#KNOWING THE SONGS MAKES A BIGGER DIFFERENCE THAN I ANTICIPATED | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

usedpidemo · 2 months ago

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Diplopia (Itzy Chaeryeong)

You don’t recognize these roads anymore.

Uncertainty continues to cloud your mind as you closely follow the car in front. Most days, it’s the typical van housing the stars—down to the model, the wheels, the black paint job. In your time following them, the vehicle never changed, to the point where you have the plate number on speed dial.

Tonight is different. Instead of the usual activities, be it a fansign, festival or radio program, you’re following her home.

—————

The moment you step forward to have your album signed, the four girls’ eyes immediately light up.

It isn’t the usual fan excitement idols have to put on in public. Instead, an excited energy coming from a place of recognizing something familiar—someone that they’re close with.

Except you’re neither family nor friend. By all accounts, you’re just another fan completely indistinguishable from the rest.

Even as they’re preoccupied with catering to the others’ requests, they’re exchanging glances, whispers among one another.

You take a seat in front of Yeji, the first in line, curious.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?”

She brushes it off nonchalantly, only casually smiling, a professional in masking her facade. “Not much. Just happy to see you,” she says, before adding her signature on the page and sending you off.

Same question, same result when it comes to Lia. You could have sworn they were all eyeing you intently moments ago.

Even the charismatic Yuna is playing coy with you.

To be fair on their end, this is the fourth time this promotional cycle that you’re doing this song and dance. And there’s some within that crowd who are basically seeing them every other day. You’re not the most egregious fan in that audience.

“What’s going on? Am I missing something?” you ask Ryujin, confused by her humorous expression, a stark contrast. The others didn’t budge in the slightest when you tried questioning them, only telling you the same thing: that your presence makes them happy.

Fortunately, Ryujin is in the business of self-sabotage today.

“Ask Chaery—ow!” is her reply before getting cut off by a swift elbow to the rib from her seatmate, Yuna. She starts laughing along too.

“Christ—will you shut up? You’re gonna ruin the surprise! Wait—ah shit.”

Yuna realizes the mistake she’s made, and she can only grin and blush in embarrassment, falling face down on the table. To the untrained eye, it’s an amusing scene. None of the audience, not even the ones beside you understand what the commotion is about other than typical member to member playfulness and tomfoolery.

Finally, you come face to face with Chaeryeong, unbothered relative to the others. Her eyes light up upon recognizing you once again.

“Ryu can’t help herself, huh,” Chaeryeong remarks teasingly, her brows crinkling in playful annoyance at her senior as you slide forward the album. Shifting her quiet, unassuming frown into a subtle grin, she adds her respective signature, slipping a thin sticky note beneath the signed page. “Secret’s out. Check it once the fansign’s done. I’ll be waiting.”

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you as you try flipping the page, only to be stopped by Chaeryeong’s slap of your hand.

Well aware of the cameras and her audience, she maintains character while whispering a warning to you, a secret only shared between two close acquaintances: “After the fansign, dum dum. Don’t make me regret this. The managers don’t know.”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” you ask, your nosiness growing bigger by the second.

She leans forward, her eyes glinting with anticipation. Noticing the camera hanging from your neck, she points her finger forward, saying, “Make sure you hold on to that camera for me, will you?”

The managers and staff lead you back into the audience. Her eyes don’t linger as you’re dragged away, focusing on the next fan in line, acting like this conversation never happened.

—————

For the most part, the rest of the fansign proceeds as usual, with you taking your usual pictures of the members—especially Chaeryeong. Most of your gallery is dedicated to her. Apart from a few fleeting moments of shared eye contact with your camera, she pays no attention to you, posing primarily for everyone else.

Finally, the members bid farewell and leave to the back. As you and the other fans are guided out of the auditorium, you open the newly signed album, peeling the sticky note wedged on the photobook.Two important instructions are written in cursive, strictly meant to be read by you and only you alone:

> Look out for a gray four door once the vans drive by. Follow me

> DON’T TELL ANYONE OR BRING ANYONE ELSE

Heading outside, you and the crowd watch several black vans driving off, presumably containing the members. Being that it’s already nightfall and with the cars having heavily tinted windows, no one can call their attention aimlessly trying to wave them goodbye.

For a good minute or two, you thought you were being played. As the crowd disperses, another vehicle stops at the red light, perfectly fitting the description given on the note. It passes by completely unnoticed and undetected—except by you.

You anticipate the car to drive away too, and it does—until it pulls over to the side in the distance, far enough to be overlooked by everyone else.

And then you remember something else from that note, a third instruction:

> P.S. Only five minutes or else I’m leaving without you

Thankfully, you’ve parked your own car right in front of the theater, a walk across the street away. Getting out proves to take longer as several other vehicles are trying to leave at the same time as you. You’ve never been more tempted to blast that horn; this is more stressful than the usual late afternoon traffic jam. There’s a greater sense of urgency. Higher, more personal stakes. Every second wasted waiting in line is another second separating you from Chaeryeong.

Even after escaping the parking area, there’s the red lights. One after another, you’re forced to stop, slowing your already short sprints. More time being wasted. To make matters worse, the road you’re taking is glaringly quiet. You’re cursing these signs, cursing the government for stalling for time, as if their primary design and purpose is to fuck you up.

You end up running past these lights, unable to take another second longer. No one’s stopping you, nor is there anyone in the vicinity who can. There are cameras catching you breaking the law, but you don’t care anymore.

Mercifully, the car is still there, sitting idle with the lights on. Pulling up beside the vehicle, you flash your blinkers, roll the windows down, hoping she recognizes you. You earn no reaction, instead the car merely drives off, leaving you to follow close behind.

The next hour and a half has been spent driving and driving. Passing through avenues then motorways, you’re leaving the city far behind in your rearview mirror, until you’re the only pair of cars traveling along a quiet suburban neighborhood. Considering they’re wrapping their latest promotional cycle today, logic would dictate that the group stay together a little more before dispersing, but you didn’t expect them to branch off right away.

No wonder the members were already sharing vacation plans and destinations earlier.

Cruising past one street after another, every townhouse looks the same, down to the layout, dimensions, everything. Based on all the utterly dark interiors, it’s safe to say barely anyone lives here.

Even some of the apartments you’ve been in look nicer compared to how barren and lifeless this neighborhood is.

It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of celebrity homes.

Eventually, the car ahead pulls into a driveway of a distinctly nicer villa, one that has moderately rich written all over it. Anyone can tell that a celebrity, or at the very least, some wealthy person retreats here, but perhaps that’s the point: you’re in the heart of the suburbs, free from the fast-paced chaos of city living.

From the driver’s seat, someone emerges. You can recognize that familiar sharp glare. It’s none other than Chaeryeong herself.

She’s staring in your direction, at your car. Though you’ve been following her tail closely throughout the lengthy drive, you pulled back once she pulled into the driveway, leaving quite a considerable amount of space to maintain privacy. Then, she walks in. Lights open throughout her house, the only home brightly illuminated on this street.

Figuring that it’s an invitation, you pull up directly in front of her house.

Rolling your window down, you take the camera resting on the passenger seat. Shaky fingers right on the trigger, her house in center view, you end up not taking a single picture. Not for lack of storage, but rather an unwillingness to have something personal in your collection. The girl who shows out in the public eye is one thing, but addresses and private homes are entirely separate matters.

You feel it’s best to keep those two aspects apart.

You end up putting the camera away, curious about its purpose, about what she really meant about the need for it.

Staring up at her villa, you finally spot her again. Chaeryeong’s standing near the balcony, curtains open, giving you a clear view of her figure from the side, as well as her profile. Even from a distance, you recognize all the details about her. So incredibly pretty. She doesn’t seem to notice your presence outside nor does she bother to care.

Still in her fansign wear, her last performance outfit, consisting only of jeans, a skimpy top, and a thick jacket. Going against your oath, you try reaching for the camera again, but you suddenly stop.

To your surprise, she slips the jacket off, revealing her bare shoulders.

Your eyes widen, then your jaw slowly drops. She fiddles with her jeans before walking out of sight, much to your dismay.

Now you realize the purpose. What a wasted opportunity. And yet, you’ve already taken dozens of mental pictures off that little show alone. This is meant to be for your eyes only.

Looking on, Chaeryeong reemerges into view, this time strutting around the living room. She’s hardly wearing clothes, only covered by skimpy black lace, matching colored suspenders holding up thigh high stockings. The windows are just as open, curtains similarly drawn back, granting you full access to her unbelievably tight, slender body.

She puts down a platter of snacks on the coffee table before taking one from the pile, holding it up for display.

Your mouth is watering, craving not the delicacy in her hand—but for her.

The first snack she gives a slow, deliberate lick. A popsicle. Her tongue slowly glides up the frozen morsel, stimulating your mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. She repeats the motion a few more times before taking it into her mouth with an intentional hollowing of her cheeks, eventually sucking and munching down on the treat. All while flaunting her toned figure as if it were a photoshoot, which is probably what the camera was meant for. Your hands are nowhere close, instead pulling on the zipper of your pants, moving of their own accord.

Even though she doesn’t seem to pay attention to you, she clearly knows what she’s doing.

Next, she takes the second snack, one with a much more obvious connotation: a banana. She playfully wonders what to do, slapping it across her cheek before peeling the cover and eating from the exposed tip. She positions the fruit in a way that it's tilted up, mirroring the growing tent in your pants. Her fingers coil around the sides, her eyes fluttering close as she slowly indulges on the snack, slowly driving the length into her mouth till it’s completely consumed.

It may have only been a minute, maybe less, but you can imagine how the sensation would linger. Maybe hours.

Finally she grabs the last snack: a hotdog. She lays back on the couch, crossing her leg as she casually nibbles away, foregoing her natural seductiveness for a quick bite before wiping all the crumbs off her finger before getting up and leaving.

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the whole time just watching her in awe, utterly speechless.You don’t regret not taking a single photo, knowing this little private scene is permanently seared into your memories.

You can never look at Chaeryeong the same way ever again.

Moments later, the front door swings wide open, with Chaeryeong standing there in all her glory. She stares you down, her gaze sharp and hypnotic, before walking away without uttering a word.

You fell under her spell a long time ago. Now you’re following her like a moth to a flame.

Without care for guest etiquette, you enter the house, losing sight of Chaeryeong as you continue to struggle with your trousers. Looking left and right, you try to find her to no avail, when suddenly you’re dragged into one of the rooms, feeling a tugging, inescapable tug on your arms.

“Did you enjoy my little show?” she whispers, tone sultry, a leg naturally wrapping around yours. She’s breathing on your neck, softly nibbling your skin.

Cornering you, you fall backwards and onto the couch.

It’s a different couch, different room, with the curtains covered, hidden away from the outside world.

You merely glance up, still utterly speechless. Her sexy glow is on full display, feeling herself like she always has, perhaps even more so in private than in front of the flashing cameras. Based on her subdued reaction, this isn’t the first time she’s seen this exact reaction.

“Where’s your camera?” Chaeryeong quickly changes conversation right as you’re about to hit your tipping point, her hands gripped to your knees, leaning forward and closing the gap between you two, her sharp glare freezing you in place. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you holding it just now. What did I tell you earlier?”

“Shit, I—I didn’t think this would happen,” you sputter, swallowing your throat. Even blinking proves to be impossible under her suffocating control.

Chaeryeong narrows her eyes. Stares right into your soul. Her usually soft, little smile on her lips disappears in real time. You can feel her nails dig sharply through the fabric of your trousers, scratching you. Deathly silence permeates longer than you can imagine. It’s a terrifying position to be in.

She bites on her lower lip, thinking of what to do.

Then, the idea hits her like lightning.

“I’m normally a lot more ruthless towards people like you. I mean, simple instructions. Hold onto that camera. Easy! A kid could do it without a second thought. Why can’t you?”

If you could open your mouth right now, you would justify that it was under extraordinary circumstances—such as this one—but you recognize the wrong answer could send you to an early demise.

“I would ask you to leave and tell you to forget this ever happened. But since I’m in a good mood today, I will let it slide tonight.”

You still can’t breathe a sigh of relief; her ironclad grip has spread to your crotch.

As soon as your lips quirk ever so slightly, her nails burrow deeper into your skin, almost forcing you out from your seat and yielding out a cry of pain that could have been ear shattering, if not for your self-restraint. “However—I can’t let you go completely unpunished. You must face the consequences for disobeying me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spit, frantically nodding along, begging through your eyes for her to loosen the grip as the pain becomes unbearable. She acquiesces, drawing her hands back.

Now you can actually breathe.

But the freedom lasts for merely a moment. Chaeryeong struts around the room, putting on music through some speakers, her hips swaying in a natural yet hypnotic rhythm. From behind, you get a close-up view of her plump ass peeking through an incredibly thin thong. She then returns to you, shoves you back against the couch before squatting down on your lap in an abrupt manner, leaving you gasping for air.

“Just because I let you watch doesn’t mean you have to be a sitting duck,” she says, grinding her hips slowly against your helpless erection, aching and throbbing beneath your pants. Sultry as it sounds, it’s a serious matter, one with so much on the line. “You didn’t seem all that lazy when you were taking pictures of me earlier. What happened? Do I look too sexy for you now?”

Chaeryeong lifts herself off you again, her waist and flat tummy presenting themselves in your face. You try to grab, but she quickly sideswipes you, teasing and playful. She spins around, her plump cheeks raised up in your direction—and then she smothers you on the couch.

Pulling back, she looks over her shoulder, completely by surprise, gyrating her hips, giving you exactly what you want. “Well? Are you just gonna sit there or what?”

Truthfully, yeah. You can sit back and admire her in this position all night long.

As you try to dive headfirst into her plump cheeks, she lunges forward, leaving you sucking on air. She then grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up. There’s a contemptuous, disgusted air on her face, judging your patheticness. The contrast between you couldn’t be any more clear. She’s so well refined, even in her most risque appearance. Meanwhile, you look hungry, down horrendous, foaming at the mouth—literally.

“Maybe I really should take a girl home one of these days,” she mutters to herself, thinking of other ways to drag you down. “But since you’re tired, I’ll spare you the extra effort, sleepy head.”

Chaeryeong shoves you down on the couch, lifting your legs off the ground and onto the sofa’s arm. The control she has on you cannot be any more overstated. Crouching on her fours, arching her back, she hovers atop you with a coy smile. Sexiness looks natural on her, but behind that fatal sultry attitude, her idol sensibility rears its familiar head, perfectly balancing the line between entertaining an imaginary audience and one person.

It’s a lovely, surprisingly sweet view before the lights completely go out.

Climbing over your defenseless body, her thighs close in between your face. Slamming down without care, pressure builds—and builds—until you’re kicking and squirming. She hears your muffled cries, your helpless groans, and mocks back, not letting up.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of your tongue shoved up my pussy.”

At first, everything proves to be a struggle. You have no control over your movement, hands included. She’s forcing you to bear the weight of the world: countless hours of practice, interviews, and fanservice, including now. If she wanted, she could crush you with her thighs alone, and she wishes she could; she’s not going to outright tell you. Mercifully, upon closer inspection, she’s wearing the thinnest line of panties imaginable, it barely qualifies as underwear.

With the meager space you’re graciously provided, you slip your tongue between the narrow line between fabric and skin–and Chaeryeong keens.

Even her little cries are as pretty as her too.

The edges of her nails dig into the fabric of the couch, barely scraping your arms. She hisses sharply as you gradually acclimate to the tension she’s forcing on you, burying your tongue into her aching core. Her nectar tastes incredible, like water in the desert. You’d tell her that if you weren’t so preoccupied taking all this glistening sheen generously into your hungry, greedy mouth. The way her body trembles, quivers with every little touch, every swipe at her throbbing cunt, setting off one fire after another, it’s enough to drag her down with you.

“Oh—fucking shit—fuck—”

Her thighs hunker down, reinforcing the already airtight lock you’re imprisoned in between her legs. She’s one wrong move away from snapping your neck by sheer force alone if you weren’t dying from asphyxiation already. It proves to be nothing but a mild inconvenience. You’re hungrily eating out her intoxicating cunt, drinking away at her alarming flow of juices, maintaining a pace that feels just right.

Desperately trying to find some semblance of stability, she rolls her hips, but that only worsens her state—and better for you.

Gripped to the sofa’s headrest and on the cushions, the friction makes it easier to make a grander mess of her. You match her frantic pace, lapping away at her folds without a care, a retaliation of sorts. Her cunt is an addicting vice you can't get enough of, regardless of her juices spilling relentlessly past your mouth.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensation coursing throughout her lithe body, Chaeryeong twists and contorts into a stretched out figure of limbs and cries. Furniture is easily replaceable. The position you’re in happens once in a lifetime. This idol, whom you’ve dedicated your personality and entire life around, meeting her dozens of times and taken countless photos of for the world to see, is now reduced into a helpless, melting pile of flesh and moans, keening in ecstasy, her echoes bouncing endlessly in the comfort of her personal home, and it’s all thanks to you.

Very few can say they’ve made Lee Chaeryeong cum.

“Fuck!”

A single word is all she manages, and it’s perfect.

Letting out this thunderous cry, her body goes rigid and tense, as if something has snapped within her. Right then and there, a fresh wave of arousal gushes over your face, falling all at once.

The throbbing never ends. You lap it all up. Every last drop.

Despite the endless amount of slick you’ve consumed and time drinking from her well, it’s not enough. You’re left wanting more.

“Jesus—” she mutters, heaving between deep breaths, slowly peeling herself off you then collapsing to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Despite her orgasm ripping through her body to shreds, Chaeryeong is the first to recover. She surveys the damage. Slick all over your pressurized face, so much more on the couch, your tongue actively licking up whatever mess it can clean, which doesn’t go far.

There’s no shame on your lips when she looks at you. Contentment is etched on your lips. You could die happily right then and there.

Her cheeks are completely flush, taken completely aback by your effort. Her panties are in tatters, utterly soaked, more valuable being thrown away than as actual clothing. “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Satisfied as you are, her gentle, sincere compliment makes your heart race faster than the pressure being crushed beneath her ass.

But the sweetness lasts only for a moment. She can’t settle down. There’s so much you have left to give—and she’s going to force everything out till you’re an empty husk. You’re only getting started.

“Get up,” she says, less of a command and more a call to action, lifting you off the sticky couch with her resounding strength, leaving you behind to stand on your two wobbly feet. “Now strip.”

Her words seemingly fly through deaf ears. You stare aimlessly back, stuck in a neverending daze, unable to come to your senses. Chaeryeong is not having any of that, glaring you down with piercing daggers. The night is fleeting; time is of the essence.

She pulls you by the hand and drags you to the bar counter across the room, facing you to remove your shirt in a few swift motions. The pants come off faster, already unbuttoned and unzipped, leaving only your boxers.

“Fucking slow fuck,” she spits, nearly ripping your undergarment while pulling down, giving your now freed cock a punishing, ironclad squeeze, forcing an agonizing groan from your lips. “Just because you did one thing right, you think you can have it your way now? Pathetic.”

Chaeryeong drops to her knees, pressing her tongue against the tip of your throbbing cock. The brief, feathery contact is enough to send mind numbing chills down your spine. It’s no surprise that when she takes you into her mouth, you almost crumble immediately. The feeling is too overwhelming, you don’t even get a glimpse of the filthy sight.

It shouldn’t be this dangerous.

The pull on her long, raven hair happens impulsively, as if you had some control—which you desperately need.

A flick of her tongue here, a swirl there—Chaeryeong is a meticulous worker, slowly picking you apart in calculated, intricately designed moves. Every little thing she does is performed like there’s so much weight behind them, no different from dancing and singing on stage. It’s all in the little details: the tilt of her head, the satisfactory hum from her lips, the cold, unforgiving glare she gives when she’s sucking you dry, seeking your approval, refusing any answer other than ‘fuck yes.’

If you could function as normal, you would reason to her that you’re relishing the moment, savoring every second—but she seems to have your mind read like a book.

“Thank your lucky stars you seem to have everything I need.” She slides her tongue up your length, kissing the tip again. You’ve been off the ground ever since with no way back down. “Good ass mouth, big fucking cock—”

She suddenly stops when you tug on her hair again; it’s a harsh pull. Momentum grinds to a complete halt. Your heart drops at the realization. You anticipate her to retaliate appropriately, especially when she rises from her knees.

Instead, she mostly relents, but not without gripping your balls tightly, yielding another heavy groan out of you. A warning.

“You wanna pull on this hair? Fine. I’ll give you this one then.”

Spinning away from you, Chaeryeong unhooks her bra, tossing it aside to be forgotten. Leaning forward, she bends over the counter, back arched, ass up, her swollen lips in clear view. Her favorite position.

She doesn’t need to say a word to tell you what to do.

The invitation leaves you more hesitant than excited. You’ve realized just how frightening Chaeryeong can be. That is why you’ve been relatively silent and are quietly following along since entering her house.

Looking over her shoulder, knowing she isn’t railed at this point, her eyes glare at you with a raging fury, one borne of annoyance, as if you were testing her patience—and you are, to some degree. “Where’s that fucking bravado, huh? I’m letting you hit this pussy from behind, and now you don’t wanna do it?”

“Well—”

“Zip it. Now you want to talk?” She snaps, facing you again to grab your cock. Pressing your shaft up and down the entrance of her folds, she grits her teeth, gasping and sighing. Staring daggers into your soul, she continues between deep breaths, “Look at this,” she says, pertaining to your cock, slick with her saliva, slowly entering her dripping cunt with her guidance. “It’s not rocket science. Does this look challenging to you? Never had sex with anyone before?”

You can only shake your head, as much as you want to refute. Her house, her rules.

Chaeryeong slams her eyes shut as your cock impales her to the hilt. She’s leaning back on the counter, screaming out loud to prove her point. “See? Not—that—difficult.” she whines, her aching cunt stretching against your cock, engulfing you in suffocating heat. Slowly pulling you back like a sword plunged to your abdomen, you watch helplessly as your shaft reappears, lathered in slick and saliva, with time moving at a dangerously slow pace.

She hurls you forward that you’re leaning together on the counter, your naked bodies creating irresistible friction. It’s not as romantic as the movies or shows make it out to be.

“Stop staring at me like that.” Chaeryeong pushes you away before turning around, irate from perceiving you, having to guide you through your first sex session. “Just—fuck me already, dip shit.”

Grabbing her by the waist, you take your sweet time to admire her delicately crafted curves and her supple ass, bright red from crushing your face. Still, it only serves to upset her; she can’t stop herself from making snarky remarks about you. “Pretending like you want to appreciate me now when you’ve been jerking to all those photos you’ve taken of me. As if I don’t know—”

She suddenly yelps, her body dragged forward on the counter as you enter her from behind like she wanted it: hard and fast.

“Never thought you’d be such a mouthful Chaery,” you comment, hooking an arm around her shoulder, the invigorating warmth of her pussy making you shudder. “And I always saw you as the quiet one.”

“Just because—you’re fucking me—doesn’t mean—” Chaeryeong struggles to get her point across as you get into a steady rhythm, your hips crashing into hers, her ass creating this wet, audible wave as you pound her. “Ah—oh fuck—”

“Doesn’t mean what, Chaery?” you hiss against her ear, giving her ass a rightful slap.

She lifts her head, her hands gripped on the table’s surface, keening—and moaning.

“I—ah—this feels so fucking big inside me—”

You lean forward, whispering in her ear, before giving her ass cheek a well-deserved slap that ripples through the room. “This is nowhere near my first. Didn’t you hear me and Yuna backstage that one time? I should have known something was up the second she was blushing at me.”

“One time? Shit—I guess I forgot—o-oh fuck—dammit Yuna—”

“It’s on me for not figuring out everything right away,” you remark, holding her tight as your personal lifeboat, pushing yourself deep into her, foregoing any sort of foreplay or pleasantry for hard, relentless pounding. “Not the first time I’ve been inside an idol’s house and left with their panties, either.”

Chaeryeong is unable to respond, mostly due to your cock rendering her speechless, reducing her to a pliable mess of moans and screams. Her fingers drag across the wooden surface of the counter as you take her body to use at your leisure. You have absolute control, a stark contrast to where you were only mere minutes ago, and you’re going to reinforce your authority.

To think you were scared of her. The real Chaeryeong is right in front of you. Ass up, face down, bent over, screaming all sorts of profanities and lewdities that would have burned at the stake.

You’ve got her raven locks wrapped around one hand, the other on her ass. It’s a difficult balancing act. One minute you’re pulling on her hair between thrusts, making her cry out in pain and pleasure, the next you’re slapping her ass in retaliation for her attitude, having seen just how easily she folds at the slightest touch, whether it be your mouth or your cock. Either action leaves you so addicted, you have to remind yourself to slow down and focus on the important matter at hand: fucking her.

It shouldn’t be said, but here it is: her pussy is so intoxicatingly tight. Even with how copiously wet you are, gliding in and out of her feels like an impossible challenge. To make matters worse, she meets your every thrust with the crash of her hips, sending you further down a dizzying spiral. Chaeryeong loves it—loves the feeling of both dishing out punishment and receiving it. You pull on her hair again, another reminder of who’s currently in command, but you both know that’s not gonna last long.

