have you assholes know that it's not above me to get my hands dirty.” 

“That's my cue,” Oscar said fast. Rushing through a crowd that parted for him, all to reach his wife and children. 

Ushering them off the stage, he was able to dismantle it all effectively. With one look at Prince, he got him to put down his sister. Though it did take a few words for him to get Penelope to give him the microphone. He looked sweetly into the crowd. “Well I'm so sorry for these people.” Without another word, he took his wife's elbow and escorted his family off the stage. 

I sighed, “if only I could wrangle you guys in like that.”

“Hey, we respect your orders B.” Dick said.

“Speak for yourself.”

Jason was sour, as he had been since I forced him to come along and skip patrol. “What the hell even was that?”

“Those MorningStars really are a whole bunch of characters, huh?” Tim said with a smirk. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “Look at your own family, idiot.”

Everything after that was fairly calm. Oscar didn't approach us again, likely thinking the deal was officially ruined given his family's behavior. If anything, it makes things easier. Though a part of me, a very, very small part of me, was curious to know what he was offering me. 

The night wasn't getting any younger, things truly began to get into full swing.

When I noticed how loud it was for the first time, I paused my motions. What happened to that damn headache that was haunting me? 

Weid. Likely, my body was aware that this would all be over soon. All I needed to do was stick around for half an hour more. 

The four of us now moved to the bar counter, I opted to stand while the others sat.

When the buzz about the MorningStar's died down and the drinks were passed around in full, that meant bold investors were approaching me. At least once every ten minutes. I promptly ignored Dick’s snickering as another man came my way.

He stumbled and began to blubber as soon as he was in earshot. “Mr. Wayne!” As if we were good friends. “Believe me when I say that you would be wise to invest in the future!”

The others (traitors) were ignoring him. Talking amongst themselves and leaving me to fend for myself. 

I don't even offer the man a smile. 

“Wayne, you need me and my company's goods. Without us, you'll find yourself missing something!” The only thing I felt myself missing was Oscar's approach when it came to proposals. Or literally anyone else. 

This was the sixth idiot of the night to approach me, possibly the worst one yet.

I inspected the drunken man in front of me, watching him go on and on. All the while, I haven't said a single thing. He kept going . . . on and on and on. 

My eyes droop. 

I could pretend to be in my own bubble for only so long. Truth be told, I was in a party surrounded by people who would like to leave me alone. I love this city, I wouldn't do what I do if I didn't. But social events are so much harder to bear when a point can't be found anywhere. 

How do these people do it? Live a life so lost in booze and their own spending? Compounding their money whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was so devoid of any true meaning. Meanwhile, in the alleyway of this very building, there was someone probably getting mugged. Someone was shot somewhere. A family starved. A stray cat or dog is going without a home. 

My hand twitched by my side, jaw clenched as I glowered at the man in front of me. He was gabbing about how his oil rigs were some of the best around. How he could cut Bruce some of the profits if he did this and that. 

A small crash sounded in the corner. A jolt of something goes through my body. And before looking, I already know who it is. Can all but feel it on my skin. 

I looked above the man who was still going on, seeing the three siblings once more causing a ruckus. 

The idea that this is why they never come to social events takes root in my head and an unexpected, tremendously small, smile tugged at my lips. I wouldn't take them out either. Wasn't this the exact reason I never brought along Damein? 

Pacifica was taking this time to rebel against her sister, towering over wide-eyed Penelope, who had toppled over in her chair (the reason for the crash). Prince grabbed his sister by the arms and Pacifica waved to her as Prince dragged her to the grand Piano splat in the middle of the room. 

I had a strong feeling that roughhousing was a common thing in their home. 

Curiosity took hold of me. 

These siblings seemed to always be at the damn center of attention. Eyes always on them, and it was like they didn't have to try. 

Dick swiveled in his chair, glass half brought to his lips before his eyes widened, drink suddenly forgotten he nudged Tim. Jutting his head in the direction of Penelope, both boys' eyes settled on the impatient girl. 

She was glaring at her brother, insulting him is what I guessed she was saying from the fast movements of her mouth and accusatory finger poking into his chest. But he said one thing, and that's all it took for her body to go rigid and turn tight-lipped. 

I find myself leaning closer, as if that would allow me to hear. 

Seriously? Since when-

She huffed and faced forward in the piano seat. By now, many had stopped to stare. But she didn't seem to mind it. It rolled off of her and she looked off into space for a time, chewing on her lip. 

When something came to her, she took the lid off the piano and glanced around. Waiting to see if anybody would try and stop her. All she found was curious glances and her brother holding two thumbs up. 

At last I spoke to the drunken man. “Would you mind? I'm spending time with my family.” he suddenly stopped and looked at the others and sighed, waddling off, yes, waddling. 

Spending time with my family my ass. 

But she was about to start and I was too curious to hear it that I didn't want him talking my ear off simultaneously. 

What would she play? 

I observed her posture, the way she positioned her hands and began to tap her heel. She licked her red painted lips, and closed her eyes for just the briefest of seconds. 

A little wonder is what she is. 

Her fingers took to the keys, and her movements were comparable to a professional. Fingers gliding with such a smooth touch that it made sense the sound was so breathtaking. I recognized the song as Golden Hour as she moved further along in the melody. 

The shuffling of the party halted and she became the center. The beating heart. Her lips parted, eyes lost in the playing. Her brother looked at her with pride, but I barely registered him—unwilling to look away from her. 

The song made it to the chorus. I’ve never been the biggest fan or performances, but something about the heart she put into it made me want to listen to her do a dozen more songs. An essence was put into her movements, her soul laid bare for all to witness. 

How many could do that? 

How she did it wasn't something that could be taught. 

Regardless, how she moved just showed she wasn't simply raw talent. But truly put time into being good. 