Especially when you feel so close—your own undoing happening a lot sooner than you hoped.

Still, she feels so good that it’s not any bit worth stopping—not that she’d ever want that, anyway. You’re resorting to other measures to keep some semblance of control alive: you’re squeezing her chest, feeling her taut nipples,lifting her leg off the ground, biting on her nape—anything to stave your mind off the very thought of cumming, because any sign of weakness is her opportunity to ruin you.

“Are you gonna cum yet?” Chaeryeong asks—innocent in sound, but in your heart, a taunt. A challenge.

You respond by slamming into her cunt like you always have: rough and merciless. She’s your toy, after all.

Her echoes remain louder than your grunts and moans. It’s a good thing her neighbors are completely nonexistent. The houses around might as well not be there.

So much runway to fuck, to cry out in pleasure.

“Almost,” you shamefully admit, against your own wishes—and to her delight. “This fucking pussy—Chaery—oh my God—”

You seize her by throat and face her down on the counter, your thrusts unceasing, unrelenting. You’re winding down; the end is in sight. She smells of sweat, sex, and active perfume from earlier, and it’s a perfect concoction. Slapping away at her ass, watching it ripple with each hit and thrust, her back arching in new, twisting angles, your cock perfectly sandwiched between her slick folds, you’re taking all the mental pictures you can get before this lovely view disappears for good. It really is a damn shame, but here’s your silver lining: no camera can truly capture how glorious this scene looks, especially from your eyes.

“Gonna cum,” you sputter, pouring on the vicious strikes on Chaeryeong’s supple cheeks, desperate to cling on. You can’t deny it any longer; your body is in absolute rapture, begging for release.

“That’s it. Use my fucking pussy,” she snaps, her voice airy and hoarse from all the moaning and screaming. “Fuck all your cum into me. Don’t waste a single drop.”

You have no intention to, especially with a cunt that’s so tight, so hot, it’s practically inviting you to unload everything.

And so with a handful of strokes, you finally fold. Burying deep inside her wanton cunt, your cock throbs violently, blasting thick shot after shot of sticky, white cum just as she wanted. Chaeryeong’s name burns through your lips like a permanent mark as you climax. The release feels more like a consequence than relief. She’s something you can’t clean yourself of—and probably never will. A stain that will follow you for the rest of your life.

Still, she welcomes you with open arms. Her pussy milks you worth of every little drop, squeezing and quivering in your wake. You end up letting go of everything: her hair, her waist, your entire load. The only thing willing to stay is your cock impaled deep inside her soaked cunt, but even that thin connection snaps. Even though she’s bent over, having taken all the pounding, pulling, and punishing, she’s the one that ends up on top.

Pervading silence fills the house, in place of the unrelenting noise. Slumping forward, you lay on top of Chaeryeong, meeting her in the middle: your bodies intertwined, filled and satisfied.

Brushing her hair aside for a better look at her sweaty, flushed profile, you both look into each other’s glazed eyes with a warm smile. You prepare to give her a kiss, when suddenly, little footsteps can be heard.

Someone’s standing in the hallway.

Her voice echoes throughout the house. “You left the front door open again, sis. You should really close them before going down on your guests.”

A woman stops directly in front of your room, her appearance cut close in Chaeryeong’s image. The girl beneath you waves at her with an innocent smile. The pornographic position you’re in is anything but.

She doesn’t look too surprised.

“Fucking me wasn’t enough, huh? You just had to fuck my sister too.”

Climbing up the stairs, Chaeyeon sighs wistfully, exhausted from her own busy activities. Chaeryeong slips away from underneath, following her sister closely. She can’t help but shoot a playful grin at you upon realizing your secret.

“I’ll fire up the showers. You can join us if you want.”

—————

The shower wasn’t meant to provide some form of reprieve. In reality, it’s an excuse to keep the fire burning, especially down in your loins.

The faintest contact leaves you weak, nearly crumbling to your knees as you join the two women in the shower, leaving you open for their enjoyment. Even with the hot water pouring over you, you remain frozen in place, trapped beyond saving. The Lee sisters take you in as a guest should be: with all the touching, kissing, and teasing you so desperately crave. Running water fills in background noise as the two siblings drop to their knees, taking one side for themselves, each with a stake in your cock.

You get hard again. Impossible not to be when they seem to have a gauge of what makes you tick. Two girls who have firsthand experience handling your cock in their mouth: one who can effortlessly go through the motions, the other still fresh and eager to find new ways to break you in half. Both tilting up with a pair of lust-filled eyes, eager to get your approval. They don’t really need it; you had already given them your soul the moment you walked into their house.

“Fucking hell,” you manage to groan out—your eyes and head rolling all the way back as far as they can—as the two sisters take turns filling their hungry mouths with cock deep down their throats. The girls each let out a satisfactory hum of their own, pumping and squeezing you for a share of your load, certain you’ve still got plenty for two. To think you were insatiable when it came to eating out Chaeryeong’s pussy and ass. It was only scratching the surface of how rapacious they can be.

Even with all the space the showers provided, you still feel small before Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong. More importantly, it was clear that, in their eyes, you were mainly an outlet of release and nothing else.

“Was he always like this?” Chaeryeong watches her elder sibling busy pumping your shaft away with her deft fingers, drawing more cum out of you, making up for lost time. Watching you this vulnerable—this whipped—makes you all the more intriguing in her eyes.

“Sure enough, yeah.” Chaeyeon laughs. It wasn’t that long ago you were held in a position like this: same girl, same scenario, but in a bathroom stall of all places. Now in the comfort of their home, you were clear to let out all that pent-up desire with cries of pleasure. You moan her name like it’s a prayer, and both girls chuckle at your wanton cry.

“How long?”

“Since I debuted solo. He’s always present in my fansigns. Didn’t he tell you?” Chaeyeon gives this cheeky look to her younger sister, an approving nod. “One time he told me he was now following this girl group, and I asked him who it was. Didn’t specify anything. I should have known right from the start.”

“Wasn’t only me he was fucking, I just found out,” Chaeryeong remarks, tone degrading. You’d be so red with shame right now, if it already weren’t the case. Whether it’s because of the steam or their unpredictable touch is up for interpretation. “And no, he’s never brought it up. I’m just finding out right now. But if so, he gets around—and he gets around good.”

“If there’s anyone you should trust, it’s me. He thinks he’s clever hiding this from you. I can hear that moan of his a mile away.” Chaeyeon smiles as she turns off the water, your bodies barely touching soap and shampoo, focused on leaving kisses and scratch marks instead. The soap in your eyes forced them shut to tell what’s happening, other than their near-indistinguishable voices and the blurriest of movements. All you know is their presence creeping up when you least expect it. “Come along, dear.”

Before you know it, you find yourself shoved onto a flat yet bouncy surface. A bed. It rumbles for a few moments before you feel your body tearing apart. In the midst of this uncertain commotion, their combined laughs and whispers fill the air.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Even when you can hardly tell who’s giving the command, you comply. Lo and behold, your arms are stretched and tied on opposite ends of the headboard. Your legs are spread wide, your cock glistening with spit and sheen, hard for the second time. The Lee sisters are kneeling on parallel sides of their own, around the edges, laughing at your precarious, defenseless position.

It’s in your instincts to try and break loose. Of course, it fails miserably. Their laugh grows more uncontrollable and hearty.

“Not a chance. We’ve covered all bases so that even if you escape, you’re not making it far.” Chaeryeong speaks with a heightened air of arrogance.

You furl your brows. “What? What do you mean—escape?”

“Don’t even try to run,” says Chaeyeon. “You—you’re not going to run?”

As if that was ever part of your plan.

“Why would I ever? I like you both!”

You’re speaking the truth, and it might just end up saving your life.

“I don’t think he’s buying it. You know, maybe he just really wants us.” Chaeryeong tries to whisper in her sister’s ear, but you can still hear it all.

Chaeyeon nods. “You might be right.”

The older sibling crawls up the bed, tracing a path to your neck with her nails, leaving a lengthy trail on your skin. It’s as every bit sexy and seductive as the first time, even more when she’s completely bare. Chaeryeong mimics her, her arch more eye-popping. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to their bloodline. “Since you want to stay, I propose a little game. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” you nod, tense and nervous, sweating starting to pour down your face.

“Let’s play a game I’d like to call, ‘Guess the Sibling.’ I’m gonna place a blindfold and you’re gonna have to guess who’s bouncing on this cock,” Chaeyeon continues, going down your chest and giving your erection a playful slap. A little more force and she could have ended you. Mercifully, it’s only one flick. “If you guess right, then you get the rest of the night with us. Use us any way you want. But if you don’t—”

“—Then we’re gonna have our way with you,” Chaeryeong interjects. “And trust me, you wouldn’t want us to have our way with you.”

“What did I get myself into?” you mutter, wondering if the situation you’re in is a consequence of your actions. You’re not a bad person, per say; even the two girls would admit this. You’re just like any other fan—mostly: enjoying their songs, spending alarming amounts of money into merch and events, buying your way into fansigns, and taking photographs of the idols you love. You’re so spoiled, you end up sharing that love with others.

At best, this was stuff of urban legend, of myths, of over the top fantasies. None of this was meant to happen.

Yet here you are, tied up on a bed by your two favorite idols in the world, ready to be used like a toy for their personal use—and pleasure. In the little time you’ve personally known these two, you didn’t expect them to be this obscene and assertive. You won’t be able to look at them the same way after this—if you can even get out alive.

Chaeyeon wraps a thick cloth around your eyes, completely blocking your vision. The last thing you see is Chaeryeong kneeling before you, spreading them wide, rubbing her hands up and down your legs.

“I would say good luck, but I’d like to think you’re familiar with us that this should be easy for you,” Chaeyeon remarks before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Look at that. Your friend over here is a little too excited.”

You wince at the airy touch. Unsurprisingly, you can’t tell what’s going on, guided only by familiar sensations, patterns and recognizable sounds. Still, you can’t really tell their voices apart. It doesn’t help that they both have long flowing dark hair either.

Taking this deep breath, anxious about what’s about to happen, they still catch you off-guard. You scream a guttural cry, feeling the weight of the world crash on your hips. “Oh f-fuck!”

Right there, you hear a sharp, ear-piercing whine—a shout that rips through the bedroom. Your cock is bulging through something far tighter than normal. Not even your previous experiences with Chaeyeon ever went this far. “O-oh shit! S-so fucking—tight!”

“You heard her. Deeper, babe.”

Your hips move instinctively, as if activated by her voice. Either of them works. They live in your mind rent-free. It’s only natural to follow them like your life depends on it, and considering your situation, it’s quite literal.

Despite how slick and wet you are, it proves to be a struggle at first. It resists, pushing back as hard as it can, but you don’t relent. Feels good enough to be worth saving. An impossible challenge at first, you eventually feel it—your tip sinking deeper into her hole, inch by inch. As it penetrates the girl on top of you, her whine climbs a pitch higher, then higher, until she’s outright shrieking.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—so fucking big, so fucking big—”

She’s running her words fast, as if her mouth’s aimlessly mashing on a keyboard. The same harsh feeling stretches through her tight, smaller hole, until eventually you bury yourself to the hilt, and she keens.

“Oh my God—o-oh God—fuck!”

She struggles to acclimate to the new presence deep in her ass. She can’t stop it, nor can she ever hope to contain it. There’s only person who’d want it this bad from behind.

“Feels good, right Chaeryeong?” you guess, gritting through your teeth as the suffocating sensation also overwhelms your senses.

Right then and there, she begins to move. Lifting herself off you, dragging her plump cheeks along with brute force, threatening to tear your cock off too—until she squats down on your hips and creates much needed friction on your end.

There’s no denial or direct admission, but you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve won. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree when it comes to the Lee siblings. Both dangerously hot sisters with toned bodies worth admiring and worshiping. Such a shame that your hands are bed bound right now, otherwise you’d be all over them. Chaeyeon or Chaeryeong, it doesn’t matter—they’re equally deserving of every lick, every touch, every thrust out of you.

For now, you will have to settle with her ass.

“Harder—a little more—right there—” she manages to spit between hip thrusts and grinds. You happily oblige, relishing the sensation of her tight hole, vigorously flexing and pulsing against your cock. She moves frantically, as if desperate to shake you off. All the more reasons to be loose and free, so you can feel her slinky waist with your bare hands. Still, she’s compliant enough to keep bouncing on your lap, drowning in her own ecstasy to care about comfort, only more pleasure.

“God, this ass feels so fucking amazing—Chaery—” you tell her, a statement so obvious, but worth saying regardless. The slick, satisfying sound of flesh slapping flesh bouncing off the four walls, the shockwaves of her skin rippling on your groin, and her elated, blissful moans more than makes up for the lack of sight. And perhaps if you can cum sooner, you can see the light at the end of the tunnel quicker.

But it’s not enough. Chaeryeong can—and will—drain you of all your worth, especially at the frantic pace she’s going. Her ass owns your cock with a vice grip; again, she feels incredible, and you’re bound to each other, down to your souls.

There’s only one way you’re getting out.

“Get on top of me, Chaen.” You call to her, knowing she’s lurking around the room. You can also tell that she’s eager to get her share of cock.

Chaeryeong continues to bounce relentlessly, , your pace leisured and measured for maximum longevity. She lingers for a few moments, till you feel that weight on your lap suddenly disappear without cause.

“My turn,” says Chaeyeon, landing her tight asshole straight onto your cock. No preamble, no preparation, just crashing out. This time, with a much smoother, more effortless entry compared to her sister’s. She lets out this whiny, feathery moan in response to being filled for the first time, with you only mildly groaning in response.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you remark.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes you are.”

The room goes silent for a moment—except for the heavy breaths of one collapsed Chaeryeong.

Light immediately pervades your newly freed eyes, having the blindfold taken away. On your right, Chaeryeong slumps on the bed face down ass up, her puckered hole glistening and freshly leaking. A bottle falls off the edge and onto the floor. Elsewhere, Chaeyeon’s body rests on your waist, your cock buried deep inside her tighter entrance, clearly demanding your attention.

Except she’s completely facing away from you.

“Was she—”

“Yes.” Chaeyeon sounds annoyed—devastated even—that you’ve managed to outsmart her at her own game. “I can’t believe you really went after my sister. Was I not enough for you?”

“You are. It always meant to be you two from the start. You’re both hot.”

She sighs.

“Can you at least—at least—fill my ass up?” Chaeyeon looks over her shoulder, frowning. “Please let me have one over her.”

“What do you mean? I’ve given you everything,” you reply, recounting all your previous experiences with her. “Backstage, in your apartment, in your car—hell, even in a goddamn public bathroom stall. What else do you want from me?”

Just as Chaeyeon is about to open her mouth, her sister interrupts. Voice hoarse and cracking, she says, “Just go. You were his first. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you heard her. I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got the rest of the night to take her as I please, right? Like you said?”

There’s not much else to say. You can see the faintest smile on her lips as she looks away.

Likewise, your smile fades when she lifts herself and slams into you, hard. Filling her needy, wanton hole with your cock. Just off this one swift motion alone, you recognize that Chaeyeon is much more desperate.

Using all that pent-up need and desire as fuel to power every ram onto your cock. Her mark lingers on—far longer than Chaeryeong’s. It’s much more personal. You can feel how badly she wants you—needs you—beyond sexual pretense. The idea of you taken away by the one other person she loves the most—it sets her off, motivates her to prove that she’s worth more.

Unlike the playful and fun Chaeryeong, every thrust, every roll, every grind Chaeyeon does is intimate, passionate. Pounding into her tight ass, you can see pleasure course throughout her body, trembling in one violent aftershock after another. She’s uttering these little pleas, gentle desires while riding you hard. “More—like that—please—please—don’t stop—please—”

Chaeyeon knows you’re the one responsible for making her feel this way, make her feel all sorts of emotions. Love, hate, jealousy, anxiety—they’re only scratching the surface of just how much you mean to her. She’s unraveling, and fast. The only way she can find release is, as you expect, through you. An outlet for all her feelings.

You’re quite literally stretching her out, both physically and emotionally.

As you watch your first love fall apart like this, you can’t help but feel remorse. Chaeyeon is pretty, and so is her sister. They’re the splitting image of each other, and you wouldn’t feel like a fool for mixing them apart, despite the repeated statements from them not being twins. It’s only because of your strange obsession with the two that you can tell them apart.

That, and your complicated relationship with Chaeyeon, as idol and fan.

Ultimately, she can take it. She’s been through a lot, way more than anyone else you know, and she’ll get back up again. Including now.

So it stands to reason that she can take your pounding better than anyone else.

Gripping her hands on your knees, she rides you vigorously, dictating the pace, without much care for comfort. The clench is asphyxiating, borderline inescapable, but you’re still gliding in and out effortlessly, watching your cock disappear and reappear in her ass. As the flesh ripples and slams down with each thrust, the lewd sight alone is enough to upend you prematurely, if not for your resolve keeping you fastened to the earth.

“God—you’re too good, Chaen—” you hiss, closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to avert your thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but her ass and the tension suffocating you—but it’s not enough. The sloppy, wet sound of your bodies colliding penetrates even the most fortified parts of your ears.

“So fucking good, right?” Chaeyeon tries to straighten her voice in an effort to assert herself, only to find it crack, much like her idol facade. “Say it—I’m better than Chaeryeong. Say it!”

Even though her sister is lying beside you, every word is spoken loud and clear. You’re terrified.

“Do I have to repeat myself, baby? Say it!”

You don’t really have a choice. She’s riding you hard and fast, threatening to pull the plug two different ways, one far more unsatisfying than the other.

“Say it!”

“You’re better! Better than Chaery!” you shout, matching her erratic pace, dangerously treading on the line of no return.

It finally sets Chaeyeon off—and ultimately ends her.

Everything rolls into one emphatic word.

“Fuck!”

Her body goes rigid, fingers still gripped to your skin as she unravels on top of you. She’s screaming your name up to the sky—or in this case, the ceiling—and she cums. Hard. Freely flowing clear slick gushes around and past your cock, shredding through the last of your already broken defenses, urging you to let go.

Through the madness, you’re still relentlessly pumping into her, until you’ve fallen back into darkness again. It’s what she would have wanted.

Impaled to the hilt, you let out the deepest groan from the depths of your stomach as you cum into Chaeyeon’s ass. Blast after blast, you shamelessly empty every last drop inside her tight, sensitive hole, partly relieved—but mostly frustrated because your hands aren’t gripped to her supple flesh right now, ensuring she receives it all.

Despite her orgasm shredding through her body till now, she lifts herself off you in a single swift motion, much to your agony and despair. Resting on the edge of the bed, she’s positively glistening from her ass, dripping and leaking with your cum.

You helplessly watch your cock throb and throb till it withers again.

“God,” is the only word Chaeyeon can muster after everything, still unwilling to face you directly. Chaeryeong lazily rolls out of bed to rejoin her, resting her head on her shoulder, their hands intertwining.

Silence fills the room after a tense, lengthy period of sex. None of you are willing to break it.

You can only wonder what’s on Chaeyeon’s mind.

After a while, the two sisters get up and try to leave the bedroom, presumably to clean up—but not before stopping and realizing the elephant in the room.

They’re a far cry from when you first gazed your eyes on them. As you watch Chaeyeon and Chaeryeong free you from their binds, there’s this tired expression in their eyes. Not the typical post-coital gaze you’re all too familiar with; there’s a sense that they’re just about done—with everything.

Including you.

Chaeyeon offers you the same invite she gave previously when she first saw you with her sister in the living room. “Join us if you want to clean up. I’ll fire up the showers.”

—————

You pretty much spend the next hour doing that.

Beneath the running water, your bodies are cuddled up together, hardly cleaning up as intended.

Chaeyeon’s softly embracing you from behind, while Chaeryeong’s right in front of you, her chest pressed against yours. Both women lazily rest their head on your shoulders, their fingers tracing lines all over your skin. Beneath all the soap and shampoo lie kiss marks, nail scratches, and everything else in between to make you theirs.

They’re not asking for much, only for you to stay.

You first give Chaeyeon a kiss on her forehead, then Chaeryeong on her cheek.

Perhaps you’ll find a way to make room for both.

You have the rest of the night to figure that out.

—————

(A/N: Fuck yeah hiding a threesome as a surprise tactic/for shock value. I had a version of this that I scrapped during my slump month but decided to revisit it. It's been a long while since I've done one of those fan x idol stories. Sometimes you just want to write shameless pwp, but even this ended up taking a rather unexpected and emotional turn. Yikes. And it's all because I forgot to add one kink. Glad Itzy are five again, title track kinda lukewarm on. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #itzy smut #chaeryeong smut #itzy #chaeryeong

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trippinsorrows · 5 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + nine

authors note: i know i've said this before, but this one might be my favorite. there are a few subtle hints spread throughout as well.....

i also listened to the song i named the story after while writing most of this chapter, so maybe recommended listening?

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, language, inebriation, character being triggered, references to past csa, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i can't be stopped, clearly)

And I see a girl Who is learning to trust

---Leann Rimes

In many ways, Roman is a simple man. The kind that believes obvious gestures, actions, or even lack of inaction should speak for itself. That there are some things that are just so clear as day, it doesn’t make sense for him to have to explain himself.

For him to have to repeat himself.

Well, that’s gone out the window as of recent months, because he’s constantly found himself having to do just that. And his day is starting off no different with a surprising and unwanted guest showing up at his office demanding to speak to him.

Bayley stands across his desk with her arms crossed and an almost glare on her face. “I’ve been texting you.”

The fact that she even has his number is an issue in and of itself, but he’ll tackle that another day. “I’m aware.”

The avoiding of said texts is that obvious thing that she seemingly doesn’t understand the why behind.

Bayley nods, very visibly keeping in a comment she’s at least smart enough to not make to the head of the Bloodline. Friend of his wife, or not. “Well, I would like to talk to you.”

Roman rolls his eyes, moving up from his desk to his filing cabinet to swap out expense reports he was trying to review before her rude, unwanted interruption. “I bet you would.”

“Seriously?” Ignoring her once again is the plan, Roman hoping that’s all it takes so that he doesn’t have to lose his temper before he even has his first meeting of the day. “It’s about Solana.”

And that is what finally catches Roman’s attention. He’s quick to turn around, expression suddenly hardened. “Talk.” She has his full attention. “Now.”

Bayley takes note of how easily it is to gather Roman’s attention with the simple mention of Solana. It’s surprising to say the least and telling as hell to say the most, but she keeps this little observation to herself.

“We’re having a Cinco De Mayo celebration at my family’s restaurant tomorrow night.”

“What does that have to do with Solana?”

Roman watches her hesitate for a second. “I want to invite her.”

For a split second, Bayley thinks she may have hit a stroke of luck when Roman doesn’t immediately shoot down her request. He seems to actually be thinking about it. And then he asks the question she knew would be the nail in the coffin. “Will Escobar be there?”

She’d like to just say no, as it’s highly unlikely he will attend, Bayley unsure if her cousin is even in the country. But, lying to the man before her has never turned out well for anyone, so she answers as honestly as she can. “I don’t know. You know he pops up at random times—”

Roman doesn’t even need to hear the rest. “My answer is no.”

She can’t be too surprised. Bayley wisely anticipated getting Roman to budge would be damn near impossible, if not entirely impossible.

“Roman—”

“Why the fuck would I allow her to be anywhere around that son of a bitch?”

To be fair, Roman’s relationship with Santos Escobar is tamer than most. They’re not allies, certainly not friends, and he doesn’t hate the man. It irritates him a bit how Escobar is a stubborn bastard and refuses to pledge loyalty and allegiance to the Bloodline, but that anger is eased by the fact that Escobar gives an even bigger middle finger to the Nightmare Factory.

His loyalty is to himself and the Legado Del Fantasma. That makes him a wildcard and potentially dangerous.

Roman won’t have Solana anywhere where danger could be present.

“You know as well as I do that while both you and my cousin have this weird ass Qué en es más macho thing going on, there’s all but a ceasefire. You've never attacked one of his men the same way he’s never attacked anyone in the Bloodline. That’s not going to change overnight just because your wife is present at a chorcha.”

Roman isn’t too full of himself to admit when someone has made a valid point, but as this involves Solana, the standards are a bit different. He won’t give Bayley that much. “Why should I even take the chance? You want to do something with Solana, take her somewhere else that’s on Bloodline or neutral territory.”

“My family’s restaurant is on neutral territory.” Bayley is happy to have another point of his she can counter. “And contrary to what the average, ignorant American thinks, Cinco De Mayo is an important part of our culture and our heritage, Solana’s heritage. I think she would really enjoy herself, that it would….that it would help her feel close to her mom.”

Roman is excellent in the way he remains absolutely unreadable even at Bayley’s point that has him seriously reconsidering his prior answer.

He has no doubt that would help her feel connected with her mom, being around reminders and in a space that’s so representative of half of who she is, who her mother was. He can’t see her not enjoying herself, which is something that doesn’t seem to happen a lot in her life thus far.

Just as he continues to mull over the options, Bayley adds on another defense. “I get where you’re coming from with the safety angle, but I’ll be there and Naomi will be there. Between the two of us, no one will touch her.”

Roman easily reads between the lines and identifies her unspoken request. “You don’t want Solo there.”

On one hand, he can understand it. Bayley not wanting his Enforcer there. Solo’s presence could be seen as him potentially scoping versus the real reason of serving as Solana’s personal guard.

Bayley doesn’t seem to be backing down, reminding with all the confidence in the world of her capabilities. “Like I said, Naomi and I got this.”

Roman will give her that. Bayley and Naomi could fight on his team any day. They’re just as brutal as the men, if not more when pushed. He knows they’d be able to keep Solana safe if need be. It’s that realization as well as the concern of depriving her of something that could make her happy that brings him to a revised answer.

“Fine, she can go.” Roman is quick to add on as an ominous warning, borderline threat, “but if anything fucking happens to her while she’s with you—”

“It won’t,” Bayley vows. “She’s our friend, and she’s family to Naomi. We look out for each other.”

Roman believes that. Believes that Bayley has seemingly pledged a loyalty to Solana that matches that of Naomi, and while he’d never fucking tell her this, he’s grateful she has someone like Bayley to talk to.

At his fill of socialization with people he doesn’t like, Roman is quick with the dismissal. “If you don’t have anything else to discuss with me about Solana, you can get the hell out of my office.”

Bayley is actually surprised she made it this long without being kicked out, so it’s under her breath she mutters, “a true gentleman.” She’s halfway to his door when manners get the best of her. “Hey, Roman.”

He’s back at his desk, gaze as irritated as when she first stepped in. “What?”

With a nod of respect and appreciation, she simply says, “thank you.” Whatever his response, or lack thereof, is after that is unknown because Bayley is out the door and on her way to invite Solana to what is sure to be a night of fun.

________

“Man, I tell you every dish Solana makes seems to get better and better.” Jimmy is rubbing his stomach as he places the now cleaned plate on the coffee table. “Where she been at all our lives?”

Once upon a time, Roman had a nice, quiet house that was his and his alone. Now though, it’s shared with a wife who really isn’t an issue, two obnoxious cousins who need to start paying rent at this point, and a dog who’s currently at the sliding door leading to the backyard having a one-sided bark off with a squirrel.

“Why are ya’ll always fucking over here?” Roman’s question is said with all the irritation manifesting in his muscular body. At the same time, he stands up from the sofa to retrieve the puppy he doesn’t feel like yelling at to shut up.

She might piss herself in fear or something.

“Come on,” he grunts, leaning over and taking up Dulce who is almost instantly quiet. “Making all that damn noise for nothing.”

Roman places Dulce in her bed in the living room and returns to his previous seat on the sofa when she hops up and walks her ass right over to lean up on the sofa to stare at him with her unspoken request.

Jimmy is the first to notice this. “I think lil Nacho Libre likes you, Uce.”

Jey chimes in between bites of whatever Solana’s latest dish is that she’s made for them. “She know English yet or Soso still got her only speaking Spanish?”

“Man, the dog can’t speak.”

“You know what I mean, motherfucker. Damn.”

Roman ignores the two imbeciles currently freeloading in his house and relents to just letting Dulce on the sofa. He’s not sure why she’s downstairs with them instead off on the second level where the girls are getting ready, but she’s already here now, so no sense in transporting her.

Dulce seems satisfied with her placement right next to him.

“I still can’t believe we weren’t invited.”

“I can get why they didn’t invite us, but they could have at least given Nicki an invite.”

Jimmy is quick with the obvious answer. “You know Nicki don’t fuck with Naomi like that, or Bayley, and definitely not Soso.”

“Cause she’s fucking psychotic.” Roman has zero issues with his cousin’s wife having little to no interest in getting to know Solana. It’s for the better. As he said, the bitch is psychotic.

“Once again, Big Dog, you ain’t gon keep disrespecting my wife like that.”

Roman is as unfazed by Jey’s threat as Dulce is.

“I gotta agree with Uce on that one. Nicki ass crazy as hell. One minute she love you, the next minute she pulling a Left Eye and burning your shit.” That emits a chuckle from him. His cousin's sneaker collection being burned in the backyard that one year was pretty funny.

“Look, that was during a rough patch. That’s all.”

“Damn bruh, ya’ll must got a whole goddamn quilt then, cause your relationship been nothing but rough patches since we was in high school.”

“So what, you and Naomi never have no issues, huh?” Jey lives up to his hotheaded reputation, jumping into defensive mode. “Ya’ll just got the perfect marriage, right?”

“Of course we got issues, man, but never to the point where she turned into a lil arsonist!”

Completely disinterested in hearing dumb and dumber argue, Roman grabs his phone and shoots out a text.

Roman: You almost ready?

Solana’s reply comes in less than five minutes later.

Solana: Just about…..is Dulce by you?

Roman: Yeah. Sleeping….as always.

Solana: Lol….sorry about that, I meant to grab her before we got started.

Roman: It’s fine.

Roman: I need to talk to you before you leave.

He’s not surprised by the longer time it takes for her to reply. He can imagine she’s reading too much into his text.

Solana: Okay....I can come now?

Solana: I just have to put my shoes on….

Roman: I’ll come to you.

Roman knows better than to ask the bumbling idiots to watch Dulce. Their attention span when they get this heated is almost non-existent, so he opts to just take her upstairs with him, figuring he can deposit her in her bed in Solana’s room and that’ll be it for the night.

One down.

Two more to get rid of.

Roman is standing outside of Solana’s door ready to knock when it’s ripped open, and he’s met with an instantly smiling Naomi.

She’s smiling at the damn dog, of course.

“There you are, Dulce.” Roman has no issue whatsoever with letting her take the puppy, talking to it in that weird ass baby voice everyone seems to use around Dulce. He doesn’t get it, but it’s not something he desires to try to get anyway. Naomi calls out over her shoulder, “I’m gonna take her out to pee.”

Bayley shouts from inside the room, “I’ll come with you.”

Roman also has zero issues with that as well. He wants to be alone with Solana before she heads out.

Naomi is heading to the steps when Bayley walks past him, throwing out a rushed, “tell her she looks nice.”

That’s a given, but he gives her a nod, easily stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looks around the room, eyes settling on the connected bathroom where the door is suddenly swung open.

“Guys, are you sure I should wear—” Solana stops when she sees that Bayley and Naomi are no longer present, just him. “Oh, sorry, I thought—never mind.”

Roman would call her out on her apologies, both in the text and just now, but his attention is on something entirely different.

Solana is fucking stunning.

Her dress is orange, thin sleeved and hugs her in a way that makes his jaw clench and dick stiffen. It’s more low cut in the front than he knows she’s probably comfortable with, but if anything, it accentuates just how fucking nice her chest is. There’s a slight split on the side of said dress that shows off her thighs, thick and soft to the touch, he’d imagine. She also has her hair down, something he hasn’t seen in some time, makeup that covers the scar, and lips painted in a teasing red.

Roman has to catch himself because for a brief second, he’s tempted to completely change his mind. She looks too good to leave the house, especially without him present because there’s not a single doubt in his mind that she’ll turn heads.

She always does.

Finally, he’s able to get words to leave his mouth that aren’t as filthy as the thoughts he’s trying to keep locked in the back of his mind. “Jesus, you look amazing.”

Roman has noticed an increasingly difficult time in restraining himself around Solana, not in the sense where he’d completely ignore her trauma and try to touch her in a way that would trigger her. Never that. More so in the way he fantasizes about her in that way, dreams of having her in that way, solely because of his growing physical attraction.

Granted, it’s always been there.

Anyone could see her beauty even in how she would dress down and try to hide her figure, but now that Naomi and Bayley have been encouraging her to be less conservative in her appearance, it’s increased that difficulty exponentially.

“Thank you.” The makeup on Solana’s cheeks helps to mask her growing blush at Roman’s unabashed compliment. She suddenly looks down, nervously running her hand down the dress. “Is it….is it too much?”

Not at all. He might not want anyone else looking at her, but Roman could see her dress like this everyday and never grow tired. Still, his approval isn’t needed nor should she ever look for it. “Do you think it is?”

“I always think it’s too much.” It’s an honest answer, one that’s followed up with a caveat he’s surprised but pleased to hear. “But….but, I do like it.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Solana’s smile does something to him. She looks even more beautiful when she’s smiling. “Look….” Roman steps closer to her, trying to ignore her perfume, sweet and soft, a dangerous combination that matches her perfectly. “You need anything tonight, you call or text me, alright?”

She nods and asks. “What about Solo? Isn’t—isn’t that his job?”

It’s not a conscious in as much it is a unconscious thing when he steps even closer to her, moving his hand to the small of her back. Roman gently tugs her toward him, and to his surprise, she doesn’t tense under his touch. “You’re my wife, Solana. My job is always to protect you. He just guards you when I can’t.”

She looks like she’s trying to memorize this piece of information, storing it for future use as necessary knowledge. “Do—do you want to come with us?” Solana’s hand resting on his chest is as surprising as her question. “I could talk to Bayley.”

Roman has never been a social person. To say he hates most people isn’t necessarily an exaggeration. So, the thought of being around a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like outside of Solana and maybe Bayley—she’s not entirely awful—is not appealing as well. That doesn’t stop him, however, from considering the question at hand.

He’s tempted to ask her if she wants him to come, because Roman can find it in himself to withstand socialization for a couple hours.

He’ll do it for her.

But, there’s another part of him, a larger part of him that thinks she needs to do this on her own. That she needs to establish a life and something for herself that doesn’t include him. It’ll be good for her.

“No.” Is his final answer, delivered much gentler than if she was literally anyone else. Roman reaches and plays with a piece of her hair. “Not my scene. Too many people.” Not to mention that his presence would draw too much attention, potentially not good attention. He won’t do that to her. Won’t’ risk ruining her night. “Go. Have a good time.” Again, for good measure, he reminds, “but I mean it. Something is wrong. You call me.”

She nods, and he readies to remind her of his need for words when she answers, “okay.” She then adds on, “I already gave Dulce dinner, so she should mostly sleep, but if you could take her outside every so often….”

“I got it.” He’d much rather sacrifice the couple minutes it takes to bring her outside than risk her shitting or pissing somewhere in his house. Granted, he has to give credit where credit is due. She’s doing great with her potty training. Solana takes great care of her, but that’s not surprising. It’s obvious how much she loves the puppy. “You should be back by midnight, though.”

It’s more a strong suggestion than a demand. Solana is a grown woman. He’s not going to dictate what she does and doesn’t do. She’s had enough of that in her life. He had to give his approval for her to go with Bayley because of safety issues, but this, he wants to leave up to her as long as she understands the later she’s out, the riskier things can get.

After a certain time, only bad or not so great things can happen.

“Of course.” She seems to understand this clearly, but he’d also bet that’s her preference to be back earlier than later. Solana grabs her purse and walks towards the door, having to pass him in the process. Roman catches her, arm around her waist.

She looks up, curious, and he makes note of how she again doesn’t tense under his touch. That’s happening less and less, it seems.

He likes that.

“Text me when you get there.”

She smiles, and Roman suddenly feels a layer of his irritation with his cousins melt away. “I will.” Solana gives him one more glance before walking out the room.

Roman scratches his beard, a part of him wondering if he made the right decision to let her go alone. Granted, he knows he would have never even initially agreed if he didn’t trust Bayley and Naomi’s abilities.

They’d defend Solana as ruthlessly and violently as any of his best men.

That helps to chip away some of his second guessing along with the fact that this is something she clearly wants, and he wants to give her that. Give her anything he can that makes her happy.

She deserves that much.

Granted, that temporary peace is short-lived with the shout from one of his cousins who are apparently still present.

“Ayo, Big Dog, did you change the WiFi password again!”

________

Roman needs a new house.

Maybe have Solana let him know what she likes as far as interior designing goes and have something built with an impenetrable wall around it.

That seems to be the only thing that will keep his annoying ass twin cousins from being at his place so much.

Roman just knew that when the ladies left, they’d leave too. But no, that’s too good to be true, because they’ve been gone almost an hour, and their asses are still here.

Even Dulce is sleeping peacefully like the unemployed bum that she is in her bed kept in the living room.

And as always with them, they’ve been talking damn near the whole hour. One would think Roman straight up ignoring them as he works on his laptop would be a clear sign they need to go the hell home, but that would be too much like right.

He either needs an Excedrin or for his cousins to leave, the latter being preferred most. It’s especially needed when they seem to be watching whatever dumb ass Tok or Reel video over and over again.

“Wait. I know that song,” Jey announces, face scrunched up as he tries to recall the name. All Roman knows is that it’s in Spanish and repetitive as hell on top of being played on repeat. Annoying as hell too. “That lil freak from Miami I used to mess with used to have this shit playing at her crib all the time.”

Jimmy sucks his teeth, asking. “What happened to her?”

“Man, she moved.” Jey shrugs. “She went to go be a freak in Cali.”

Finally, Roman snaps. “Would ya’ll use some damn headphones or something?”

Jimmy is the first to speak. “You might want to watch this, Uce.”

“I don’t care.”

Jey slaps Jimmy on the arm, knowing how to get his cousin’s attention. “Yeah, why would he want to see a video of Solana?”

At that, Roman lifts his gaze.

Jimmy smirks knowingly. “Naomi sent some videos. Check your phone.”

That would explain it. Why Roman was out of the loop. It wasn’t from Solana.

He’d selected a specific text and ringtone notification for her, so he wouldn’t be unnecessarily checking his phone. Hence why he hasn’t checked it since she text that they’d made it to the restaurant.

Opening up the thread that has himself, Naomi, and the twins, he sees the set of messages and videos.

Naomi: Having a blast! Solana especially. I kinda feel like the odd one out cause clearly I don’t know none of these dances 😩 I kinda got the Bachata one, but Merengue and Punta are killing me.

Naomi: Bay and Solana keep trying to teach me, but it’s not going well lmao

Roman watches them all. Every video shows Solana smiling and laughing as she dances with Bayley and Naomi. One of the videos shows her and Bayley trying to instruct Naomi who seems to be failing miserably at learning what he’d guess are traditional Hispanic dances. There’s even a clip of her trying to help a little girl learn whatever dance they’re doing, and she looks just as patient as he’s seen her with the kids she reads to at the library.

She looks fucking gorgeous and happy.

He likes that for her. After everything she’s been through, she deserves all of the happiness.

But, it’s in watching the last video with the song that he kept hearing on loop from his cousin’s phone that he understands why they have it on repeat.

It’s a different kind of dance Bayley and Solana do together along with other women he doesn’t know or give two fucks about. What he gives a fuck about and focuses in entirely on is the way Solana’s hips and ass move, rhythmically, teasingly, drawing out an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

Fuck.

Roman does his best to push his erotic thoughts away, still trying to figure out how to balance his sexual desire for Solana with the knowledge of her sexual trauma. It almost feels wrong, to feel and want her in that way when he knows how traumatizing that subject is for her. It doesn’t stop the desire though.

“Damn, I knew it had to move, just not like that.”

“Like water.”

It’s probably a combination of his pent up usual, general and sexual frustration, but the dangerously slow way Roman lifts his head and equally slow way he sets his murderous gaze on his cousins is all they need to see to know they’ve gone too far.

And they know it.

Jimmy is instantly on damage control. “I meant—Bayley—you know, cause she—she’s also thick.”

Jey coughs awkwardly, hitting Jimmy on the arm. “I think, uh, we should—we should head out.” And Roman is just as slowly rising from the sofa when the twins literally almost trip over their feet and make a mad dash for the door.

It takes a couple minutes for him to calm down, and he too suddenly finds himself watching said video, casually commenting to Dulce, “about time they fucking left.”

Dulce barks in agreement.

________

Solana laughs along with Bayley and Naomi as they plop down in their seats after an almost four minute song of full out merengue. All are reaching for their respective drinks as Bayley playfully nudges Solana.

“Aren’t you glad you came?”

Just then, Juanita Escobar walks over, Bayley’s mother who carries the same dimple and friendly disposition. She places her hand on Solana’s back, reminding in Spanish, “you must come back and see us again!”

Solana smiles, agreeing, “I will.” She then looks over at Bayley. “If that’s okay?”

Bayley waves her off. “Are you kidding? With how soft and girly you are, you can come be my replacement any time”

Juanita glares at her youngest, muttering to Solana, “maybe you can rub off on my Bay, hmm? Never wanted to do girl stuff. Always wanted to fight with the boys.”

Bayley chugs back some of her drink. “Hell yeah.”

Solana thinks she’d prefer the fighting too. Maybe then she could have defended herself better. Defended her mom even.

Juanita shakes her head, looking at Solana. “Yes, come again, child. You look so much like someone, but I can’t put my hand on it. I’m sure my husband would know. He knows everyone.”

That doesn't necessarily make Solana want to come back, meeting someone, a man specifically. However, if he’s anything like Bayley or Juanita, maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

And maybe…maybe she could ask Roman to come with her. That’d make her feel moderately to significantly better. Safer, even.

Juanita is soon pulled away from the table by a customer at the same moment Solana’s phone rings.

Roman: You good?

Solana: Yes.

She bites down on her lip, contemplating if she should hit send on her message. It feels like a risky thing to say, but it’s also how she feels.

And he’s always telling her to be honest with him.

So she is.

Solana: Kinda wish you would have came.

Her fingers nervously tap against the table as she wait for his reply that ends up coming almost immediately.

Roman: That’s your world. Not mine.

Roman: Do you not feel safe?

Solana: No, not that. I guess…...Nvm.

Roman: Tell me.

Again, more hesitation, and she’s not entirely sure where this desire to be honest and almost vulnerable with him comes from, but she does her best not to push it away, almost welcoming the slight discomfort that comes with sending such a risky text.

Solana: Idk, I feel better when you’re around.

He doesn’t reply after that.

Bayley and Naomi share a knowing expression, having watched Solana quietly for the past few minutes. Naomi ends up being the one to lead the conversation. “So how are things going with Roman?”

The question takes her off guard, Solana trying her best to think just how to handle said question.

Roman no longer confuses her. Not nearly as much as her feelings about him confuse her.

She wasn’t lying. She does feel better when she’s around him. And it’s not even that she feels unsafe currently. It’s just that he makes her feel safe in general. That’s such a foreign concept. One she hasn’t experienced in such a long time.

If ever.

Because the truth of the matter is that while Solana felt an indescribable amount of happiness with her mother, there was never really safety. Not with her father’s wrath always waiting around the corner.

So while this is new and unfamiliar, it’s also nice, and she finds herself enjoying his presence. She likes being around him beyond the safety aspect. The way he talks to and with her, like he genuinely enjoys their conversations. When he meets her for work and asks how her day was or finds her in the house to see how her day was, it makes her feel like he actually cares about what she has to say.

Like he actually cares about her.

It’s such a stark contrast of how she sees him interact with others. Always on edge, it seems.

He’s never made her feel that way though. Maybe at the beginning, but that’s starting to feel less like anything he’s done and more like her own trauma.

Trauma….

That’s also been an interesting experience. For the past few weeks, she’s worked out of The Courage to Heal, reading every page as instructed. And it’s been….an emotional time, to say the least. Definitely tears. A lot of them. Mostly shed in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep or on the bathroom floor as she sits against the tub, reading and writing, Dulce right beside her, offering that unspoken emotional support.

It’s been therapeutic and challenging and awful having to confront her demons but also freeing in a strange sort of way. Especially the poems. The words of other victims who express so eloquently and hauntingly beautifully what she still cannot.

One of the things she’s really latched onto and tries to remind herself of is that there are different kinds of touch. Because of the assault, her brain has naturally associated any kind of touch as dangerous, which isn’t always true. Especially in the past few months.

So, there’s been a conscious and active effort to remind herself when Naomi and Bayley hug her or playfully bump her, that it’s safe. That she’s safe.

Especially….especially with Roman.

Especially with how touch between them has seemed to also increase over the past couple weeks. Or maybe less increase in levels and more in frequency. She’ll find his hand on the small of her back, or him taking her hand in his, and sometimes, if they’re close enough, Solana also finds herself reaching for him, for his hand, her hand on his chest.

It’s all so innocent in presentation but something much deeper for her. A level of comfort she’s developed with him that she never had in any prior relationship.

She likes it.

She likes him.

“Solana.”

Jumping at being pulled from her inner dialogue, Solana remembers the initial question being posed.

She clears her throat, finally answering, “umm….good. It’s—it’s good.”

“He’s not being an ass to you, is he?” She asks, almost protectively. “I mean outside of the natural ass that he always is.”

Immediately, Solana is shaking her head, almost feeling a duty to defend him. “No. No. He–he would never. He’s….always nice to me.”

Bayley nearly spits out her drink. “Nice?” She coughs a bit, also shaking her head. “Are we still talking about Roman here? Roman Reigns? That man has never been nice a day in his life.”

Naomi shrugs. “I mean, she has a point. I don’t think I’ve seen him be cruel to her.”

Cruel….Solana also could never find it in her to use that word to describe Roman’s disposition towards her. Maybe others, but never her.

Bayley sits on Naomi’s point, suddenly sharing to the table, “you know what, now that you mention it, when I went to go ask him if I could invite you tonight, he was ready to bite my head off for bothering him. But, the minute I said it had something to do with you, he was all ears. Like an instant switch.”

Solana is also all ears, slightly intrigued. “Really?” Doubt and insecurity creeps in as she weakly suggests, “he was probably like that with Samantha too.”

At that, Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud, Naomi nearly in tears.

“Now that is funny. Solana, Roman don’t give a fuck about that girl. Not outside of sex.”

Solana must look unconvinced, so Bayley points out, “think about it. She’s been around for years, and it’s not her he took down the aisle, so…..” She then adds, “arranged marriage or not.”

The girls bringing up their points takes Solana back to her run-in with Samantha in the bathroom and Nia’s jaw-dropping information.

An idea appears, and Solana is instantly torn on whether to pursue or pop it. Something tells her it’s a bad idea, that she should take his information to the grave, but there’s also that side that feels like she can trust Bayley and Naomi to keep it between the three of them.

Sitting forward, Solana decides to take a risk. “Can I—can I tell you guys something?” Nervously, she stipulates, “but it has to stay between us.”

They look expectedly worried. “Solana, if it has something to do with your safety—”

“No, no that.” Solana almost feels confident enough to say that she’d go to Roman if that was the case. She trusts that she could talk to him if it was something like that.

“Of course, then.”

“Solana, you can tell us anything.”

And for some reason, she knows this to be true. It’s why she battles against her trepidation to open up. “It’s—ummm. I….I found out that when….when Roman was…..having sex with Samantha, he….” There’s a pause caused by the discomfort of such a discussion, but Solana manages to push through. “He said my name.”

Both Bayley and Naomi wear shocked expressions, the former of the two whispering harshly, “holy shit, what?”

Bayley then asks, “wait, how do you know?”

“Nia told me.” Solana has zero desire to wholly revisit that night in the bathroom with Samantha, so she only provides the important part. “She said that Samantha told her friend, I guess. T something?”

“Tiffy.” Bayley rolls her eyes. “Makes sense. That girl can’t hold water.”

“I don’t get it then. He obviously was imagining it was you and not Samantha, so why go fuck her and not you?”

Naomi’s question makes all the sense, but Solana doesn’t really know how to tackle it. This conversation is already difficult enough for her.

But her face must give it away, Bayley seemingly putting two and two together.

“You two haven’t slept together…..have you?” Solana simply shakes her head, unable to verbally confirm and slightly mortified that it’s reached this level of detail.

Solana is certain they must have a million thoughts floating around their head, starting with the how and why. That part…..that part she doesn’t know if she is ready to discuss.

An ironic thing considering she’s just started the chapter in her workbook on sharing her story with trusted people.

The irony.

But instead of invasive questions that heighten her anxiety, Naomi places a comforting hand on her arm.

“Look, I’ve known Roman my whole life, and the guy has been a dick the entire time. He would never hurt a woman, I know that, but he’s also never given a fuck about any of them either. So for him to be the way he is with you when you two haven’t even had sex……there’s something there, Solana.”

“I agree,” Bayley cosigns, saying what Solana has struggled to admit even to herself. “I think he really does like you. In his own Roman sort of way.”

Solana can’t deny the fact that it’s getting increasingly difficult to push away that possibility, even if she still can’t understand the why.

Just what has she done to deserve him liking her?

Maybe it’s not like. Maybe he just tolerates her better than he does others for some reason. Whatever it is, she can’t negate the fact that it must mean something if Naomi, who’s known him her whole life, believes that something is there.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Solana just needs to get away. Just for a couple minutes. This conversation took a turn she wasn’t expecting, and she needs to settle her emotions.

Bayley seems cautious. “Want me to come with you?”

“No.” The rejection is paired with a kind smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

And before she can get any pushback, Solana makes her way through the dancing crowd and to the back restroom that she’s grateful to see is vacant. Closing and locking the bathroom door, she goes straight for the mirror.