God did it show. 

I didn't want any of it to be over: her moment, the moment, the song, even the feeling of curiosity I felt in my chest. 

Up until that moment, I was lumping her and her family into one thought, the ‘MorningStars.’ But looking at her, watching her like this, I found myself wanting to make her into more in my mind. What's her favorite color? What does she like? What makes her skin crawl? Her fears? Deep-seated desires? 

She was her own person, a spectacle that I needed to know. 

Never have I seen a girl like her. So bold yet on the lowkey. She’s human, as complex as the rest of us, but watching her play made her something other. My head tilted to the side as I watched her. I wanted to know her. She’s a mystery the detective in me wants to solve. 

Who is she? What is she? 

Reckless, clearly, from that speech given. Yet she has such an amazing capacity to be graceful, her performance adding kindling to that fire. 

I looked to the others and saw they were just as taken aback by her. She was something entirely different, new to us and this world. Jason was glaring at her with begrudged admiration. Dick had a full smile on his face. Then there was Tim who was recording the whole damn thing. 

Something told me he wasn't the only one. 

Her family was definitely making it into the paper, no doubt. But something told me she, in particular, would be mentioned separately in the conversation of this extraordinarily hectic night. 

If you want to read further ^^ -> Chapter 2 of Red Lipstick

[sunniques]

stepdad cheol sharing you with his business partner mingyu, cheol telling him about how gorgeous and sweet you were and he telling him to share as a joke but he didn’t took it as that, he coordinated a you three on a hotel, he gave your mom some excuse of trying to bond as stepdad and stepdaughter so she wouldn’t feel anything weird about it

having one man giving you what you want was one thing but having two was a whole different experience, they were sucking on your tits while trying to finger you at the same time, spanking your pussy too making you whimper “look how wet your princess is cheol, you were right about her being a slut” cheol holding you while mingyu eats your pussy like a starved man “you enjoy having my friend eating your cunt baby? such a whore” they taking turns on fucking your mouth or your pussy, making a bet on who can make you cum harder, you were a mess, your thighs shaking and drenched by your own juices, cum of both men dripping from your pussy and ass, even some stains on your boobs, they were using you as their personal sex toy and you can’t complain, all to end with both of their cocks fucking you (getting doubled penetrated by these men jesus christ, they are making me go insane) “look how cock drunk she is cheol, you were right about younger women” you were exhausted after that intense fucking session, mingyu left leaving cheol and you alone, he was caressing your trembling body “now that he left, let me have you all by myself before leaving” he said while kissing your neck

- 🎧

((told you that these two are making me go insane this era, specially cheol he got so big))

this is making me feral because two big beefy men using and wrecking tf out of you is such a dream omg

[rafeobx]

THE GHOST BETWEEN US

MASTERLIST

ex!rafe x maybank!reader

plot: it’s been months since you ended things with rafe—ever since john b found out about your secret and gave you an ultimatum. everything’s different now: rafe’s with sofia, jj has kiara… and you? you’re alone. but everyone knows the truth — no matter who he’s with, rafe still loves you.

warnings: lots angst, jealousy, KOOK sofia

he’s with sofia now.

everyone knows it. she’s pretty. polished. safe. she wears white dresses and pearl earrings. she knows how to laugh at the right time, say the right thing, never ask too many questions. she’s from his world. the world that smells like old money and champagne on docks and names whispered like legacies.

she doesn’t come with war in her eyes and rebellion in her veins. she doesn’t come with the name maybank tangled in hers. she doesn’t make his father flinch when she walks into a room.

but everyone also knows that rafe still checks the old dock. still drives by the chateau late at night, lights off, heart clenching. still wears the chain you gave him that he keeps tucked under his shirt, hidden like a wound that never healed because he moved on the way people do when they’re trying not to die—not because he stopped loving you.

and sofia isn’t blind,—she sees the way he stiffens when someone says your name. she sees how he zones out, staring at nothing, lost in a memory only he knows. she kisses him, and he kisses her back but not like he kissed you.

never like you. he doesn’t say her name like it’s a prayer because she’s not you.

and no matter how many months pass — no matter how many pictures he lets her post, how many family dinners he shows up for, how many times she whispers i love you into the curve of his neck —his heart still belongs to the girl who walked away for blood. the girl who left to protect her brother. the girl who shattered both of them just to keep her world from burning even if it killed her, too.

the first time you saw him again was by accident.

midsummers. you weren’t even supposed to be there. kie had begged you to get out of your slump and jj promised they’d keep it chill and you thought, maybe, just maybe, if enough time had passed, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

you were wrong.

he walked in with sofia at his side, tan and polished in his pressed white shirt and baby-blue tux, with that cruel kind of beauty that still made your lungs falter and your breath hitch.

he looked like a dream you weren’t allowed to touch anymore and when his eyes found yours across the crowd, he froze. everything around you blurred. you didn’t see sofia. you didn’t see the others staring between you and him. all you saw was him and the sea of distance between you.

you looked away, the ache in your chest spilled out of your ribs and onto the floor, deciding to leave before you could break. but rafe followed.

he always did.

you were standing out on the club stairs when you heard him behind you. neither of you spoke right away.

the ocean stretched out in front of you, but all you could feel was the air between you two—thick, electric, still alive.

“i tried,” you finally whispered, not turning around. “i tried to forget you.” his voice came slower. raw. honest. “so did i.” then you turned and there he was. the boy who tore through your world like a storm. the boy you never stopped loving.

you looked at each other like the pain had never left. because the truth was—it hadn't.

and in his eyes, you saw it all--the nights he stayed up thinking of you, the chain under his shirt, the truth he couldn’t say with sofia in his arms.

he still loved you and that was the cruelest part of all.