Despite the unexpected amount of dancing and slight sweat, she still looks relatively the same.

The same….

Same.

Even with the makeup and tight little dress, she’s still the same person. She’ll go home tonight, take off the makeup and remove the dress to find the same damaged, scarred girl who can never have something like what Jimmy and Naomi have.

Even if Roman does like her, it won’t last.

She can’t please him.

She could never make Roman happy, could never truly satisfy him, satisfy his needs.

She’s too broken for that.

It brings tears to her eyes.

Unable to withstand the sight of herself, Solana grabs a couple napkins to blow away her tears, tosses them out and heads out the bathroom. Instead of heading back to the table, Solana makes a beeline for the bar.

She’s only had white wine, but white wine isn’t enough. She recognizes where her emotions are taking her, and it’s nowhere good.

Solana refuses to ruin this night for Bayley and Naomi.

The bartender is a young girl, pretty, early to mid twenties. She asks in a friendly, deeply accented voice, “what can I get you?”

Solana is naive to this, to the great array of alcoholic options that litter the counter before her, so she answers the best way she can. Thinking back to the few events she’d be forced to attend with her father and brother, the drinks she always heard people order before getting drunk.

“Vodka and Gin, p—please.”

________

Meanwhile, Bayley and Naomi sit at the table still partially stuck on this unexpected news. But also not entirely surprising. With how sittish Solana can be at times, they have a good, albeit depressing guess as to why sex hasn’t happened between them.

It does bring up a valid question though.

“Wasn’t the whole marriage for the purposes of giving Roman an heir? How is that—”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Naomi murmurs. “But, I think we both know it’s obvious Solana has some trauma. Touch is clearly hard for her.”

“I know.” Bayley frowns. “I guess I’m just surprised Roman of all people has been so….patient with her.”

“You and me too.” Naomi blows out a breath before again reiterating what she said to Solana. “He must really like her.”

“It’s just hard to tell with him. He’s so damn stoic, but….I think you’re right. I think she likes him too. She’s just…..scared.” Fear is also something Solana deeply struggles with, though Bayley and Naomi both can recognize the progress she’s making towards overcoming those fears.

With a gasp, Naomi grabs her phone, directing Bayley. “Get your phone.”

Bay is confused but follows suit just as Naomi says, “I know who may know.”

Less than a minute later, Bayley’s phone dings with a text notification from a new group she’s in that includes herself, Naomi, Jimmy, and Jey.

Naomi: Sooooo, Bay and I were just talking, and between the four of us, how do you think Roman feels about Solana?

Bayley: And please be honest.

Bayley quickly ensures. “We’re not going to tell them what Solana said, right?”

“Hell no. We could never betray her trust like that.” Bayley is relieved but also not surprised.

Naomi values loyalty just as much as she does.

Jey: Man, I think he really like ole’ girl. Bruh got her a dog, seems to drop whatever he doing when she needs something, and I don’t think I ever heard him say nothing bad about her.

Jimmy: He was definitely annoyed at first when Soso had her lil breakdown at the Warehouse, but that didn’t last long at all.

Bayley: Plus Roman is always annoyed with something or someone.

Naomi: Except her 👀

Jey: Why ya’ll ask?

Naomi: We think Solana really likes him too but is scared to push on it because of her past and just don’t want to encourage her to give it a chance if he’s just gonna hurt her. Ya’ll know how Roman is.

Bayley: A certified ASSHOLE. And a hoe.

Bayley: But, it seems like that’s not the case with her.

Jimmy: I would say he definitely likes her too.

Jey: I mean they are married so….

Naomi: It was arranged. That doesn’t count.

Bayley: Do we know if he’s still fucking around? Primarily with Samantha since she’s been his go-to the past couple years?

Jimmy: I don’t think so. Matter of fact, I guess she said some smart shit to Soso in the bathroom on NoC and Big Dog wasn’t having it.

Jey: He’s apparently planning to pay her a lil visit….with Nia.

Naomi: Oh my god, is he finally gonna let Nia kill her?

Jimmy: Naw, just fuck her up real good, I think.

Naomi: Damn.

Bayley: That’s wild for him to cut her off like that after all this time. Def sounds like he likes Solana to me too…..

Jey: Ya’ll really think he about to admit that shit though?

Naomi: No more than she is. He’s stubborn, and she’s so insecure.

Jimmy: Ya’ll thinking what I’m thinking? 👀

*Jimmy changed the group chat name to Operation RoSo*

Naomi: Bae, what is this damn title?

Jimmy: It’s our latest covert operation. We gotta get Roman and Soso to admit they like each other!

Jey: And just how the hell is we supposed to do that? Like Bay said, Uce is an ass sometimes.

Bayley: All the time unless you’re Solana….

Naomi: I mean, not to be vain, but if you look like Roman, you can kinda get away with being an ass. To some extent.

Bayley: You’re not wrong. He is gorgeous. 😮‍💨

Jimmy: He alright, I guess. His ears kinda big.

Naomi: Bae, I love you, but let’s not lie. Your cousin is an asshole, yes, but he’s also fine as hell.

Bayley: That’s not the only thing said to be big…..

Naomi: Girl….

Bayley: They can’t all be lying.

Jey: ANYWAYS!

Jey: What if they’re coming together at they own pace and we should just leave shit alone?

Jimmy: 😐

Jimmy: That’s about the dumbest fucking thing I done heard all day. What next you gon say, huh? That they just magically gon fall in love on their own too? No! They clearly need our help!

Naomi: Maybe less help and more a shove in the right direction?

Bayley: A gentle push!

Naomi: Yes!

Jey: All I know is if shit backfires, I’m not taking the heat for none of ya’ll asses. Ya’ll gon have to deal with Big Dog.

Jimmy: Then we’ll just put Solana in front of us. He can’t hurt us then!

Jimmy: See…..I’m smart with this shit. That’s why Imma be the brains of this operation.

________

“What do you mean she’s drunk?”

Roman’s night suddenly went from uneventful and quiet, his preference, to unexpected and infuriating, all with a walk from upstairs to downstairs where he finds Solana awkwardly standing in the living room. Bayley and Naomi wait at the bottom of the steps with nervous expressions.

Good.

They should be scared shitless, because one glance at Solana, the gloss over her eyes, and he can tell she’s all but wasted.

“You were supposed to be watching her.” Roman is fucking irritated. He knew it was a bad idea to leave these two in charge of Solana.

Bayley, however, seems unbothered by his anger. “She’s not a child, Roman. Were we supposed to stop her from drinking too? We had no idea she asked for something stronger.”

It’s an excuse, and Roman doesn’t do excuses. “What happened?”

Naomi answers this time around. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” One. They’re lying, and Roman hates liars. Two. They’re lying, and Roman has literally killed people for less. Three. They’re lying, and he wants to know why. “You’ve both got less than a minute to give me the truth—”

“Look, we talked about some things, and we promised to keep it between the three of us, so I’m not telling you what exactly it was, but I can tell you she’s not in danger.” Bayley is smart. She must know that he’d literally torture the information out of her if it had anything to do with Solana’s safety.

“It was just…some stuff about her past. I think it may have been too much, and she decided to get drunk to not think about it.” Naomi’s suggestion makes sense and pans out, but Roman can’t stop thinking about just what she shared with them.

Was it the rape? But why? He remembers her terror in the locker room that day, the fear and pain in her eyes and voice as she pleaded with him to not make her talk about it. It doesn’t make sense why she would suddenly share it.

Even with how close she seems to them.

“Just leave.”

Roman will deal with them later. Right now, his priority is getting Solana settled.

They seem to know better than to push his patience, asking that he at least keep them updated on how she’s doing in the morning.

He neither agrees or disagrees. It’ll heavily depend on how fucked up Solana is.

Once they’re gone, Roman walks into the living room to find her laid on the sofa, eyes glazed over from her drunkenness but that same beautiful smile on her just as beautiful face.

“Solana.” She’s so gone that it makes him wonder even more again just how upset she must have been. “I need to get you to bed.”

He needs sleep too, feeling the length and weight of the day starting to take a toll.

She’s protesting almost right away. “I’m not t–tired.”

“Maybe not, but you will be tomorrow.” Roman knows she’s in for one hell of a hangover.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sleep.” She’s almost pouting, brows caved together as she stumbles through more words. Solana suddenly stands up, and he naturally moves closer to her, noticing the almost sway she does onto the floor. “I just—have bad dreams and—and you’re just—just gonna leave once I sleep anyw—way.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks. Getting answers from a drunk person usually isn’t the best or smartest thing in the world, but something tells Roman that Solana is the type of drunk person who ends up spilling secrets. And he’s certain there’s a lot she’s probably still keeping in.

She then issues an unexpected accusation. “You—you’re—you’re gonna go be with Samantha—that’s who you want.”

Roman finds her question slightly ironic considering he’s been letting Samantha think she got away with whatever disrespectful shit she said to Solana on the Night of Champions. He’s letting her think she’s safe and waiting for the right moment to set her ass straight, Nia tagging along to deliver the physical message he can’t.

“Af–after all.” Solana continues, surprising him with her openness that’s most definitely fueled by her inebriation. “Why—why would you want me?” She points to herself, voice taking on a softer, vulnerable tone. “Why—why would anyone want me?”

He’s silent for a good minute, sitting on such a heavy question. “Is that really what you think?” It’s asked in a low voice, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s more him thinking aloud or if he genuinely wants to know if that is how she really views herself.

She shakes her head, nodding in a way that further signifies how drunk she is. “It’s like you said, I’m mentally u–unstable.”

For a second, Roman’s confused, but he quickly thinks back to their wedding night, to his hurtful words to her. Words he’d give anything to take back now.

With an almost frown, he acknowledges his fault. “I was wrong to say that to you, Solana. You are not that.” Truthfully, with all she’s been through, even if she was, he couldn’t fault her.

With a family like hers, she never had a fucking chance.

Solana seems almost confused by his apology, taking him back with the next thing that leaves her mouth. “Is it—is it true you—you said my name when you were with S—samantha?”

He definitely wasn’t expecting that, has no idea how she even knows that. Is that what Samantha told her in the bathroom? Why would she? It does nothing to make her look good. Regardless, drunk or not, Roman sticks with his word that he won’t lie to her.

“Yes.”

Even drunk, he can tell how shocked she is by his admission. Shaking her head, she says either to herself or him—he can’t really tell. “I—I don’t get it.” Before he can say anything else, she starts on this train of self-hatred. “She’s pretty and—and—skinny and—she’s not—broken like me.”

That does something to him, Roman moving closer to bring one hand to the small of her back and the other to her face. “You’re not broken, Solana.”

“Yes–yes, I am. You don’t—you don’t know what—what happened to me.” Her bottom lip trembles as she shakes her head, hands on his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do what—what she does—can’t—give you t–that.”

He shifts his hand to the back of her head, forcing her blurry gaze to stay on him. “Baby….” It tears him the fuck up hearing her acknowledge the lingering trauma he’s certain she’ll always carry to some extent, but even more to hear how lowly she really thinks of herself. “I don’t—”

“I can’t—I can’t because—” Her voice cracks, her eyes focused everywhere but him as she almost comes to this heartbreaking realization that her drunkenness briefly helped her escape these thoughts that have now returned. “—b–because they r–raped me, and now I don’t—I don’t know how—how to be with anyone.” She gasps and sniffles, shaking her head. “I should—should have f–fought h-harder—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that, you hear me?” Roman’s voice somehow contains all the conviction yet gentleness he can muster. Hearing her even think that makes him feel something he can’t fully describe. It’s heavy as fuck though. “You were a child, Solana. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were a kid.” He has to say it again, because that’s the hardest part in all of this, knowing how young she was. “You should have been protected, and you weren’t, and I’m going to make sure every son of a bitch involved in what happened to you pays for that shit. I promise you that. The same way that I promise with my life, I’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She’s clearly taken back by his words, by his vow. “I don’t—I don’t—understand w–why? Why—why would you do that?”

Roman isn’t sure he has an answer for that specifically, but he does have something else he can provide her, a small part of him knowing, hoping maybe, there’s very little from tonight she remembers come tomorrow morning.

“Because someone needs to protect you.” Roman swallows, adding before he even realizes what he’s saying. “Because I don’t want Samantha.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, intentionally wiping her tears. “I want you.”

And suddenly, it’s so much easier to say it aloud, to voice to her what he still doesn’t entirely understand, why he feels drawn to her in ways he doesn’t understand. There’s a connection almost, a connection of mutual loss that’s formed some sort of bridge Roman is unsure just when he started crossing

She looks more stunned at his admission than anything else he’s ever said to her. Still, she seems to try to discredit him. “But—but she—”

“She’s not you.” His voice unintentionally softens. “No one’s like you.”

Selfishly, he hopes she doesn’t remember much or any of this conversation, less painful for her, more time for him to figure out what it is about this woman that he feels so deeply drawn to.

Again, she tries to downplay her worth. “I can’t—I can’t—give you what you need.”

And somehow he knows exactly what she means. What she’s referring to.

“I don’t need that from you.” Truth be told, he doesn’t want to need anything from her. Needing anything in general has never been his thing. He just knows that, for some reason, he wants her around.

He likes having her around him.

She’s blinking again and places her hand against her head, sharing, “my h–head hurts.” It’s not an intentional deflection, he’s certain, but it’s appreciated.

This is a much deeper conversation than he anticipated having tonight.

“You need to get to bed. The sooner you can start sleeping this off, the better.” He eyes her skeptically, asking, “can you walk?”

He should have already known the answer, because the minute she tries to pull away from him to walk, she sways almost immediately, Roman going right back to holding her. “Come here.” He expects her to tense up as he moves to lift her up bridal style, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look confused, clearly overwhelmed with all of her emotions.

Roman doesn’t say anything as he carries her up the stairs and doesn’t think twice about taking her to his room instead of hers.

He needs to monitor her tonight, and that’s easier done with her in his room.

She looks around still confused but doesn’t say anything as Roman lowers her down on the edge of his bed. Naturally, he’s on one knee before her.

“I’m gonna take these off.” He refers to her heels which could largely be a contributing factor for her to inability to walk. She nods, and he quickly unstraps and tosses the heels to the side. “Do you want to change?”

She nods and then adds, “I don’t have—my clothes….”

Roman is at his dresser, pulling out a shirt that he reaches to her. “You can wear this for tonight.”

She accepts it from him, turning to walk to the bathroom, Roman relieved to see the removal of her heels helps her to at least make it without falling.

While she’s changing, he heads back downstairs to get Dulce.

He knows she’s used to sleeping with Solana and will probably throw a fit or spend the night crying if that doesn’t happen, so a small sacrifice is made as he also brings up Dulce’s bed from the living room and places it on the side of his bed.

One night of her sleeping in his room won’t kill him.

It’s then that Solana walks out the bathroom, changed out of her dress and her face free from the makeup.

“I washed my face….hope that was o–okay.”

“It’s fine, Solana.” Roman is half expecting to have to instruct her to lay down, but she again stays with the theme of surprises tonight and walks over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in.

He’s again ready to explain that he’ll be in the guest room across the hall but will be available if she needs anything. He’ll still be checking in on her occasionally, regardless.

But, before he can explain as such, she asks in the softest, most vulnerable voice, “will you lay with me?”

It’s an extremely unexpected question with an easy answer.

Roman’s answer is to move into the bed with her, half expecting her to freak out in one way or another. This close proximity is so unlike her, a complete contrast to what she’s usually comfortable with.

However, what he doesn’t expect is the way Solana moves her body close against his, pressing herself into his side, arm over his stomach and head on his chest.

In a switching of roles, Roman is the one to initially tense. This is more physical contact than they’ve ever had, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that if not for the alcohol in her system, she’d have a fucking meltdown touching him this much.

But in her drunken, highly intoxicated state, that’s not an issue. She wants to be close to him, wants to be pressed up against him.

She’s looking for comfort.

And truthfully, he wants it too. Roman likes the feel of her next to him, actually uses his other arm to tug her closer, noticing how she adjusts her head on his chest.

Her hand is planted against his chest, and he starts to tell her to rest, to encourage her to sleep this off. But, she once again beats him to it, asking yet another question.

“Why—why are you doing this?”

To be fair, Roman only answers her truthfully because he’s betting on her being so close to the edge of sleep that the chances of her remembering this rare shred of vulnerability are slim to none.

“Because—because I know what it’s like to not have anyone.” There’s a sense of hesitation and discomfort as he verbalizes what he’s never once openly discussed with anyone. “Because I didn’t just lose my mom when I was ten. I lost my entire family. My parents. My aunt. My uncle. And all of my siblings. I—I was the only one who made it out alive that night, and I spent years not knowing why, why I was left alone.”

Roman doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want people feeling fucking sorry for him. He never has. But the way Solana lifts her head to look at him is a look of something else, something that likens understanding and compassion.

The latter of which is almost an unfamiliar concept.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry.” She lays her head back against his chest, moving even closer. She then murmurs into him, almost reassuringly, “you don’t—you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Roman doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t.

He says nothing.

________

Waking up in Roman’s bed wearing only his shirt is the last thing Solana expects along with the fact that the minute her eyes open, she’s hit with instant throbbing of her head.

She winces, confused about so many things as she forces herself to sit up, mind immediately wandering to a single question.

Where is Roman?

Her question is easily answered when she spots the notebook on his nightstand. She reaches for it, squinted eyes reading over his words.

Solana,

I’m sorry I had to leave. I have a meeting with the Elders I, unfortunately, can’t miss. I’ll be back right after.

If not for that, I would have stayed with you.

You most likely won’t remember last night, but you got drunk. Very. You’re gonna wake up with a nasty hangover. Take the Aspirin. It’ll help.

I gave Dulce her breakfast and took her outside. She should be fine.

I also let your job know you’re not coming in today.

Rest.

Roman

There’s so much to process in such a straightforward letter. What did he mean by stay with her? Did—did they sleep in the same bed?

For some reason, that’s not as anxiety inducing as she imagined it would be. She doesn’t know the why or how, but it doesn't bring that heavy weight on her chest.

The drunk part triggers brief memories of the night prior. Bayley and Naomi. The celebration. Dancing. Fun. Happiness.

A switch.

At some point in the night, her mood shifted into something else. Solana remembers asking for a drink, but she doesn’t remember much after that. Glimpses. An almost sympathetic look from Roman. His arms around her. Him holding her.

It makes for a confusing story she doesn’t really have the wherewithal to deal with. She instead reaches over and swallows the Aspirin.

And she goes right back to sleep.

________

Roman finds himself completely bypassing his office, clearing his schedule, and moving his phone’s status to Do Not Disturb.

He’s not in the mood to deal with any of that shit today. At least not for a couple more hours. He needs to make sure Solana is situated first.

Thinking about her resurfaces his earlier level of anger at how the meeting with the Elders ended.

“What of the girl?”

This was the part of the hour meeting that caught his attention the most. Everything else was trivial and, in his opinion, a waste of time. But, it’s when Elder Aleki brings up Solana that Roman’s focus is recentered.

“What about her?”

He’s not stupid. Far from it. Roman knows exactly where this is headed. It was partially expected. What he didn’t expect was the anger that’s already brewing at just how Solana was referred to as ‘the girl.’

Aleki is bold with his questioning, jumping straight to the point. “Is she still not pregnant yet? It’s been almost four months.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, and he finds himself squeezing the armrest of his chair as he does his best to keep his voice somewhat subdued. “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

Another elder, Sione, decides to join in on this conversation that Roman is about to shut down in less than a minute. “Perhaps she should have another medical evaluation. By one of our doctors—”

“The hell she will.”

Rikishi shoots Roman a warning look, quietly, muttering an equally pleading, “language, Uce.”

Roman straight up ignores him. Rikishi still adheres to those outdated traditions that just because someone has more years on this earth than you that they automatically deserve respect. Fuck that. Roman gives respect when it’s earned, and Aleki and Sione have been on his shit list for years.

He’ll never forgive them for their behavior after the death of his family, their questioning of Roman’s birthright to the throne.

Aleki releases a heavy sigh, and Roman has to restrain himself from not bashing the old man’s head into the table. “All we’re saying is if she is incapable of producing a child to continue the Bloodline, then we have no use for her and should seek to find you a better—”

That’s when Roman has enough. To suggest Solana be examined again. which would no doubt be triggering as fuck for her, is one thing. But, it’s an entirely different thing for them to have the unmitigated gall to suggest he get rid of her.

Over his dead fucking body.

Roman shoots up from the chair. “My wife isn’t going anywhere nor is anyone at this fucking table going to make her do shit.”

Rikishi shoots more than just his subtle warning this time around. “Roman, please—”

Roman’s not trying to hear that shit from him, though. He’s not trying to hear shit from anyone.

“Our marriage is nobody’s fucking business but our own. That includes when she gets pregnant. We’ll share it when we want to.”

Truthfully speaking, this isn’t something Roman has thought much about, an intentional thing. The fact that the marriage was originally and solely arranged so that she could give him an heir is irrelevant to him right now, regardless of what they think.

That’s not a priority.

“You may be the Elders, but I sit at the head of the table.” The Bloodline has always been successful and profitable, but it’s no doubt exceeded any and all records and expectations since Roman became the head. That’s an indisputable fact. “Don’t fucking forget who made this table what it is today.”

The ending of the meeting is still playing in the back of his head like a bad song on repeat. If not for his semi level of respect and acknowledgement of their standing as Elders, he would have put a bullet in their heads the minute that disrespectful shit started leaving their mouths.

In no fucking universe is anyone taking Solana from him. He doesn’t give a flying fuck whatever the original reason was for their marriage. She’s his now, and nothing is changing that.

Roman makes active efforts to calm himself before walking back into the house. After last night, the last thing she needs is to be unintentionally triggered.

He finds her on the sofa, writing in her journal, Dulce right beside her sleeping peacefully without a care in the fucking world. Roman halfway expected her to be out back on the patio, a seemingly favorite spot of hers.

But the sunlight would no doubt exacerbate the remnants of her hangover he’s certain she’s still battling, so it makes sense she’s indoors. It’s when she looks up, noticing his presence that Roman also realizes she’s still only wearing his shirt.

For some strange reason, he likes that. Likes seeing her in his clothes.

“Hey…”

“Hey.” Roman sits on the sofa opposite from her. He takes her in, watching her set her journal to the side and as he notices her hair is pulled up. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs, making a face that suggests some level of discomfort. “My head still kinda hurts, but I guess—that’s to be expected.” He starts to ask her if she’s drunk enough water, recognizing the importance of staying hydrated a night after heavy drinking, but she’s suddenly pleading with him almost. “Please don’t be upset with Bayley and Naomi. It’s not their fault.”

To be fair, he hadn’t thought about them until now. “They were supposed to watch you.”

“They did. I—I got back fine.” She seems almost worried for them, for their safety. He would never actually kill either woman. He’ll just probably never trust them to take Solana out again in life. But no murder would actually happen. Still, it’s the part where Solana says she got back fine that irks him. He does his best to mask that irritation though.

“You weren’t fine last night, Solana.” She was far from it, more emotional than he’s seen her in some time, if ever.

Her shoulders drop, almost in shame. “I don’t—I don’t remember much of it.”

He’s thankful for that. For the both of them. “You were upset.” It’s not a lie nor is it specific. It’s just the truth.

She then asks with almost hesitant curiosity. “W–what did I say?”

Roman shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t like being dismissive towards her, doesn’t like being dishonest, something he swore he wouldn’t do. But, she was an emotional wreck last night, and the last thing he wants is for her to go through all of those emotions yet again.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset.

But then she looks at him, studying him almost, a sad, almost tearful chuckle leaving her mouth. He watches as she brings her legs up to her chest and rests her chin against her knees. She asks, volume barely over a whisper, “I told you last night, didn’t I?” Roman realizes it’s less a question and more a heavy realization. “That—that I was raped. Didn’t I?”

It’s a bit of a lose–lose situation. Either he tells her no and risks her feeling bad for sharing something she didn’t have to or he confirms what she already knows and still feels not great.

They’re both shitty options, but he ultimately goes the route of honesty. “Yes.”

“It’s weird. I—” She looks away, eyes shutting for a minute before she unexpectedly explains, “I’ve been—I’ve been working out of this book for people who were…assaulted like me, and I’m–at the part where its recommended I tell at least one person because—because it’s not healthy to keep it to myself.”

Roman knows exactly what book she’s talking about. It was the key that led to him figuring out just what happened to her. That still fucks with him. Still makes him fill with silent rage at her piece of shit family letting that happen to her.

“You’re now the first person I’ve ever told.” Roman hates that even more.. Hates that someone like him is who she ended up breaking her silence with. He wishes it was either Bayley or Naomi. They’re much better at this sort of thing. The feelings thing. “I don’t—I don’t like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to.” He isn’t sure he’d be able to control his anger hearing details, hearing anything about it to be honest, not coming from her. His rage would be intractable.

She nods, almost appreciatively. “That's why sex is—it’s hard for me.” He fully understands that, and a small part of him hates how he tried to initiate that with her on their wedding night. He figured her nerves were because of her naturally anxious personality. Never once did it cross his mind that it was because of something much darker. “And it’s not—it’s not like I don’t think about it sometimes, about being close to someone like that, I do.” This piece does surprise him, but he works hard not to think too much about it right now. He wants to be in this moment with her. “ I—I have. But, every time I try, I just—I get flashbacks, and I can’t.” She ends on an almost whisper, Roman’s stomach tightening as she quickly wipes at a tear.

He doesn’t like seeing her cry.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Solana.” Not him or anyone else, for that matter.

She doesn’t say anything for a good minute before asking, “what happens now?”

That’s a great fucking question, and he almost has the same towards a lot of things. He’s curious though what she’s specifically referring to. “What do you mean?”

Solana seems almost frightened as she asks, “are you—are you gonna send me back to my father?”

Yeah, he could have never in a million years guessed that. “Why would you ever think I would do that?”

And he suddenly hates asking, hates seeing the way the emotion builds back up. “I’m not—not a virgin, and—” Her eyes close, her grip around her legs tightening. “You….you only married me because—”

“I don’t care about that.” This is his second time today having to face some level of this discussion, but this round is significantly gentler. Roman does his best to illustrate the conviction in his voice while also being mindful of her emotions. “What do you want, Solana?”

He has no idea what she’s going to say, but he does know for a fact he would never send her back to that hellhole. It would be like sending her to her own death.

She seems to really think about his question, think about something he’s certain she’s never had a lot of.

Options.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she answers. “I want to stay here.” Roman’s unsure why he feels a small sense of relief at her answer, like anything other than that would have made him uncomfortable or upset. Solana wets her lips, continuing, “I like—I like living here.” And in an even smaller voice, she adds, “I like being with you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. Roman is certain it’s because they’re both trying to process and register what this may mean, what this new piece of information means for them moving forward.

Roman sits forward and motions with his index and middle finger. “Come here.”

He sees it instantly. The initial hesitation, the brief flash of fear, but it’s gone before he can offer reassurance. Solana lowers her legs and walks over to him, Dulce remaining sleeping and unmoving. Not once does Roman remove his gaze from her as he takes her hand, giving a gentle tug to guide her down on the sofa next to him. He slides his arm behind her, holding her body against him, his tattooed forearm across her stomach.

Roman watches the way her eyes close, recognizes that she’s trying to manage her emotions. He sees the little nod she gives herself, as if assuring herself that she’s safe. And he swears he sees her mouth as such.

Mouth the word ‘safe.’

Solana moves her hands to his forearm, as if holding onto him for some sense of comfort.

He does his best to reassure her. “Relax…”And it seems to do something to help her, offering such a simple yet strong form of solace. “I’d never send you back there. Ever.” And that’s a fucking promise. “You’ll stay here. With me.”

“I’m—” Her voice is less emotional than before. It’s still there, but he can tell it's waning with each second that passes, her comfort level growing. “I’m supposed to give you an heir. What if—what if people start—”

“I’ll take care of it.” And he will. He already started with the Elders earlier today, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She angles her head up to look at him. “But—”

Roman brings his hand to her face, gently palming her cheek. “I’ll take care of it.” He moves his thumb over the apple of her cheek and part of her scar. “Alright?”

Solana nods with her acknowledgement but says nothing else as she lays back against him. He notices the absence of tension and discomfort. She’s fully relaxed against him, and Roman acts more out of instinct than anything as he presses lips against her temple for a brief kiss, still mindful of her comfort level. “I’ve got you…”

Everything happening in the past few minutes has been both unexpected and confusing, but there’s nothing confusing about the way Solana suddenly turns her body into him, laying her head on his chest. He watches her eyes close, signifying another layer of fear being peeled back.

He sits there for who knows how long with her, holding her, noticing the slight rise and fall of her body against his, a sign that she’s fallen asleep. He lets her sleep, lets her rest, lets her stay close to him, under him, with him.

Roman thinks back on his question to her about what she wanted. He’s not sure what he would have said if she said she wanted to leave, because the truth of the matter is that Roman’s starting to think that he couldn’t let her go.

That he can’t.

Even if she wanted to leave.

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns #arisnotebook #roman reigns x black!reader

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badkitty3000 · 5 months ago

Note

Can you write Five (adult body) getting with a gorgeous woman for the first time and going on a bit of a power trip and just extreme edging and playing with her and kinda humiliating (actions not words)

Sorry this took a bit longer to write...I got a little carried away with this one and it ended up being longer than anticipated. But I loved this idea and I got very excited about it!

I decided to write this from Five's POV. I still consider this a reader-insert because the MC is not named. But there is no use of "you" in it, only "she" and "her".

Thank you so much for this request. It was really fun to write! 😽

Tamed

Five x Reader One-shot, 8143 words

Warnings: Smut, Edging, Physical age difference (older woman, younger man), everyone is an adult

I sigh heavily as I survey the shelf of cereal in front of me. I mull over my choices, humming quietly along with the Neil Diamond song playing on the grocery store speakers overhead. Wheaties, Grape Nuts, Cheerios. I wonder what the fiber to protein ratio is on these? God, I’m bored. Is this really my life, now? It’s true that I wanted a peaceful life without the threat of the world ending or the people I know getting obliterated and dying. And it was nice for a while, don’t get me wrong. I liked not having to worry about my family, now that they were all safe. And I didn’t need to act as a cold-blooded serial killer anymore. I could just be the normal man I had always wanted to be. But I’m beginning to think that normal equals boring.

I have my powers back, so at least there’s that. As much as I wanted a simple life for myself, that doesn’t mean I wanted to be just like everyone else in every way. Those years of having no powers were a downright nightmare, so thank Christ that didn’t last. So, yes, I can blink and time travel and kick the living shit out of almost anyone, but it’s still all so…ordinary. Most days I just wander around the city, enjoying the peace and quiet, but also wondering what to do next. There has to be something else, right?

I am still in the body of a much younger person, despite being mentally in my 60s. Physically, I’m around 20, and while I’m definitely not complaining, it has left a lot of years ahead of me. It has also complicated the dating scene. In the beginning, I had to wait it out a few years, and let me tell you, it’s rough being a horny old man in a 13 year old body. And a horny 13 year-old with the mind of an old man. But I did end up getting plenty of handjobs, so there’s that. Unfortunately, they were all self-executed.

But now…now, I am starting to reap more benefits of this strong and youthful body I found myself dumped back into all those years ago. Women notice me. Men notice me. And the attention is not half bad. It still leads to another dilemma, however.

Let’s say I would like to indulge in some adult activities with a woman. I have no problem finding someone to fill that role. That makes me sound like an asshole, but it’s true. On my way into the store today, I noticed a young woman looking me over like I was a piece of meat. I’m fairly certain that if I had wanted to, I could have strolled on over, struck up a conversation, and had her back at my place in an hour. I know this, because I’ve done it before. But afterwards, I feel like a real creep. They don't know my real age, obviously, and unless they have some unresolved daddy issues, I’m guessing they would be none too happy to find out. Not to mention there’s usually not a whole lot for the two of us to discuss. So, I ignored this most recent prospect and am now standing in front of a line of breakfast foods before heading on over to the soup aisle.

I sigh heavily again.

“If you get the bigger box, it’s actually more economical, you know.”

I glance up, Fiber One cereal in hand, to find a woman standing next to me, the amusement on her face giving the impression that she’s up to something crafty. My mouth opens partly, but no sound comes out. She is maybe the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m talking supermodel-gorgeous. With her dark auburn hair and dramatic curves, I can’t stop staring like there’s something wrong with me. And here’s the real kicker: she’s probably in her mid-forties. Finally, I find my voice.

“Nope. I have a coupon, so…the smaller box is cheaper,” I offer, shaking the box in front of me with a smile. As if what I just said is a real panty dropper.

She nods, still smirking, and then I see her light brown eyes slowly move their way up my body until they’re back at my face again. One of her eyebrows quirks up playfully, insinuating she might like what she sees. She’s not even trying to hide it.

“Shouldn’t you be buying Lucky Charms or something?”

I let out a small laugh and run a hand through my hair. “Do you mean, shouldn’t I be buying a kid’s cereal instead of something your grandpa probably eats?”

She shrugs. “Something like that.”

“Let’s just say my outward appearance is not a direct correlation to my mental maturity.”

She puts a hand on her hip and eyes me up and down again. “Is that so? Well, they say age is just a number, right? As long as that number is 18 or older.” She gives me a wink.

I almost keel over into the oatmeal, but I keep my cool. I return her flirtatious come-on with my own, flashing her a slanted smile as my gaze travels over her amazing body. I figure if she’s not going to be subtle, neither am I.

“I can assure you two things. One, I am safely past that number. And two, if you need further proof, I’d be happy to demonstrate that I am most definitely not a kid.”

She lets out a breathy laugh and I pride myself on the fact that I may have flustered her.

“Cute and confident. I like that. Unless it’s all talk, of course.”

I cock my head to the side, a smug smirk on my face. “One way to find out.”

The corner of her mouth turns up, amused with this little game. “And what way is that?”

“Why don’t I whip it out and show you?”

I may have actually shocked her, because her eyes widen for just a split second before her devious grin is back. “Right here in the cereal aisle?”

I nod, and then reach into my pocket. I see her eyes wander down to my crotch. Then I pull out my wallet with a flourish and hold it up. She laughs loudly and genuinely, while I pretend I don’t understand, furrowing my brow in confusion.

“I was talking about my I.D. to show you my age. Did you think I meant something else?”

My face breaks into a grin and I put my wallet back. She smiles again. “Very clever. You must have a pretty big brain to go along with that handsome face.”

This a total, obvious set up, so of course I take the bait. “I haven’t had any complaints on size,” I answer, looking her dead in the eye.

She pauses for a second, as if mulling it over. Then she nods a little. “Hmmm,” she says, her pink lips pressed together. Without another word, she turns and starts pushing her cart down the aisle, away from me. I watch a little sadly, even though the view from behind is spectacular. I feel like I need to say something, so I call out.

“Aren’t you even going to give me your name?”

She doesn’t stop, but she answers back over her shoulder. “For now you can just call me Mrs. Robinson.” Then she pauses and turns to look at my stunned expression. “And if you understand that reference, then I hope we run into each other again very soon.”

I watch, dumbfounded, as she turns down the next aisle and is out of sight.

“Fuck,” I exhale out loud. Then I look down at my box of old man cereal and frown. “Of all the things I could be holding, did it have to be something that advertises the benefits of fiber? Couldn’t she have caught me with some wine or a goddamn box of magnum condoms?”

I glance up after I drop the box into my shopping basket, just as another woman passes by. This one, however, looks to be about 90 and is using a walker. Her confused look tells me there is nothing wrong with her hearing though, and she caught every word I just said out loud to myself. I smile, embarrassed.

“There’s good coupons in the ad today. Might want to check it out,” I offer.

She gives me a terse nod and she’s off, probably to buy the same cereal as me, and I head toward the check-out shaking my head at my dumbassery.

Five days later, and I’m back at the store. This isn’t my first trip back, hoping to run into the beautiful woman again. After learning through the way of the kid at the check-out that first day, I found out her name and situation. Apparently, she is quite the cougar on the hunt. At least according to Brad the bagger. She picks out a new piece of young, clueless arm candy at least once every couple of weeks. Even one of the stockboys in the back was chosen at one point. The stories he told the other guys at the store were legendary. She likes to be the teacher, and show them how to do things right. This is all hearsay, but I’m inclined to believe it after our little back-and-forth the other day.

She doesn’t know what I know, though. And that is the fact that I don’t need a teacher. I do things right the first time. And I do them pretty fucking well.

The woman has gotten under my skin. She is the excitement I have been looking for. And her age and my age, in this situation, aren’t a problem. It’s perfect, actually. So, each day since that day I saw her, I have been dressing in my black, three-piece suit and going back to the store. I look around, doing a few loops until I’m certain I’m not missing her, and then I buy some random item so I don’t look too suspicious. A carton of milk, a toothbrush, a stalk of celery. Brad the bagger has me figured out, though, and he gives me a lopsided smile that I know means “Better luck next time”.

This time, though, when I make my way down the frozen food aisle, I stop when I hear a voice from behind me.

“How did that cereal work out for you? Did you get enough fiber intake?”

I smile to myself before turning around. I put my hands in my pants pockets and spin on my heel, facing her head-on. She’s just as fucking gorgeous as the first time I saw her. Maybe even more. The tight, white, button-down shirt she is wearing is sleeveless, and I can see she is wearing a black bra underneath. It shows off her toned, tanned arms and just enough of her cleavage to make it interesting. The small shorts she has on are hugging her hips just right and those eyes of hers are framed in dark lashes that blink slowly as she looks me over.

“Yes, actually. I think I got all of my nutritional needs met, thank you.”

She nods. “Nice suit.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I wasn’t really sure I’d be seeing you again, but I’m glad we ran into one another. Must be fate.”

I nod. “Must be.” Then I give her a grin. “I definitely have not been coming here everyday hoping to run into you.”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well, you’re not very subtle, are you? I never did get your name.”

“Five Hargreeves,” I say, extending my hand.

Since the reset, the Hargreeves name lives on. If you bear the name of my adoptive, world-dominating father, that automatically means you are special. We all have powers and everyone knows it. But the Umbrella Academy as a team has ceased to exist, even in people’s memories. So, she doesn’t know who I am and it just sounds like I have a number as a name for no reason. Some of my siblings have changed their names to try and start over with a clean slate; hiding their powers from the rest of the public. Not me. I’m too old and set in my ways. Besides…I could have picked a different name a long time ago and chose not to. No use in doing it now.

“Hargreeves? So, you’re one of them?”

She takes my hand in hers to shake it, leaving it linger just a little too long. Her question isn’t accusatory or judgmental in any way. She only sounds curious.

“I am,” I answer, but I don’t follow it up with any detail.

“So what can you do?”

Her question is obviously about my powers, but I’d rather keep our little game going.

“Many, many impressive things.”

She gives me a half smile and nods her approval. “Five huh? Interesting. Well, my name is not actually Mrs. Robinson, as I’m sure you figured out. It’s –”

I interrupt her. “I know who you are.”

“Oh really? Am I that famous around here?”

“Seems that you are. You have quite the reputation.” I pause. “In a good way.”

She smiles coyly again. Then she turns to the glass doors of the freezers that are lined up against the wall. She opens the door and reaches in to grab a bag of vegetables, a white cloud puffing up around her from the cold. When she closes the door again, she turns to face me. I glance down at her chest. The cold air has caused her nipples to harden and are clearly visible through her tight shirt. She sees me notice and lets me stare for a few more seconds before dropping the bag into the basket looped over her arm.

“Since you’re here, would you mind helping me with something?” she asks, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

Her question jolts me out of my little daydream of running my tongue and teeth over those delicious looking peaks and I rub the back of my neck.

“Of course.”

She points back at the freezer. “Can you reach something on the top shelf for me?”

I nod and she opens the door, the blast of cold air hitting us both in the face. We’re standing close to one another now and I can see the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. It somehow makes her look even sexier.

“What do you need?” I ask. She’s a couple inches shorter than me and I look down at her.

Her eyes don’t move off of mine when she answers. “I need some sausage.”

I almost laugh directly in her face, and I can see she is trying to hold it together, too. But we’re both having too much fun to break now. I glance up to the top shelf and sure enough, there is a box of breakfast sausages. I put my hand on one of them.

“These?”

She shakes her head. “The big one.”

With a giant grin, I grab the bigger box and pull them down. Then I close in on her, until we’re so close her perfect tits are practically rubbing against my chest. I see her take in a sharp breath.

“That’s the one,” she says with a nod. “Just put it in my basket. If it will fit.”

“Don’t worry. I can make it fit,” I say as I smirk and look down at the almost-full shopping basket.

There’s a small opening along the side and I push the box into it, shoving it in to make a snug fit.

“See? Perfect fit,” I assure her as my hand brushes against her bare arm. “You just have to know how to slide it in.”

We stand there a second longer, our bodies so close I am having a hard time not pulling her in and fucking her into the frozen tater tots. The ridiculous innuendos are making us smile, though, and pretty soon we’re both laughing. Her laugh is nice and I like hearing it. It feels good to laugh with someone.

“So, Five…do you still have more shopping to do?”

I look down at my empty hands, then back at her. “Nope. I got what I came for.”

With another thoughtful nod, she sets her basket on the floor. “You know, I just remembered I left my wallet at home, so I guess I won’t be able to pay for these.”

“That’s a shame. You probably shouldn’t be driving without a license, either. Maybe I should take you home.”

She reaches out and slowly pulls my tie out from inside the vest of my suit, running two fingers down the silk edge of it before dropping it again.

“Well, aren’t you such a nice young man? You must have been a boy scout.”

I shake my head and put my hands back in my pockets, trying not to moan directly in her face from her touch and the way she’s looking at me. “Not exactly.”

She shrugs and turns around, walking away. Apparently, I am supposed to follow her like an obedient little puppy. And I will for right now. I can play this game, too. I’ll let her think I’m some dumb kid that doesn’t know how to work a vagina and will cum all over her hand the first time she touches my dick. But she doesn’t know I’m about to prove her very, very wrong. I exchange looks with Brad the bagger, who is giving me a thumbs up, as I follow her out the doors.

I lead her to my car, and she stops when we reach it, surprised at what she’s seeing.

“Wait, this is your car?”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

She shakes her head. “No, no, it’s great. It’s just I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a Corvette Stingray guy.”

I walk around to the passenger side and open the door for her. It’s a nice day out and I have the top down. It’s also freshly washed, so the blue paint is shining. I watch her legs and ass as she slips inside onto the leather seat, and I close the door gently. When I cross over to the driver’s side and get in, she looks over at me with a smile and it doesn’t even feel awkward. We know what we’re doing, so there’s no need to try and pretend something else is going on here.

“Where to?” I ask, turning the key in the ignition. The car roars to life.

Once she gives me directions, I peel out of the parking lot, rounding the corner at top speed and head out onto the main road. I like to drive fast, and when I look over at her, she is laughing; her hair blowing behind her in the wind and the sun shining on her face. Seeing her happy and excited like that makes me feel good. I kick it into fourth and whip around the cars in front of me.

We arrive a few minutes later. She lives in an unassuming house in an unassuming neighborhood. When she unlocks the door and lets me inside, I take a look around. The house is clean, tidy, and tasteful. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Maybe leopard print sofas or a sex swing in the middle of the living room. But, no, this is very much a normal looking home.

“Please, make yourself at home,” she says, gesturing to the living room we’re standing in before walking into the open kitchen that is right next to it.

I shrug off my suit coat and do away with my tie, laying them across the back of an armchair. I unbutton the top couple buttons of my shirt and roll up my sleeves as I join her in the kitchen.

“Would you like a beer?” she asks, her hand on the refrigerator door.

I can’t stop staring at her, and I’m dying to see that body that I know is fucking gorgeous under those clothes. But, I wait.

“Actually, do you have any scotch?” I ask.

She looks surprised and then she tilts her head. “Yes, I do. I have damn good scotch, in fact.”

“Great.”

She points to a cabinet. “In there. There’s glasses just to the left.”

As I turn to open the cupboard, I say something about how I’m impressed with her choice of booze. I pull the stopper out and fill two glasses halfway.

“Most of my guests don’t appreciate good quality scotch.”

I hand her a glass and take a sip from my own. She’s right; it’s damn good.

“I’m willing to bet I’m not like most of your usual guests.”

She eyes me up over her glass and shakes her head. “No. So far, you’ve been surprising me.” She takes a drink and lowers her glass again. “So, these powers you have. What are they, exactly?”

This is the perfect invitation and my mouth pulls into a smirk. I set my glass down on the counter behind me. With no warning, I blink the few feet that separates us and I reappear almost on top of her, with my body brushing against hers as she audibly gasps.

I place a hand on the side of her neck, my thumb rubbing lightly across her cheek. “That,” I answer, before using my other hand to take her glass and set it down behind her.

I can see and feel her chest starting to rise and fall at a more rapid pace as she stares up at me, her lips slightly parted. I don’t want to wait anymore, so I lean in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, but when I feel her mouth respond to mine, it becomes more heated. Soon, I am pulling her to me with an arm around her waist. My hand is still on her neck, and I chance it by giving her hair a soft tug from behind. I hear her breathe in sharply through her nose and she presses into me further.

When we finally break away from one another, our heads still close together, we are breathing hard and fast. I push my groin against her so she can feel what she’s doing to me. I see a small smile form on her lips.

“Is this what you’ve been wanting from me?” I ask quietly.

She lets out a very soft sigh and closes her eyes before opening them again and pushing back against me.

“Among other things,” she says.

I nod before diving back onto her mouth again, hungry for more. Her hands run down my back and down to my waist, then back up my arms. I love the feeling of her hands on me and it’s getting me even more riled up.

I stop again, leaving her breathless. Without bothering with anymore questions, I rip her shirt open down the front, tearing the buttons apart until it’s fully open and I slide it down her arms, letting it drop to the floor. She doesn’t try to stop me and when I take a few seconds to admire the view of her magnificent tits in the thin black bra she is wearing, she gives me a smile. I run my hands over them and she tilts her head back.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I tell her. When she looks back at me, I raise one eyebrow. “But I think you already know that. Don’t you, honey?”

She gives me a small laugh. “Honey?”

I put my hands on either side of her waist and pull her in with a sharp tug and suddenly she’s not smiling anymore. But she is clutching at my shirt on my back.

“You know exactly what you’re doing with that amazing body of yours. And you like it when you have to show your little boy toys how to handle it, don’t you?”

She is looking up at me in surprise, her chest flush with mine and my dick grinding into her. She takes a loud breath in and her hands fall to my waist. Her mouth twitches up at the corner and she shakes her head.

“Damn. You figured me out.”

My hands find their way down to the front of her shorts and I start to slowly unbutton and unzip them, all while looking her directly in the eyes. I do not return her smile. I want her to know I mean business.

“That’s not what’s going to happen this time.”

I push her shorts down and they drop to the floor at her feet. Her small, black panties match the bra and I immediately want to tear those off, as well.

“What is going to happen, then?” she asks, still trying to maintain her air of coolness, but I can see I’m getting to her when she swallows hard.

I don’t answer, but I do drop to my knees in front of her and look up at her shocked face. I yank the panties down in one motion and she steps out of them. With one more look back up, I lean in and drag my tongue up her slit; slowly and deliberately, while she lets her eyes close and her head fall back. A soft whimper escapes her throat and her hips push subtly into me. She tastes so good, just like I knew she would, and I give her another long lick.

“We’re going to have some fun,” I tell her, before giving her a soft kiss right onto her sensitive mound. She makes another breathy noise above me, and I take that to mean she likes my plan.

I know she still doesn’t realize everything I am capable of yet, but she will. I have decided, as a personal challenge to myself, that by the time I am through with her she will be begging me for more. I’m going to ruin her so that she won’t even be able to think of anyone else but me. And I’m not going to stop until this wild cat is a domesticated house kitty, purring in my lap. The thought makes me grin salaciously before my mouth is back on her.

I don’t bother starting out slow. I’m eating her out, sucking at her clit and flicking my tongue over and into every crevice, all while gripping her thighs so tightly my fingers are digging into her skin. She moans out loud, and I push her roughly backward until she is clutching at the edge of the counter and her ass is up against it. I pull my face off of her just long enough for me to take a hand and slap the inside of one of her thighs. She looks down at me, startled.

“Spread them for me,” I demand.

She follows my instructions, widening her stance, and I go back in for more. I could eat this pussy all day, and I shove my tongue inside of her. Her slick is pouring out of her the more I work her over; coating my mouth in her delicious taste. The loud breathing and even louder moans I hear are turning me on and my cock is straining inside my pants.

“Fff…oh my g-ahhh…yes yes…ff-iii…”

I let out a tiny laugh because the sounds and words she’s saying make no sense. I can’t tell if she wants to say my name or curse, but either way I know I’m doing something right. I’ve got her brain all scrambled, which is what I was aiming for.

I keep going, fucking her with my hungry mouth while she gets more and more worked up. Her whines are becoming higher in pitch and she’s desperately trying to grind against my face. When I feel her hand on my head, her fingers laced in my hair, I know I’ve got her. She tries to push my face harder into herself.

“Five…keep going…more…” she stutters out, and I know she’s teetering on the edge.

Instead of letting her come all over my face, I immediately back off. She tries to pull me back in, but I don’t let her. I look up at her as I catch my breath, my mouth wet from her dripping pussy, and I love how fucking desperate and sad she looks right now.

“What…fuck…I was right there,” she pants, as if she thinks I made some mistake and I didn’t realize she was about to finish.

I shake my head slowly, like the smug asshole I am, and rise up until I’m looking down on her again. Her chest is heaving and she’s looking at me like she can’t quite believe what is happening.

“I know, sweetheart. That wasn’t fair, was it?” I ask condescendingly before giving her a kiss on her cheek.

She stares at me in disbelief for a second before one side of her mouth quirks up. “You were right. This is not how I thought this was going to go.”

I stroke her cheek and brush a piece of hair off her forehead. My movements are slow and gentle, and I’m taking my time.

“But do you like it?” I ask quietly, before guiding her face to look at me with a hand on her chin.

She swallows nervously again, but that tiny smile is still there and there’s a hungry spark in her eyes. She nods.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

When she pulls me by my belt loops, hard so that my groin slams into her, I chuckle. “The more you want it, the more I’m going to make you wait.”

Her eyebrows draw together with frustration. It’s the first time she’s looked significantly younger than her age, and she almost appears to be on the verge of a temper tantrum. I can tell she’s used to getting her way all the time. I like teasing her, but I also don’t want to be that much of a jerk. Plus, holding out is killing me, too.

“How about this, I’ll give you a choice. I can either fuck you here, on the kitchen countertop; or we can go to the bedroom. Whichever you want.”

She makes a little gutteral noise in her throat and her eyes flutter close for half a second. She tries to push against me again, but I don’t let her.

“Bedroom,” she whispers.

I nod, pleased with her choice. There will be a bigger work area for me there. She takes me by the hand, leading me down a hallway. I know she’s a little embarrassed, because she’s completely undressed except for her bra, and I still have all of my clothes on. It further drives home the point that I’ve taken the reins here.

Once we’re in the bedroom, she tries to pounce on me again, but I gently push her back onto the bed. She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes and waits. I think she’s starting to understand the game now. As she watches, I strip off my shirt and pants. Then I climb over the top of her in nothing but my boxers. She immediately lies down on her back beneath me.

I begin kissing her again; hot, open-mouth kisses that have her shoving her tongue inside my mouth and pulling me down on top of her. I reach around to unhook her bra and throw that off to the side somewhere. Now she’s completely naked and I just have to take a minute to admire the view.

I raise up on my forearms, pulling away from her mouth, and look below me. Fuck. I’m not sure how it’s possible that I ended up with this absolute work of art that is dying for my dick inside of her right now, but here we are. It’s a goddamn miracle, is what it is.

“Do you know how stunningly beautiful you are?” I ask sincerely, still not taking my eyes off her luscious curves.

This seems to make her a little flustered and I even see her blush a little. It has me thinking that maybe these dumbass toddlers that she’s been bringing back here haven’t exactly been as appreciative as I am. They apparently didn’t realize that they should have been worshiping her, not just fucking her and leaving. What a tragedy.

She laughs quietly. “Ok.”

“I’m not kidding,” I tell her, looking her in the eyes again. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

When I say that, our eyes locked on one another, I can feel something click between us. A connection is made. I can see that she believes me and I’ve made her feel good about herself. But there’s something else there, too. Something I don’t know how to describe. But I like it.

“Thank you,” she whispers with a smile.

She reaches up to push my hair back off my face, and then she is pulling me down again with a hand on the back of my neck. I let her take the lead for just a second because it feels so good. My body is covering hers as we trade more deep kisses back and forth, and I position myself so that my hard cock is pressing between her legs. She moans into my mouth and opens her legs wider for me.

I keep at it, rubbing up against her; the cotton fabric of my boxers creating a shield of friction between us, but she is still getting off on it. It obviously feels amazing to me, too, and I am honestly thinking of foregoing this whole orgasm denial thing I’ve got going on and just fucking her as hard as possible right now. But I don’t. I continue to rut into her as she presses harder and harder against me, jerking her hips up and digging her nails into my bare shoulders.

“Oh my god,” she whines next to my ear. “Please…”

I smile to myself, my face hidden in the crook of her neck. I give her a sharp bite that makes her squeak.

“I love that you’re so needy,” I tell her, moving to the other side of her neck and sucking a bruise onto it. “I bet you never begged for someone’s cock before, have you?”

She doesn’t answer, probably because she’s either too focused on humping me or she’s embarrassed that I called her out. Either way, it’s a win for me. She keeps grinding against me, her actions becoming faster and more desperate. I can feel her hot, wet pussy with each pass over my dick, and oh fuck, it makes me want to lose my mind. I can’t even really believe I’m holding out this long, but I’ve made it this far I guess. Let’s keep this going.

As soon as she is completely lost in her own little world, eyes closed and hands clutching at my arms and back, I can see she’s so close to coming again. She’s making small grunting noises and whimpers as she rams her swollen clit against me.

“Oh shit…oh shit…” she starts chanting and her grip on my skin tightens.

The grin on my face is extremely cruel as I suddenly move off her, sitting on my knees in between her legs. Her hips move up, only to meet nothing but air and her eyes fly open.

“What the fuck!”

Her eyes are wide and she’s breathing like a freight train. Her hips keep twitching just slightly, like they haven’t quite caught up to the rest of her body yet. She looks pretty pissed off and it’s adorable.

“Did you think I was going to let you get off just from grinding on my dick like that?” I shake my head, pitying her. “Honey…I thought you figured this out.”

“You are a bastard,” she fumes, her jaw clenched tight.

“It’s really hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing nothing but the marks I just gave you. You’re still so soaking wet for me I can see the evidence in a pool on the sheets.”

She’s quiet again and a soft blush blooms across her chest. I know it is killing her to be this vulnerable right now, so I decide to throw her a bone. Still resting on my knees, I pull my boxers down over my cock, letting her have a good look before maneuvering them the rest of the way off. I stay where I am and make her watch.

Taking my rock hard dick in my hand, I give it a few slow strokes while maintaining eye contact with her. She has propped herself up on her elbows and she’s practically drooling over what she’s seeing. I might not be porn star-level big, but in the scheme of things, it’s mildly impressive. At least, she seems to think so.

“Damn,” she rasps out before looking me in the eyes again. She is dead serious when she tells me, “I want you to fuck me with that.”

I laugh because I just can’t help it and even she smiles at that. I reach down and take one of her hands, pulling her up towards me so that she is sitting up.

“Come here,” I say gently, although my face is back to being serious. She shuffles forward a little and I grab her around the waist, positioning her so that she is straddling my lap while I stay kneeling.

The position makes my cock rub against her slit again, and she’s already trying to roll her hips into me. I let her do that a few times, mostly because it feels so goddamn good, but then I hold her still with my hands on either side of her waist.

“I know how badly you want this. And I’m going to give it to you, don’t worry. But you’re going to have to be a little more patient, ok sweet girl?”

My tone is patronizing and she doesn’t like it. But after a few seconds she gives me a small nod. I go back to kissing her, because I seem to not be able to get enough of her lips against mine, and I tangle my fingers in her hair. She groans when I give it a sharp tug.

Without pulling away, I move my hands back down to her hips and start to guide her. Very slowly, I move her body over mine, so that her dripping wet slit is sliding back and forth over my dick. I let out a long, low moan and tighten my grip on her.

“Please,” she’s whimpering against my mouth again.

“Please what, sweetheart?” I tease, moving my lips to her neck and her shoulder while still keeping control of her pace on top of me.

“Please fuck me.”

It’s so pathetic the way she’s whining that I want to laugh. But I’m also pretty damn close to begging too, and I have to keep trying to focus on not letting myself slip inside of her just yet.

I shake my head, denying her request, but I do pick up the pace a little. I start moving her faster, until she’s grinding hard onto my shaft and I can see she’s just about ready to come again.

“How do you feel, sweetheart? Is that good?” I ask softly near her ear.

She nods, her eyes still closed. “God, yes…so fucking good. I’m almost there…please.”

“I know you are,” I tell her.

She starts whining and moaning louder and grinding into me harder and she thinks I’m going to let her finally give in to her orgasm, but just as I see her start to tip over that edge, I use my strength to throw her off of me so that she is on her back again.

“Fiive…”

She draws my name out in a long, demoralized cry that is so sad and so pitiful, with her eyes that are pleading for me and her mouth open while she gasps for breath. Oh fuck…I need her.

This time I don’t tease or prolong anything. I’m hard as a rock and dripping with pre-cum and I need to be inside of her now. But there’s one last thing I’m going to make her do for me.

I grab onto her again, and instead of throwing her around, I use my handy spatial manipulation powers and blink us both into the position I want. This is always a risky move that could end with someone accidentally sailing onto the floor or my genitals being smashed into a pancake, but luckily I get it right. I land on my back and she is on top of me. She lets out a short shriek of surprise, but when she realizes what happened she smiles down at me.

“Ride me,” I tell her, not even bothering with an explanation of how or why I flung her through the vacuum of space. “Now,” I emphasize through gritted teeth, in case she was not getting the point.

She gets it, though, because it only takes her a couple of seconds before she is sinking down onto my cock until I’m fully buried in her tight sleeve, and holy shit, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

We both let out a loud moan from how amazing it feels after all of the anticipation. She leans back, grabbing my legs behind her for leverage, and she starts to rock her hips forcefully on top of me. I reach up to squeeze and mold each breast in my hands, watching as her beautiful mouth drops open and her head falls back.

Her movements are driving me crazy, but I still want more. I lower my hands so I can clutch at her hips again, but not before I slap her on the ass with a loud smack. That got her attention and her head snaps up again, eyes wide.

“Look at me,” I demand.

She does and I hold her gaze while I pump her body faster and harder on top of me. I’m pushing my own hips up against her, trying to feel as much of her as humanly possible, but I swear it’s still not enough.

“Fuck me harder. Come on, harder,” I tell her, and I vaguely wonder if I sound as pathetic as she did earlier. I don’t care. I’ll beg on my knees if I can get more of what I’m feeling right now.

She bites at her lower lip in concentration and nods at my request, speeding up her forceful thrusts until she’s almost all the way off of my dick before slamming back down again. Her tits are bouncing so perfectly and her face is flushed. I really don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to last when I look at her like that.

I’m starting to sweat now with how hard I’m working at trying to drill into her, and all the while I’m feeling that warm, amazing feeling in my lower abdomen that means I’m about to lose it. I see by her face and hear from her high-pitched mewls that she is close, too. I’ve got to dial it up a notch, so I move one hand off her hip and start vigorously rubbing her clit with my thumb.

That does it, and she starts thrashing erratically, head tilted back, while she wails like she’s in pain. I know she’s not though, because after another second her pussy is fluttering tightly around my cock and she’s screaming so loud I would be shocked if it weren’t for the fact that I’m also coming fast and hard.

“Fuuuckk,” I yell out, joining her shaking and shuddering body with my own spasms as I push her down as hard as I can manage while unleashing my cum inside of her.

It takes several minutes of loud panting and aftershocks, while she lays on top of my chest and I stroke her back. I’ve never experienced anything that intense before, but I really hope I get to again sometime soon. I finally start to slip out of her and she rolls off of me to lie next to me.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s some weird connection between us, and I know she can feel it too. It doesn’t matter that I teased her mercilessly and stripped her of all of her control. I smile over at her and lean in for a kiss while trying to smooth her tangled hair down.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” she says with a small laugh, and I know she’s talking about picking up a supposedly naive kid and having them rock her world, but it has another meaning too. She wasn’t expecting to feel like this. And neither was I.

I shake my head with a smile and trace her lips with my fingers. “Me either. But I think I could get used to it.”

“Me, too.” She pauses and looks a little nervous. “Normally I wouldn’t ask this, but…do you want to stay for a while?”

I don’t even pretend to think about it or try to play cool. “Yes, I’d love that.” When she smiles, she looks so relieved and happy, and I go in for another kiss. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll go grab our drinks. But I want you right back here in bed for me, ok?”

I was sort of teasing, but she smiles her gorgeous smile and nods her head. “Ok.”

Once we’re back in bed, with me propped against the headboard and her leaning against my chest, we gradually sip our scotch and I run my fingers through her hair.

“So, I have to ask. You don’t seem in any way like any other man your age. Why is that? How are you so different?”

I pause for a second while I decide if I want to get into all of that. But then I think, why the hell not? I like this woman and if she wants to know about me, I might as well start with the big truth.

“Well, get comfortable, because this may take a while.”

☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️☂️

It’s a month later and I’m back at the same grocery store. I only needed a few things and I wait in line until it’s my turn to check out. As I watch my items get scanned over the red laser, Brad the bagger steps up to help out. He recognizes me and gives me a big grin.

“Good to see you, it’s been a while.” He takes a look around. “I haven’t seen her here in a while, not sure why. But, hey, did you ever seal the deal before? Me and some of the guys in back have a bet going.”

“Is that right?” I say with a sly grin. “Which way did you bet?”

Brad looks shocked like it could be any other answer. “That you did, of course! I saw the way she was looking at you; like the cougar caught her meal for the night.”

He laughs at his joke and I smile a little, just as my girl comes jogging up behind me to put a jar of olives on the belt before my order is finished.

“Here you go, honey, sorry it took me forever to find it,” she pants, slightly out of breath. “Are those the right ones?”

I smile down at her and nod. “Yes, darling, thank you.”

As she squeezes past me, pleased with my praise, I give her a small smack on the ass. She turns around and rolls her eyes at me before flashing me one of her pretty smiles that makes me want to melt onto the linoleum floor beneath my feet.

“I’m going to wait in the car,” she tells me, before giving Brad a little wave on her way past.

I swear, it looks like every bagger and stock boy in the whole damn store has now gathered nearby and are staring in awe at the scene they just witnessed. I pretend I don’t notice, but I can’t help feeling proud of myself and it’s hard to keep the smile off my face. As I am paying and taking my bag from Brad, I hear someone in the crowd whisper a little too loudly.

“Did you see that? How the fuck did that dude tame the cougar?”

I definitely can’t keep the smug look off my face now and I nod at the group of jackass kids on my way out the door. “Gentleman.”

Then I head on out to my Stingray, where my dream girl is waiting patiently for me.

#five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five x you #number five x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x you #number five smut #five hargreeves fanfic #smut requests #smutty fanfiction #fanfiction requests #requests open #fanfiction #tua fanfic #badkittywrites

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mountsmase · 10 days ago

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Day 1 - First Christmas

(Please understand that this is not a fic! Simply just 1.6k of rambles about how I think your first Christmas decorating the house with Mason would go 🤭 it’s not edited and I haven’t proof read it)

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Let’s say it’s your first Christmas living with Mason, you’ve been together for a couple of years and have spent multiple Christmas’s together but you only moved in a few months ago and you’re both excited to spend your first Christmas in your home…

Buying your first proper Christmas tree has been something you’ve been looking forward to for as long as you can remember, growing up your family always used fake ones because they were ‘easier’ and ‘less messy’, but you were envious of people who got to go out and pick a real one. So you and Mason knew straight away that it was something you had to do this year.

You have a slow morning (like you always do when you have a day off together), cuddling in bed as Mason has a bit of a lie in, sleeping next to you as you do some research on the best type of tree to buy and how to properly care for it and keep it alive during the build up to Christmas. By the time he wakes up you’ve got a list in your notes of the best stands you can buy and reminders set on your phone for when you’ll need to water it.

You take Ace out for his morning walk and have some breakfast before running through your morning routines, getting ready for the day and all bundled up for the cold. You put on your warmest coats and beanies (and of course you have to steal one of Mase’s hoodies to wear because they’re all so much cosier than any of yours), and it isn’t long before you’re climbing into his defender.

The drive takes a bit longer than you anticipated, with Mason choosing a Christmas tree farm that’s a little further away from your house - it got better reviews than the one near by and he wants the best tree for you and your first Christmas at home together. It flies by though and you spend the whole journey listening to your favourite Christmas songs, your fingers intertwined over the centre console as you chat away about what sort of decorations you still need to buy for the rest of your home.

As soon as you arrive you head towards the field where there’s Christmas trees as far as you can see. Some are still in the ground whilst others are already chopped down, all lined up and waiting to be chosen. You walk hand in hand through the makeshift lanes, the different shades of greens and browns surrounding you as you breath in the scents of fresh balsam and pine.

You take your time looking at all the different trees, not feeling any need to rush as this quality time becomes limited for you at this time of year. With Mason’s games continuing through the month and your work schedule only getting busier as Christmas approaches, you want to make the most of this rare day off you have together.

You’re wandering around for almost an hour before you settle on the perfect tree, finding one that’s not too small (I can definitely imagine Mason standing next to it to figure out the height and feigning offence when you claim that a tree the same height as him is not tall enough), whilst still having an even spread of branches and pines before taking it to the front to get it wrapped up ready to go home.

Mason pays for it whilst you get it wrapped up before trying to get it into the back of his car. It takes multiple attempts, your giggles likely being heard all over the car park as you both push and twist the tree into a dozen different positions before finally getting it all the way in, the back seats needing to be pushed down to accommodate the item that suddenly seams way bigger than it did 15 minuets ago.

You jump into the car after the impromptu little work out in the freezing cold whilst Mason disappears off to the cafe near the entrance to get you both a hot chocolate to warm you up for the drive home. He makes sure to get you extra marshmallows because he knows how much you love them and doesn’t miss the opportunity to tease you about your whipped cream moustache after you’ve taken your first sip.

You set off home, deciding to make a stop at your local garden centre to pick up a few more decorations that you need for the house like some outside lights and baubles for the tree. And whilst you’re there you can’t help but pick up some ingredients for dinner from the farm shop next door.

The first thing you do when you get home is get the tree inside, having to sit back and watch as Mason struggles to carry it through the house because he refused your multiple offers to help. You get it set up on it’s stand in the corner of the living room and cut off all of the mesh wrapping so that the branches have a chance to drop before you decorate it later in the evening.

Whilst you wait you head upstairs and start running a bath, still feeling chilly after spending the morning outside, but what’s better than a hot bath on a cold day? A hot bath on a cold day with Mason.

He climbs in first and sits back against the tub, gazing up at you through his lashes as you undress and place your towels onto the radiator and when you’re ready to get in he holds a hand out for you. You step over the side of the tub and between his legs, slowly lowering yourself into the water to rest back against Mason’s body, your back to his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist.

You stay in the bath until the water starts turning cold, letting your self soak, relaxing until the excitement takes over and you get out of the bath and dried off with the towels that are warmed from being on the radiator. You do some quick skin care with Mason asking to join in as well, and then you drag him through to the bedroom to show him the matching Christmas PJs that you brought for this exact occasion.

He doesn’t question it, knowing that you love this kind of thing and he secretly does to, the cozy, snowman printed material feeling soft against his skin as he slips the trousers over his legs.

You quickly get yours on as well, grabbing the same hoodie from earlier to wear over the top and then you head down stairs, both of you eager to make a start on the decorations. You get the outdoor lights up, put the smaller tree up in the hallway and scatter around some other little Christmassy trinkets whilst a movie plays in the background, and once you’re happy with it you gather all of the decorations for the main tree.

You’d spend ages trying to detangle the lights, having decided to use the ones Mason already owned rather that spending money to buy new ones, but now you’re regretting it. You make it through with out any arguments though, just giggles when Mason somehow finds himself with the wires wrapped around his torso, only adding to the struggle of detangling them.

You get there eventually, working together to get them wrapped around the tree and through the branches, rearranging them until they’re evenly spread and looking how you want them. Your perfectionist side comes out when you’re ready to add all of the baubles, Mason happily letting you take the reigns as you add all of the colourful ornaments, stepping back every now and then to decide whether you need to add more.

When it comes to putting on the star you jump onto Mason’s back, needing that little bit of extra height to reach to top of the tree and all he can think about is how excited he is to do this with your own children one day, lifting them up on his shoulders so that they can reach.

Once you’re finished you quickly tidy away the now empty boxes and hoover the living room to get rid of any loose pines before standing back to admire your work.

The tree is perfect, the golden lights reflecting off of the different coloured baubles that hang from the branches, the star standing proudly at the top. You can’t help but snap a few photos, setting up the timer on your camera so that you and Mason can take one in front of it together. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, bending down to place the softest of kisses to your lips just as the timer hits 0 and the photo becomes your new favourite, quickly being set as your new screen saver before you’re interrupted by your tummy rumbling.

You make one your favourite meals with the ingredients you brought from the farm shop earlier in the day, trying your best to not get distracted as Mason stands behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist whilst you cook at the stove.

After eating you tidy up the kitchen before snuggling up on the sofa. You press yourself into Mason’s side as he flicks through Netflix to find a Christmas movie to watch and that’s how you spend the rest of your evening, tangled together as a movie plays softly in the background, the twinkling lights from the tree casting a golden glow over the living room to set a cosy atmosphere.

The perfect start to your first Christmas at home together.

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Day 2 Concept Night tomorrow!! 🎄

#mason concepts #mason mount #mason mount imagine #12 Days of Concepts

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inkdemonapologist · 1 year ago

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!!!!!!!!!!! New Cthulhu Season has started!! this time featuring:

The band at our fancy party started playing a song that Sammy INSTANTLY recognised as his own improv, played a year and some change ago from the balcony of a New Orleans hotel to calm his nerves, which really should not be turning up perfectly replicated here and unsettled him so much that he ended up trying to communicate this to Jack in the LEAST CLEAR WAY IMAGINABLE

we got a supernatural partycrasher at the fancy party which means wE GOT PROPHET IN A SUIT!!! FANCY PROPHET FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES!! his previously prophesied warning of what was to come included the phrase "a report that silences the tongue of ythill," which is apparently what this was, and he got SO EXCITED about the appearance of this weird man making people bleed from the eyes that he booted Sammy from the front to take it all in. THE TIME IS FINALLY AT HAND!!!

i also have a lil smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 1 if ur into that sort of thing: here under the cut!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Jack] Aw, there's no snow in the year before, so probably no snowball fights for Christmas, [GM] Well, we can invent our own, that's fine. [Sammy] It's the ONE difference! IDENTICAL TO OUR WORLD, except for on December 25th there was snow, don't worry about it. [GM] And tape recorders! [Sammy] There's tape recorders, and there was snow on December 25th, 1934. [Sammy] AND ALSO CTHULHU IS REAL. But other than that it's exactly the same. [GM] That's it, just those little things. [Henry] A minor detail.

[GM] Another question: Christmas is on a Tuesday, does the Studio get days off? [Joey] In the Cthulhu universe, yes… And It's All Henry's Fault.

[Jack] Anyone who failed their Sanity gain checks in '35 -- it's the anticipation. [Sammy] Yeah, it's just driving you absolutely bonkers that this prophecy still hasn't happened, can it go ahead and get it over with? I hate having this hanging over my head! [Sammy] And if you PASS your sanity check, and gained sanity, it could be that you're just INCREASINGLY IN DENIAL. Like, you know what? Maybe he forgot!

[Jack] Jack's the most likely to keep up with these poor people we keep roping into our nonsense! [Joey] Hey, HEY! [Jack] "Welcome to the group! You're only here for a little bit, but have some trauma! Trauma for you! And trauma for you! BYE"

[Sammy] We're like Absol. We're not CAUSING the trouble, but it IS in our wake, constantly. [Jack] Absol is 100% a modern teenage Joey Drew's fursona. [Joey] ….Yeah…

[Henry] Is it an easier apartment to get to, for Joey, than the one he has? [Joey] That is a really good question. [GM] It has ONE flight of stairs, but it doesn't have ten zillion flights, so I mean, it's better, probably! It DID have an evil ritual in it,

[Jack] *reading the inflation calculator* $1,000 in 1935 is… 22 thousand.. and a half… dollars????? [Joey] GREAT! *claps* STUDIO'S FUNDED! :D [Jack] Joey, no, [Sammy] You can do that with YOUR money, [Joey] I mean, that IS what's going to happen to Joey's money, Joey's just going to immediately dump it into the studio. Grant gets a LOVELY holiday present where suddenly, the numbers are not in the red anymore! [GM] This is how Grant doesn't become the final boss. [Sammy] Is that a present? IS THAT A PRESENT??? Grant looks at the numbers and they're suddenly bigger? WHAT'S HAPPENING [Jack] Sounds like a tax nightmare… he assumes his mind is broken, he's gone delusional, [Sammy] Joey's not thinking about how this affects TAXES he's just like, OH BOY! More money! Grant'll work that out. :) [Joey] Yeah! :D

[Sammy] Oh wow, mistletoe's been around for a while. [Sammy] …I say, as if mistletoe, the plant, is newly invented,

[Jack] We need to even the playing field; Henry's the highest, we need to drag him down to our level!

[GM] Let's say it's just you guys, and Peter and Susie, and Norman took off. [Sammy] Aw, don't wanna stay late? Old man, gotta get to bed? [GM] Maybe not if people are saying THAT at him,

*after finding a major ice rink was not built until 1936* [GM] Well, maybe everyone can do that when they DEFINITELY survive and come out victorious next year! :) [Sammy] ….survive?! Nothing's happened! It's a CHRISTMAS PARTY. [Jack] I HOPE we're surviving the Christmas Party, the food's not THAT bad, is it? [Henry] We solved your Christmas puzzle! [Jack] The Christmas Puzzle is how much food can we trick Joey into eating by handing it to him,

[Jack] Oh no, Spark's gone to… CATCOSA…. !

[Sammy] That's fine, Disney still hasn't caught up with us, so. [Jack] Well they're havin' this whole weird issue with like, ink and cultists, it's a bit weird… bunch of the staff started going missing…? [Sammy] *laughing* The entirety of Bendy and the Ink Machine happens, just OVER THERE. We averted it so now Disney has to do it.

[Henry] I will say, Henry's been a little uneasy all day. This doesn't affect anything, it's just for flavour. [GM] But he is in a really nice suit! [Sammy] Well THAT's why he's uneasy. They had to smooth his hair, and he's in a whole suit, [GM] In a vest that actually fits, [Henry] Unrecognisable. [Jack] Who is this stranger?

[GM] Make spot (hidden) checks! [Jack] *whispering* I hope it's Norman. [GM] Both of you spot a familiar face, before he's able to come accost you -- it's not Norman, it's Denis! [Sammy] oh gosh. [Joey] Well… I don't know if that's better or worse than my initial guess of Avedon,

[GM] He greets you all cheerful-like, "fancy meeting you here!" sort of thing-- [Sammy] Sammy still doesn't shake his hand. [GM] --he knows you as Joseph, doesn't he? [Joey] Oh no…. Joey was trying to hide his name in New Orleans… [Jack] That's fine, it's all about reinvention!

[Sammy] You know how in the Illusion of Living, Wally comes up and Joey randomly starts talking about how he's a great guy and a hard worker, and you're like, we were talking about something else ten seconds ago Joey PLEASE stay focused, [Sammy] Anyway, I'm imagining that but with Peter?

[Sammy] The Studio just had a big release last year, and I just got this really nice car! and *mumbling* those events aren't actually connected, BUT!! Through the power of leaving out the middle bit, you can assume they are!

[GM] Sammy, make a listen check! [Sammy] EXTREME SUCCESS, I rolled a THREE. [GM] Oh cool! Make a sanity check! [Sammy] oh no,,, [Joey] *Mario voice* HERE WE GO!

[Sammy] Sammy is gonna look at Joey, see that Joey is like…. in the midst of a conversational manoeuvre, and go, run try to find Jack. I don't know if he'll GET there, but, [GM] He can at least locate Jack, I would think, unless Jack is in a back room kissing boys or whatnot!

[GM] This guy is wearing a really severe, matte black suit, and has unnaturally white skin, his hair is black and very oiled in a severe widow's peak-- [Jack] It's him! Bendy Inkmachine!! [GM] I'm reading this description RIGHT from the book, I need you to know that.

[GM] The music's also definitely come to a stop, while all this was going on. And then there's a gunshot! And now there's just a big, yknow, panic, like you get! [Jack] Avedon's here! [Sammy] There'd be more French-accented yelling if Avedon were here. [Joey] I like how we're just going to end up willing Avedon into this scenario by making repeated "Avedon's here" jokes, [Jack] I mean, I've been trying to do the same with Norman, but it's either not working, or we haven't rolled Spot high enough to find him yet!

[GM] You guys get interviewed and asked what you saw, and what happened! [Sammy] …hang on, I gotta roll a check. [Sammy] *rolls* … OKAY COOL Sammy's back. [Joey] *laughing* Sammy interview, or Prophet interview? [Sammy] They were going to get a REALLY interesting interview if I rolled better on willpower!

[GM] Do you suppose Joey would've helped Susie shop for a dress that she could conceal a firearm in? [Joey] [Joey] sURE! [Joey] I mean I feel like, "would Joey help Susie shop for a dress," stop the sentence there: absolutely yes. There's other things to consider with dress? Well that just makes it a fun challenge now!

[GM] The police ask you what you saw. What do you tell them, about your experiences this evening? [Sammy] Sammy didn't see a lot. There was some commotion and a gunshot. [Joey] Yeah, I think Joey's just going to report that he just heard commotion happening up front, and quickly decided that he wasn't interested in commotion!

[Henry] Who was it who saw people with bloody eyes? [Sammy] Uh, that was Sammy, he's not mentioning that part.

[Jack] *rolls* Normal success for Jack. [Henry] *rolls* Hard success! [Sammy] *rolls* EXTREME success, I rolled a ten! [Joey] *rolls* …what's the fumble point, again?

[GM, as Denis] "There was a yellow sign at the Mardi Gras party last year! I thought it was a lucky charm, but I guess… it wasn't? I had a friend who said it wasn't, actually. You should watch out for those signs. Yes." [Joey] *so tired* Okay, that's… that's fine… [Henry] "Very helpful, thank you." [Jack] (This guy's great, can we keep him?) [Joey] (NO.)

[Henry] Henry is going to have so much anxiety. Like, just in general, but over this, too. [Sammy] "going to"??? [Henry] *laughing* No, you're right. What I'm learning is that Henry CAN slide into being mostly even-headed about crises, but he has to have a moment of "Oh God, oh fuck, oh geez" first. [GM] I think Peter does that in reverse. [Sammy] Yeah, that makes sense -- Sammy just shoots straight for "OH COOL, WE'RE GOING TO DIE!!!"

[GM] How much do you suppose these boys are up on vernacular and slang? [Henry] Henry might've picked up something from his kids, that's all I've got [Sammy] That's cute… Henry knows what yeet means... [Joey] I WAS ALSO GONNA SAY HENRY KNOWS WHAT YEET MEANS,

[Sammy] I do appreciate Jack being the one to notice that the prophecy might be a pun.

[Sammy] What do we even DO with this? What do we do next… [Joey] *muttering* That's what I've been trying to think of for the last like… half hour, Sammy…! [Joey] This isn't Joey-voice, this is just me-voice. [Jack] Yeah, Joey would never admit weakness in front of Peter Sunstram. [Joey] Yeah. Correct.

[Jack] Well if anyone else wants coffee, Jack might end up makin' some! [Jack] You know, that 11:30 coffee.

[Sammy] "Well, if he plays clarinet, let us know." [GM] Peter tips his head as if he's thinking of looking that up -- not looking it up, looking into it! [Jack] Yeah, just google it, Pete! What are you waiting for! [GM] On his cell phone, [Jack] You gotta pull out your Bendyphone! [Sammy] JDS is responsible for all anachronistic devices.

[Jack] Is It An Insanity Or Is It Just The ADHD

[Joey] Is Joey gonna make stupid decisions…? [Sammy] JOEY,,, [Sammy] Augh, I should've gone with him, [Joey] *rolls* *starts cackling maniacally* [Jack] *deadpan* Oh gee I wonder what the result is, [Joey] *audibly grinning* Joey might try to dream spell… Y? [Sammy] WHAT?! [Henry] Joey what are you doing…. [Sammy] JOEY DREW!!!

[Henry] I roll to see if Henry's "Joey's Doing Something Stupid" senses are tingling [Joey] Yeah, I think it's fair for Henry to have a "Is Joey Doing Something Stupid" sense that goes off fifty percent of the time, [Sammy] It's NOT USEFUL because it's ALWAYS HAPPENING,

#quote post #call of cthulhu: haunted hijinx #sammy lawrence #jack fain #prophet sammy #when in doubt just keep drawing #already vibrating about these boys once again

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hssprimefan · 3 months ago

Text

Friendship with Ace (Nebula: Pre-betrayal)

Months ago I tried to capture the optimism of the moment Ace and the main character team up in song. Now I wanna talk about Nebula’s experience specifically, because the friendship with Ace was a bigger deal to them than to Galaxy.

The Understanding

People are often ambiguous when they think they’re being clear. Most people seem to understand each other. If everyone in a group makes the same set of assumptions, you don’t have to spell everything out. But Nebula doesn’t know what the assumptions are. They’ve gotten better at this over time, but talking is still sometimes like being given a torn section of art and getting told that was the whole picture.

Ace is the first person who really seems to work like Nebula. Every word and action is intentional. He says what he means to say (whether he actually believes it or not). So he’s often straight forward. And when he says something that can be interpreted multiple ways, it’s because he’s telling you multiple things. Not the whole picture, but puzzle pieces he knows you can put together.

Nebula: What exactly are you showing me? Ace: You're smart. Figure it out, Nebula.

That’s part of what they really appreciate about him. Nebula is used to being underestimated by people who don’t know them well. And their friends? Their friends have seen them do the “impossible”. Nebula doesn’t need help. Nebula has it all under control. Nebula can do anything.

Julian: Everything this school is…it’s because of you (The First Party)

Beckett: You bend the world to fit your vision (The Hedgehog)

Ace doesn’t do this. He doesn’t dismiss Nebula or put them on a pedestal. He observes their strengths and weaknesses for what they are. He respects Nebula as a peer. And it’s not hard to see why.

Leading Your School

Because of their values, Ace and Nebula see their roles in their respective schools differently.

Ace has a very transactional view of the world.

Ace: Favors? Wes. Buddy. You know the drill. I don't do favors.

Several people owe him, and he keeps careful track of them. That way, when he has a complex goal, he can pull on as many strings as he needs to make it happen.

Nebula is the opposite. They don’t expect or feel entitled to reciprocity. They will help whoever, however, whenever, as long as it’s ethical, just because they like people and want to do good. But they don’t hesitate to ask favors for other people. In fact they love connecting a friend in need to a friend with the skills to help better than Nebula could alone.

They would respect a refusal to help from one person and look for another, but this doesn’t really happen. Nebula has cultivated an environment where students want to help each other, and like seeing their classmates succeed.

But zoom out. Who are Ace and any hss mc? World class listeners. Organized, overworked, hyper competent kids with a knack for recognizing talent. Expert delegation skills. Great at helping people get along and find common goals. Extremely extremely persuasive.

The Nature of their Friendship

Even though Ace never said what he wanted from them, Nebula isn’t too worried. Wes trusts him, and he’s the most cynical person they know. And Ace wouldn’t be the first person here with this mindset.

Autumn: [Wes] never helps anyone unless there’s something in it for him (The Mystery)

Balancing the needs of diverse groups of people make Ace and Nebula’s day to day lives strangely similar. They don’t have to explain to each other. They just get it.

Ace’s lessons on how to anticipate others needs are Nebula’s favorite part of working together! They learn the most concrete and useful tips to both understand others and brighten their days.

They also notice how anticipating needs is what Ace does all the time. It’s what he’s constantly doing for Nebula. Not just in strategizing around Nebula’s skill set for their next challenge in the campaign. He also notices when they’re nervous, or down on themself, and always finds the right thing to say or do to make it better.

Nebula is not used to friendship feeling uneven in this direction.

Nebula grows uncomfortable with how they can’t help him in return. Because they don’t know what his problems are. Because he always has everything under control. But if they brought this up he’d say he just wants Nebula to stay focused.

So instead they make jokes about how hard he works. How he’s always in problem-solving mode. How every conversation is about council stuff. How he never seems to relax.

Surfing

And around this time, they do the surfer help quest. Maya is the rare classmate who wasn’t asking for help. She just wanted to hang out with Nebula because she liked their energy. And they have a really fun time learning to surf from her!

And then, when they’re eating after catching waves on the beach all afternoon, this happens.

Maya: Too bad it’s all coming to an end though.

Nebula: …is surfing season over already?

Maya: Nahh, there’s a few months left. There’s even a big surfing competition later this week…

Nebula: Really? You’re so talented! Why aren’t you entering?

Maya: I WANTED to but…

Maya: My grades have been slipping. My folks think that I’ve been spending too much time at the beach…

Maya: So basically I can’t come back here anymore.

Nebula already has so much on their plate. Maya is not asking for anything. She is resigned to saying goodbye to the ocean. The competition is this week. She’s bummed, but she’s ok. There will always be next year.

All Nebula has to do is sympathize. That’s a shame, but I’m glad we at least got today. They can let this go. Let. This. Go.

Nebula: …you mean, unless you get your grades up?

And you know the drill. Nebula talks Maya out of doubting herself using her own words against her. They take her to friends who can help her study. They tell her tutors how much Maya knows about surfing so she can connect that knowledge to her studies.

Maya gets to surf again. They’re so happy and proud of her! Nebula does not regret helping her.

But they see it in themself. They’re working so hard. They’re always in problem-solving mode. Everything is about helping others chase their dreams. Even when they try to relax.

#high school story #hss prime #ace de la cruz #hss mc #hss nebula

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chosetherose · 8 months ago

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You know what's interesting about So High School? It has all these callbacks to songs that contradict the idea of Travlor as something wants. It's like she's planting subliminal messages in the minds of fans, so they go back and listen to older tracks that will then make them uneasy about 🚜, by highlighting how opposed this relationship is to what she wanted in the past.

The music and the lyric about "a wrinkle in time" both evoke Hits Different - a song which talks about switching out Kens, and an "argumentative antithetical dream girl" who may not be Taylor herself, and, oh, has the immortal line "I slur your name til someone puts me in a car / KAR"

"I'm sinkin', our fingers entertwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights"

This echoes Gold Rush.

"Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in"

and

"I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush"

Gold Rush is another song that is incredibly obviously about a female muse, with signs pointing towards Karlie in particular.

"You already know babe" evokes I Think He Knows. A song that talks about footprints in the sidewalk (iconic Kaylore) but even from a Hetlor perspective reminds them Travis is not Taylor's type. "He's got that boyish look that I like in a man" hmmmm

"I feel so high school every time I look at you" I can't explain what I'm picking up on here, but something in the music, as well as the lyrics, calls back to Fifteen. A song that talks about starting high school, and being too naive to know there were bigger achievements in life than dating the guy on the football team. Feeling "so high school" is not a positive association here. The message is doubled down on with "bittersweet sixteen". If this song is about how great their relationship is, why is she telling you she's not happy? What is the "bitter" that's mixed with the sweet here?

"But look at you" - this calls back to Gorgeous. "But look at your face". Gorgeous is another song obviously about Karlie, where a lyric was also changed from "I'm so curious". Because that was too loud. In fact, the whole song is about Taylor obsessing over this incredibly gorgeous love interest, while disinterested in what her supposed "boyfriend" is doing. The boyfriend being Calvin Harris, who was pretty similar to Travis, wasn't he? More red flags for the Hetlors

"Tell me about the first time you saw me" calls back to Mastermind's "And the first night that you saw me" which . . . I mean, do I even need to explain how incredibly Kaylore coded that entire song is? Probably not. But also, let's just enjoy the contrast, shall we? This song about a grown woman who calls the shots in her own love life and is proactive, vs the Taylor who is depicted in So High School, who is just reacting and giving in to everything this meathead guy does, or else waiting for him to notice her. We're actively told they're not on the same level intellectually ("you know how to ball, I know Aristotle") vs the love interest in Mastermind, who was on her level ("you knew the entire time"). How do Swifties mesh these two Taylors in their heads? How do they not see regression here? It baffles me.

These probably aren't even all the connections pinging back to songs that poke holes in the Travlor narrative. SHS is a bop, but seriously. I feel like the whole purpose of the song is to be subliminal messaging for why fans shouldn't ship Travlor, and to remind them of all these other songs that might push them down the 🐰 🕳️

Ooo interesting idea!

#CTRask

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harrisonbrainrot · 1 year ago

Text

Scarlet Begonias - M!Han x Reader

Chapter 2

MDNI - 18+

A/N: Back at it again because yall liked the first part. POV is different. Also, the reader is unnamed, I don't really know how I'll navigate that in the future but oh well. All I have so far has avoided it but idk. Anyways, have more of my ridiculous shit.

I blinked at Han, matching his previously confused expression. 'Excuse me, what did you say?' I unintentionally challenged him. Which really just encouraged him, as he stepped closer.

'I said that you have an attitude. Am I wrong?' I narrowed my eyes at him, shaking my head. How was that supposed to be a compliment? How was that supposed to make me feel good? He stepped closer still, all the while I idly pet Chewie. He stopped right in front of me, and I couldn't help but wonder if this guy was a serial killer or something and I was dumb enough to go to his house. Maybe he was gunna chop me up and feed me to Chewie-

'Look, I don't normally like girls like this. It's a simple fuck and they're gone. It's easier that way. For some reason, I want you to look at my vinyl collection. So, if you're inclined to follow me..' I just gaped at him, he was unbelievable. Why did I like that? It was like he matched me, toe to toe, and it was a matter of who would submit to the other's sass first. Bastard man... Either way, I followed him to the other room. God, this house was way bigger than it looked on the outside.

'Alright, fine. If you check your tone, I'll consider looking at your vinyl collection.' Han stopped dead in his tracks as I said that, whipping around to point at himself.

'Me? I need to check my tone? Look, little lady, I don't take too kindly to demands and orders in my own home... but I guess if I gotta, I'll tone it down.' I smiled softly at him, his face lit by dim lamps he left on before he went out. Either he was forgetful, or he left lights on for Chewie. If it was the latter, I'd be inclined to say that was endearing and sweet.

'Thank you.' I said it sweetly, looking up at him with best sweet face I could make, which really just caused him to roll his eyes. Han couldn't help but move out of my way, apparently. Because I let myself into the den, and he followed behind. I was so acutely aware of his presence behind me, it was unfair that he existed with such an energy that it made the hairs stand up on my neck.

'What do you like?' His voice was soft. Like he didn't let many people here and he was unsure of how to proceed. I shrugged, turning to look at him. He was much closer than I anticipated. He was close enough to appreciate how much bigger than me he was. I found myself forgetting what he even said, like the only thoughts I had was how his hair looked brushed back in a carefree way and how his beard looked scratchy enough to drive me crazy. With a deep inhale, I shook my head.

'Anything. I'm not being facetious, I genuinely like at least one song from any genre. Show me your favorite.' Whatever it was about that statement made him chuckle and tilt his head. I wished I could read his mind, desperately. He was such an enigma. Who was he? I found myself wanting to know everything from the time he wakes up to his favorite Ben and Jerry's flavor.. who would he vote for in the upcoming election? What was his go to drink on a hot summer's day? I swallowed back any questions as I watched him bend at the hips to scan his collection, I could see his back clearly through his shirt. The muscles along his spine, the curve of his body.. I mean, I still would thank Levi's for those jeans, they were made for him and his ass and thighs. I shook myself out of it as he stood, turning to face me. I read the sleeve he held up.

'The Mamas and the Papas? Really?' I laughed softly, shaking my head in disbelief. No one ever listened to them. I was so "different" for liking any of their music.

'Absolutely, California Dreamin' is one of the greatest songs ever.' He stepped to the record player, dropping the twelve inch vinyl on the turntable. I smiled, if hearts appeared in my eyes, I wouldn't be surprised. He fiddled with the tonearm until he got it to California Dreamin'. I was surprised to see him move subtly but gracefully to the music. I couldn't help but sway with him. It got to the verse I knew he loved the song for, who didn't love this verse. He came closer, dropping to his knees. I had the feeling he'd never be on his knees for anyone but himself.. but damn it, if he didn't look pretty on them.

Stopped into a church

I passed along the way

Well I got down on my knees-

'And I began to pray.' He finished the line with this rasp that I couldn't begin to describe but if I wasn't slightly turned on before, I was now. God, what a showboat.

You know the preacher likes the cold

He knows I'm gunna stay

Han stood, giving me this entirely tempting smile. 'Yeah, you like them, but do you like them like that?' I could hear the instruments in the background as he stepped closer. He leaned down, holy shit he was going to kiss me?, but he pulled away. 'Wanna smoke?' God damn it. I nodded, trying to keep my cool.

'Yeah.. yeah I'll smoke.' He nodded, beelining for the couch. He dropped down, his long legs bent at the knees, they stood off the couch. He was too lanky for this couch. I hesitantly sat next to him, completely interested in how he rolled a joint. It seemed practiced, methodical. Rolling tray, grinder, grind some flower, grab a paper.. two mountains and a valley, twist, twist, twist, smooth.. but when it came to sealing the paper, he knew what he was doing. Oh, lord. His tongue left his lips, delicately but deliberately licking the adhesive before rolling one last time to seal it. He behaved like he had no idea, like he was so clueless to what he just did. There was a slight glint in his eye, as he passed me the joint, that was absolutely gorgeous and devious. He knew, in some compacity, what he was doing and the effect. How unfair, he was so simply enticing. No effort. He rolled a fucking joint, that shouldn't be as erotic as it was.

'You get the first toke.' God, he even spoke like a man out of time.. I grabbed it, taking the lighter he offered. The joint nearly slipped from my lips as his fingers brushed mine ever so subtly. I quickly lit the joint, inhaling deeply. Was this going to benefit him or me? Either way, I was eager to find out. My hand held out the joint to him, it was rolled perfectly, if I was honest. It was like a surgeon at work; no scars, no long lasting damage, just perfectly executed. He took it, French inhaling as he did. He told me 'gets you higher, promise.' I already knew that, but I'd humor him. He passed it back to me, and I french inhaled, feeling the smoke leave my mouth and burn my nostrils. I tried not to cough or let my eyes water, but he saw. I felt his hand on my back and I swear, it burned. I could feel how warm he was, it sent tingles down my spine. I shook my head slowly.

'Don't push yourself on my behalf, sweetheart.' He said it so soft, like he actually cared. I was too busy coughing then trying not to cough to really pay attention. I pressed myself against the back of the couch, I closed my eyes, seeing stars. I leaned my head against the back of it, because, fuck.. the world was spinning.

'You okay?' I tried to nod but I was so fucking high I couldn't feel anything. There was a disconnect from my brain to my body, all I knew was that I was coughing and my lungs burned. I felt him grab my wrists pulling them above my head.

'Keep your arms up, baby. Helps your lungs expand. Remember, you're breathing. You can breathe.. in and out. Breathe with me.' I struggled to follow his instructions, but even the bare minimum made me feel better. I managed a soft nod, breathing in with him then exhaled as he did. Rinse and repeat. Fuck, I was high. Too high. 'I'm sorry. I should've warned you. You probably think I did this on purpose. I didn't. Tell me when you want to leave and I'll get you home. Safe and sound.' I shook my head, breathing deeply and normally. He let my wrists go and I fought against myself to seek out that same warmth. I looked at him with half lidded eyes, shaking my head again.

'I'm okay, I'm good.' He smiled in response. He flicked the ashes onto the rolling tray, hitting it again. His drags off of things were heavenly. Like he was made to smoke. He was made to inhale and exhale delightful whisps of carbon dioxide. He was probably no good for me... but he had done nothing but be considerate and kind, regardless of his sarcasm and wit. Inevitably, I knew I had to check the time. I had class in the morning and I didn't want to start slacking now that it was my last semester of my senior year. He saw me check and looked away for a brief moment.

'You wanna go?' No. I don't. Not really.

'I have class in the morning..' I said the words softer than I expected, I really didn't want to leave. Han was cool, he smoked me out no questions asked.

'Ah, shit. I forgot. You a senior?' I nodded quickly, meeting his gaze. Was he always this close or am I just high? 'So, you're twenty..two?' I heard him ask, of course he should ask. It's the right thing to do.

'Twenty-two. Turning twenty-three. You?' He smiled softly, looking away.

'Too old for you, sweetheart.'

'That's not an answer.'

'Alright. I'm thirty-three.' I watched him with a sickenly interested gaze. He wasn't too old, eleven years was completely normal.. right? 'You shouldn't be thinking any of those thoughts, sweetheart. There's plenty of nice college boys out there for you.' I scoffed at the idea of it.

'I've had plenty of boyfriends and flings in my four years at college. They all suck. They're stupid and think they know everything.' That gets a real laugh out of him and all of a sudden, I want to make him laugh every day. It was such a nice laugh, not obnoxious.. just nice.

'What, I'm not stupid and think I know everything?' I wasn't sure if I was being tested by him or if he wanted a real answer.

'You don't seem stupid. You've only given the impression you know everything, not that you actually know everything. That's much better.'

'Is it? How's that?'

'Well, it's better to give the impression that you know things, rather than saying that you do. You don't say, you just do. I like that.' He nods with a thoughtful expression.

'What are you doing tomorrow?' That was sudden. I tried to think of something clever but all I could say was the obvious.

'Class.' I shrugged at my lame response. My eyes felt dry and itchy.

'Well.. what about after class?' I looked away, staring at my feet. Did he want to do something with me? I wasn't prepared for that.

'I.. nothing, really. Just... nothing.'

'You wanna get lunch?' Oh. He did want to do something. Shit. I could feel my heart race. I nodded, still looking at my feet. His carpet was so ugly, I could only describe it as brorange. Brown and orange. 'Okay, when is your class over?'

'I'm completely free around three.'

'Okay, I'll pick you up. Do you want me to take you home?'

'I don't wanna go, but I should.' He nodded, standing. Han held his hand out to help me off the couch. His hand dwarfed mine and he pulled me nearly into his chest. I had to place my hand on it and he smiled, I steadied myself with a blush. Fuck, he had a strong chest. I felt his hand grab my waist to help me keep my balance. This was.. dangerous territory, I should've moved away. I really should've, but I was glued to the spot.

'Thank you.' I blushed even more seeing him look down at me like that. There was just something about the way he looked at me. Like I was all that he wanted. He looked hungry.

'Oh, ain't nothin'. Don't worry.' He reluctantly let go, stepping back. He looked over at Chewie, who had been sleeping on the otherside of the room on a slightly too small bed. He whistled at him and Chewie stood, stretching for a long moment. 'Wanna come with, boy? Do you mind?' He asked me, I was slightly taken aback by the consideration. I shook my head, smiling at him.

'Go ahead, he's cute, he can tag along.'

'Am I cute?' He asked back, how do I say 'You're the hottest man I've ever met in my entire life and I would fuck you right now' without sounding crazy?

'You're alright.' I gave him a teasing smile, he grinned back.

'You're cute when you blush. I like that.' Huh? I'm fairly certain my brain shut down. No, I think I just heard the windows error noise over and over in my head.

'That's sweet of you, Han.' I looked anywhere but him as he hooked Chewie's leash to his collar. He gave me that look again.

'I like the way you say my name..' a shiver ran down my spine. I felt hot, like I was going to spontaneously combust on the spot. I didn't say anything as we went to the door. That didn't have to mean anything, people can say that, sometimes a voice sounds nice saying certain words. I kept telling myself that, because there's certainly no way he thinks I'm attractive in the same magnitude I think he's attractive.. Han opened the door for me, I caught his gaze for a brief moment, it was always intense. His brows pulled together slightly in a way that made him look confused, like he didn't know why I stopped and stared at him. Like he didn't know what he was doing to me, I refused to believe that for a fraction of a second. I just stepped out the doorway and across the porch as he shut the door behind himself. 'Y'allright?' That was the second time tonight he had asked and this time I had to lie.

'Yeah, sorry.. just stoned out of my gourd.' I was high, but how do you tell someone you just met that you're completely enamored with him? You don't or else you look insane. I just open his gate and we step out to the sidewalk. It's dark now, darker than before, if that was even possible. The walk was mostly silent, both of us high enough to enjoy the silence. His boots sounded louder on the pavement than when we walked together earlier, I watched his steps. He walked with this purposeful swagger. The way he carried himself was carefree, loose.. but he had such intention behind his movements. He didn't even stop walking when he took out a cigarette and lit it. He flicked the zippo shut with a clink before pocketing it again. I could see my apartment in the distance, I already worried about saying goodbye. Our shoulders bumped for half a second, I fought the urge to flinch, he was strong and broad.. that made it incredibly hard to ignore bumping into him. The simplest of actions brought out the most violent reactions. Teases, hints, whispers of what his body was capable of. What he was capable of. I tried to not think about his arms pulling me close, what it would be like to grip them for dear life.. I was a goner.

'Right here, yeah?' He pointed with his fingers again, I stared at the cigarette perched between them. I hadn't wanted a cigarette in a long time, but looking at his cigarette made me want to smoke with a new found fervor. My tongue swiped across my lips as I looked where he pointed.

'Y-yeah.. Can I get a drag before you go?' He gave me that crooked grin, his eyes flashed with amusement.

'Sure, little lady.' He passed me the cigarette and I put it to my lips. Immediately I tasted him on the filter, my eyes fluttered at the thought of tasting him for real. Made my knees weak and my heart flutter in that way when you're anxiously excited for something. It felt like right before the big drop on some absurd coaster at a theme park. It felt dangerous, but it couldn't really be all that bad. My fingers trembled as the warm smoke scorched my lungs in that familiar way. It reminded me of summer nights with my friends, before we all split for college. I don't even know what half of them are up to now. I handed it back to him, exhaling deeply. His hands were so so enticing as his fingers plucked the cigarette from mine. His fingertips were rough, I tried to imagine them on my thighs or mine stomach, all the soft, sensitive parts of me.

'I'll call you tomorrow.' The way he said it made me believe him. He'd call and we'd get lunch tomorrow afternoon. I smiled up at him and he took a step closer. He was magnetic, I matched the step closer.

'Sounds like a date- a plan. Sounds like a plan.' I blushed again, looking away. He moved his hand to my chin, tilting my face back to him. It felt electric, amazing, he had this way of controlling the situation. His fingers lit my skin desperately, my nerve endings had gone haywire. He shook his head, his smile fading softly as he leaned closer.

'It can be a date.' His voice was low, it was only us on this dark street. No reason to not whisper. I couldn't breathe, I died and went to some sick and twisted version of heaven. He leaned in slowly, inching painfully closer, painfully slow.

'What are you doing?' I rushed the words out, they were soft and shaky. 'I think you're making a mistake.'

He shook his head slightly, briefly flashing that smile as he chuckled. 'Trust me, I'm a nice man.' I blinked at him, completely pliable to his advances.

'Yeah, but-' He cut me off, his plush lips pressed to mine. It was slow, gentle, not what I expected him to kiss like. His scruff was just the right amount of scratchy against my face, I instinctively held his face. I couldn't think, there were no thoughts, no coherent ones. My brain went silent the second I felt his hands grip my waist. I exhaled into the kiss and he got hungier. His kisses grew in passion, like he was starving and I'd keep him fed and alive for another day. He tugged me closer, our hips pressed into each other which gave me enough for my imagination to run wild with. He pulled away, unfortunately. I wanted to die the second he did. He wasn't far away from my lips and I could close the gap, did he want me to? I would, oh, I would for him. I hesitantly brushed my lips against his, which he returned softly.

'I.. uh.. that was.. I- wow.' I ran a hand through my hair, trying to get the wrinkles in my brain to work, form words to make sentences but shit. Nothing happened.

'Did I kiss you stupid?' He teases softly, that made me roll my eyes so hard I swear I saw the brain that wasn't working right.

'Shut up. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe.' I pulled away, petting Chewie, who had just been sitting patiently. 'Bye, Chewie.'

'Maybe? Darlin', I'll be seein' ya.' I look back for a moment and I see him grinning wide, he's the cat that caught the mouse.

'You better not leave me hanging. Goodnight, Han.'

'Goodnight, sweetheart.'

The apartment wasn't dark when I opened the door. In fact, my whole friend group sat around the living room as I walked in. They were all looking at me, God, I was too high for this shit. They all looked worried. Great.

'Where have you been?' Sofia, who was the overbearing mom friend of the group asked. She even looked like a mom, legs crossed, arms crossed, sat in a chair wearing a robe. God damn. I shook my head, waving her off.

'Out. I left the party, went on a walk.' They were not buying it. In fact, they looked even more angry.

Aubrey followed me with her eyes, they were narrowed and suspicious. 'This didn't have anything to do with that older guy at the party? You both left at almost the same time, if I recall correctly.' Aubrey was always unnecessarily wary and cautious. She was under the impression I was up to no good. We definitely had a more strained friendship than everyone else. I clenched my jaw, shaking my head.

'Are we playing twenty fuckin' questions here?' I didn't want to snap, but these people dragged me to a party I didn't want to be at, then got mad I left and made my own fun. 'Look, I don't get on your asses about frat hopping, so don't get on my case if I don't want to do that.' That really set them off. Really the dynamic here barely worked, we had to be friends because we were roommates in this college campus apartment. We had no choice but to be friends or else it'll be mutually assured destruction. No roommates, no college, no degree, all because some girls couldn't get along? Pretty common occurrence, apparently, you'd be surprised.

'We're not playing twenty questions, we were worried!' Jaime was always the mediator, she always smoothed shit out one way or another. Quite the pacifist. She was the easiest one to get along with and arguably the only one I'd confidently call my friend.

'If you were so worried, how come no one called?' I held my phone up, checking to confirm that there were no calls.

'Please, you reek of weed. Where were you, with that drug dealer? God, he's fucking weird and so are you for even talking to him.' That hurt. Thanks, Aubrey. I couldn't help it, I pointed at her, nearly seething.

'I don't judge you for fucking frat row, don't judge me for the company I keep.' This was going so well, it was amazing. Honestly, it couldn't be better. I had already considered moving out, asking my parents for help, anything. This year had been really hard because of the messy roommate-frenemies situation, it was literally September. I graduate in winter, this was my last semester. 'I'm going to bed.' I left them all in the living room looking like fish, bulging eyes and open mouths. I refrained from slamming my door, but I muttered the whole time I got ready for bed.

Who did they think they were? They give attention to smarmy dudes who literally only want one thing. Shit, Helena got dumped by one guy because his friend group all dumped their girlfriends. Come to think of it, Helena didn't say anything during that whole tiff. Not surprising, she was the least involved in the drama that was five young women trapped in an apartment together. I'm fairly certain they all were the mean girl at their high school, which was the exact person who gave me hell in high school. What's mind boggling is that shit doesn't end in high school, apparently.

I laid in bed, staring at my phone. It was late. I could call my mom tomorrow and just cry to her but then I would be infantilized and that would make me feel worse. I was just about to close my phone and just go to bed when I got a notification. A text, no one texts me. Well, not a lot. It wasn't any of my roommates, trying to lick my wounds and suck up.

'You up?'

I assumed it was Han, but numbers get passed around in college like a digital STD. I waited, not responding.

'It's Han.' ThankGod.

'Yeah.'

'Thinking of me?;)'

'No.'

'Ouch.'

'My roommates gave me shit. Not in the mood.'

'Want me to beat them up?'

'🙄No, Han, they're stupid college girls. And I hate them. But no acts of violence.'

'Yeah, I don't beat up girls.'

'Good to know.'

'What if I cheered you up?'

'How?'

'Idk you tell me. You're the one bummed out.'

'A kiss would be nice.'

'💋'

'Duuuuuumb goodNIGHT Han.'

'Dream of me, will ya?'

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help it when I blushed. God, he was infuriating but so charming and dare I say cute? I closed my phone, turning the light out and preparing to fall into a dreamland my weed soaked brain conjured up.

I wasn't prepared when I woke up. Not for the day, not for school.. not for life, at this point. The apartment was empty because all the girls had morning classes that started at eight. Dummies, nine o'clocks were where it was at. I stretched, grabbing my phone, checking my notifications. Han texted me. Wow.

'Good morning, cutie. Still on for 3? I hope so. Also Chewie says hi.' He had attached a photo of Chewie spread out on his bed, looking ridiculously comfortable. I couldn't blame him, sleeping next to Han was probably delightful. I didn't respond immediately because I was a bit shocked that he had texted me so early and so soon. That wasn't like a guy would normally do. Well, not college guys... Han was grown. Mature.. okay well, not mature. Just.. older. He knew what he wanted, clearly he didn't want to play games. I just got ready for school, trying to push him from my brain until after class. My first class was three hours of dull. The professor lectured on and on, it was sleep inducing. It should be called melatonin 102 and not advanced calculus. I suffered through it, then I had class at one, it was much shorter and more interesting. By the end of class I forgot that I had to text Han back. I muttered a quick 'fuck' under my breath and texted him. Nice thing about college, they didn't really care if you had to send a text in class.

'Yeah, sorry, was busy with class.'

'Aren't you still in class?'

'Maybe.'

'Naughty.'

I hid my face for a few seconds, recovering before I faced my classmates, like they knew what Han just texted me. The class finished twenty minutes later and I scurried out of it. I wanted to go drop my stuff off and change. When I got back to the apartment, it was still empty. thank you, Jesus. I was still bitter about last night. I didn't feel like facing them again. I changed quickly, pulling on a hoodie but keeping my jeans and chucks on. Han texted me again.

'Where am I snagging you, sweet thing?'

'Are you always going to call me stuff like that?'

'Until you ask me to stop. Want me to stop?'

'... no.'

'Okay then where am I getting you?'

'Same place you dropped me off, I'll be outside.'

'You got it.'

I literally ran out there, Han was a two minute drive down the street. I waited on the sidewalk, contemplating what I was even doing? This man had me totally interested, but I couldn't read his vibe. Was he interested? Was this a sick game he played? I hadn't heard any rumors about him, which inevitably the girls would've tacked on last night. They knew everything about everyone every time. I wasn't sure they weren't psyops. All I knew about Han was that he was hot, made me feel alive, and that he was really, really cool. He pulled up in a Chevy Bel Air, which promptly dropped my jaw. I knew enough about cars from my dad and grandfather to know that this was a cool car. I immediately opened the door and dropped into the car.

'You drive a Bel Air?'

'You know cars?'

'I know enough, enough to know that this is a bitchin' car. Damn.' The look he gave me was best described as cartoon heart eyes. He had this dumb smile on his face, he shook himself out of it after a second.

'Lord, you're gunna kill me, girl.'

#modern!han #han solo/reader #han solo x reader #han solo imagines #han solo imagine #harrison ford #drug dealing baby daddy frfr

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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year ago

Note

Hi BPP,

In between all the posts, I just wanted to jump in and say I am beyond excited for JMs next release. I am anticipating few things. I know his next release is going to be much bigger and potentially more commerical. I think with Face, it's been clearly apparent that he is probably one of the most popular if not the most popular member of BTS internationally especially in terms of music so I am keen to see all his achievements. I have a feeling some releases might be collabs or at the very least English songs so I am keen to see how he tackles them. I feel that JK, RM, JM and possibly Suga have the best English pronunciation so I am keen as a bean. I am also liking the directions he is going with his magazine shoots so I am hoping we get to see more of his recent looks. I love JM but I am done with mullets and Boba cuts. Yes we all know you can be cute but we also know you are deadly sexy so I want to see.more of those deadly sexy charms which comes naturally to JM. I guess it's suffice to say I am beyond excited. I waited for all the members releases and have recognised that the rap line and JM are the only ones that I am excited about artistically, more so JM to be honest!!

His recent photoshoots have made me even more excited.

By the way, hope you are having a wonderful day/night. Not sure what the time difference is.

***

Hi Anon!

Yes to all of this but please allow me to use your ask as an excuse to post his Elle pics. Somehow it feels appropriate.

I like the energy he shows that goes from this:

...to this:

It's the "7" again... I love how much Jimin flaunts it.

If you want sexy, adult Jimin in PJM2, Anon, it's looking like you might get your wish.

My favourite thing about this pic is his chubby cute pinkie....

He's perfect.

Despite everything, I'm very curious about Golden, even excited. I've warmed up to Jungkook's game plan in Chapter 2 and just want to see him blow it all out of the water with his poppy pop songs. I know I'm not fond of David's Stewart's production on BTS's English tracks so I likely won't like the songs he's worked on, but I'm looking forward to the others.

For Joon and Jimin though, my body sometimes literally buzzes if I think about their next projects for too long. And no I'm not exaggerating. How is Jimin planning to end k-pop in 2024? I can't wait to see it. And Joon, his energy tells me how anxious he is to show off what he's made. Because that's one of my favourite things about him, you know? How arrogant he is about his music. Because he's certainly earned a right to be, and it makes me happy to see how he basks in how good the music he makes is. Sometimes I feel he's driven almost insane by his obsession with perfecting it, a little bit more so than for Hoseok or Yoongi.

Anyway, more music for us in Chapter 2! Thanks and I hope you're having a good day too, Anon.

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #namjoon #bts #bts chapter 2 #bts solo careers

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vicsnook · 2 years ago

Text

Dress | Bob Floyd x Reader

word count: 1640

warnings: MINORS DNI, explicit, smut, oral, fingering, unprotected sex. 18+

song pairing: Dress - Taylor Swift

notes: Hi y’all! Thank you so much for all the likes on my last post. I’m thinking of making these a series with a song from each Taylor album 🫶🏼. Please leave me some feedback if you don’t mind and any songs you’d like to see. Hope you like this one too 😅.

Our secret moments in your crowded room

They got no idea about me and you

Tonight’s date with Bob was a little different. All your previous dates were out of town away from the squad and anyone who might know the both of you. But tonight you're going to the Hard Deck and all of the squad will be there.

While putting on your lipstick, you glance down at your phone and realize you’re going to be late if you don't leave now. Nervous was an understatement of how you felt but it was your idea after all.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

The concealer on your neck was working overtime, hiding the love marks that a too excited Bob left on your neck last night. Everything was going great until Rooster called and drunkenly asked if Bob could take him home which he begrudgingly agreed to. Tonight you were hoping for a different outcome.

As you pulled in, you noticed the squad standing by the doors. Hurrying towards them you notice all of the boys eyeing you. The little black dress surely rose up as you quickly walked towards them.

“Someone cleans up nicely huh?” said Fanboy as you greeted the group. You rolled your eyes at him to which he responded by sticking his tongue out at you. Bob was watching you from the far end with a playful look in his eye.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

Both of you initially sat with Nat to keep up appearances

but she was quick to ditch y’all as soon as Rooster called her over to the piano. “You look gorgeous”

You blushed. “Thank you Robby, you do too”

“Can I get you another drink?” he questioned.

You nodded in agreement. Too focused on him to have even noticed the empty glass in front of you. You watch him as he leaned on the bar waiting to get your drink. His hair for once was not slicked back and he was wearing a black shirt which showed off his muscles that he often kept hidden. You looked away blushing as he caught you eying him.

—

By the end of the night both of you were certain that the squad knew that something was going on. Maybe it was the way you had your hand on Bob’s knee when you were sitting down or maybe it was how you were currently swinging your hips on him as his hands were firmly on your waist at the dance floor.

The music felt muffled as you danced. It felt as if only you two were in the room. Your body on fire as he kissed your neck.

Say my name and everything just stops

I don't want you like a best friend

“ Y/N, let’s get out of here” he whispered against your neck as the song came to an end. You could feel the bulge in his pants getting bigger as you continued to swing your hips on him. “Please, darling” he drawled, his midwestern accent becoming more prominent.

You grabbed his hand and headed out the back not saying goodbye to anyone. The walk to your house feeling shorter than usual.

Bob pinned you against the front door as soon as you turned the bolt to lock it without giving you a chance to turn to face him. Kissing the side of your neck as you press your ass against him. A moan escaping your lips as he squeezes your throat with his large hand. “Is this okay?” he growls. Words escaping you as his hands left your waist to squeeze your breasts.

You nod in agreement as another moan leaves your lips when he squeezes your nipples between his fingers. You turned around to face him, grabbing his neck and pulling him to you as close as you could. It was a passionate kiss, your lips trailing down to his neck and then back up to the spot behind his left ear which elicited a moan from him.

His hands squeeze the back of your thighs and you promptly wrap your legs around his waist. His bulge now pressing up against your wet cunt as he heads to your room.

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

He carefully sat on the edge of the bed as you straddled him while his hands are firmly squeezing your ass. You carefully remove his crooked glasses, placing them on your nightstand. “I only bought this dress so you can take it off, Robby” you whisper in his ear. “Is that so?” he responds, blushing at your admission. “Yes”

His fingers play with the hem of your dress as your tongue fights his for dominance. Your cunt is aching more and more so you push him down onto the bed. Your breathing strained as you whisper “I want you” in his ear.

Bob bucking against your cunt in response. He carefully flips you and with you now on the bottom, he lowers himself until he is between your legs. “May I?” his eyes looking at you for permission.

“Please”

He slips up your dress and slides your underwear off in one swift move while leaving kisses along your thighs. His hot breath on your cunt makes you twitch as he licks a strip from your entrance to your clit. Your fingers immediately tug at his hair as he begins to suck your clit. “Robby I need you”.

He slides in one finger and then another as he continues to suck on your clit. Your hips bucking onto his face and your moans are so loud that you’re starting to think the neighbors might hear. You’re right at the edge when he slows down. “Not yet darlin” he hums against your clit as he starts to build your orgasm back up again.

Your protests quickly silenced as his fingers curl against your g-spot. Throwing your head back you feel your legs start to shake as he holds down your thighs while working you through your orgasm.

“Come for me darlin” he mutters while kissing the inside of your thighs as you come down from your high. He slowly pulls himself up until he is face to face with you. You grab his shirt and pull him down for a kiss, tasting yourself in his mouth while your hands roam under his shirt.

He pulls his shirt off while you tug at his jeans which he helps you get off. “Do you have a condom?” you ask as he reaches to pull his wallet out of his jeans and rummages through it looking for one. Disappointed he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“It’s okay, you can pull out right?”

“Uh I don’t-”

You kiss him interrupting mid sentence. Tired of waiting any longer and nodding yes when he whispers if you're sure as he finally takes off your dress. Climbing onto his lap, he sets his hands on your ass as you kiss his neck. His groans as you leave hickeys while rocking back and forth on his cock. Finally you pull back and hook your fingers to the waistband of his boxers.

His cock springing out as you pulled them down and discarded them on the floor. Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you spread his pre-cum on it as you stroke him back and forth. “Fuck Y/N” he lets out as you climb back onto his lap. His hands on your waist as you begin to sink down his cock.

Moans falling from you both as he stretches you open. His eyes watching you intently as you ride him and his hands finding their way to your ass again gripping it tightly while he kisses your chest. You both find a steady pace as he kisses you and slides his tongue in your mouth. Leaving his handprint on your ass as he slaps it.

His thrusts get sloppy as yours get faster as you both near your orgasm. Your walls clenching around him. “Robby I’m so close” you moan in his ear as he speeds up his thrusts. Your vision turns white as he hits your g spot everytime. “Fuck” he moans as he reaches his high burying himself inside you with one last thrust. Both of you shaking as you both come down from your orgasms.

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Slowly he pulls out of you. A wave of pleasure washing over you. Both of you laying on your backs as your breath starts to slow down. “Will you be my girlfriend?” Bob asks while caressing your cheek. “Absolutely” you whisper, placing a small kiss on his lips. Standing up you lead him to your shower, smirking at your dress on the floor.

Flashback when you met me, Your buzzcut and my hair bleached

Even in my worst times, You could see the best of me

As he scrubbed your back softly while kissing your shoulder you couldn’t help but remember when you met.

Bob was sitting in the corner eating peanuts at the Hard Deck while everyone played pool. You’d catch his blue eyes staring at you and he’d look away embarrassed. His ears always turned a light pink when you’d catch him. Earlier that night your boyfriend had dumped you over text but in that moment you were too caught up wondering who the handsome quiet blue eyed man was to care.

Closing your eyes and pressing up against Bob you were infinitely grateful to Jake and Nat for pushing you two together and thankful for your ex-boyfriend dumping you that night.

#bob floyd x reader #top gun fandom #robert bob floyd x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #Spotify

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manysmallhands · 1 year ago

Text

Top 10 Albums of 2023!

This was all supposed to work out differently. As i recall from the now long distant past, my original plan was to do a countdown where i put up one post a day throughout December. However, I got Covid on December 1st and that plan immediately became lame and useless. After that, my assumption was basically that i wouldn't be able to do any of this, but i got better more quickly than i'd anticipated and found myself working on these reviews in bits as the month has gone on. So, having rushed through all the the song blurbs that i wanted to do, here i am on New Year's Eve with a more or less finished Top 10 albums to put up.

The only problem is that there are ten quite lengthy reviews here and the vibe is already pretty tl:dr. But tbh that's fine: there really is only my girlfriend who ever reads everything (and i believe her, trust is what love is all about after all) so for anyone looking at this and thinking blimey, that's a lot of text, my advice is: you don't have to read any of it. Just look at the albums, scan thru to see if it sounds like something you might like and give one or two of them a listen if that looks like the case. The words are really just to keep me occupied but i'd like to hope that someone likes some of the records.

I said yesterday that i would reveal what the best one is and so I am now delivering on that important promise. The best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Anyone who follows me on whatever platform already knows that the best one is Scarlet by Doja Cat. Don't make me say it again.

Barbie - The Album

Few people have seemed much interested in the Barbie soundtrack, other than the punters who kept it atop the compilations chart for four months. I, as ever, channel the spirit of the populous. The sound is basically 80s synth pop updated for a modern audience - the likes of Haim and Ava Max slot in predictably well - but its the extra dimensions created by how the artists interact with the film that provide some of its more interesting aspects. Sam Smith’s Man I Am reflects a surprisingly LGBTQ Ken despite protestations (certainly its "I'm not gay bro, but..." T-shirt is prompting a lot of questions already answered by the shirt), while Billie Eilish dwelling on life as a manufactured product makes for interesting and uncomfortable parallels in What Was I Made For. Mark Ronson’s plasticky production suits its subject to a tee, further cementing the conceptual unity of the project.

Star turns abound throughout the album as A-listers like Dua Lipa and Lizzo bring their best games alongside some terrific and unlikely downcard cameos. What Was I Made For? and Dance The Night were both deserved #1s, but the pacey pop punk of GAYLE’s Butterflies and Dominic Fike’s breezy, hook laden Hey Blondie are as much highlights as any of the bigger names here. Special mention should be made for Ryan Gosling’s I’m Just Ken, a blockbuster 70s rock number that, whilst puncturing the wider stylistic template, is batshit and hilarious enough to more than justify its place as well as netting him a surprise hit too. The quality lapses once or twice (Tame Impala in particular are bloody awful) but by the time Ava fires the final laser I’m generally happy to go back and start all over again. With banger after banger here, my verdict is in: the Barbie soundtrack is *Charli voice* HOT!

Claire Rosinkranz - Just Because

While this has been a year that I’ve gotten more fully into pop, it took a while for me to find many new albums that I’ve been interested in. This may partly be to do with me clinging to an idea that LPs ought to be substantial beyond having good hooks and charm. In truth, all I needed to do was revert to my indiepop training, where bands have never knowingly been fussed about having any great weightiness. But even so, it took Just Because to make it clear to me that no, you really don’t need any grand vision at all: a high number of great if frothy pop songs will do just fine. It’s a record which bounces from banger to banger in an endearingly sunny style, with each tune so catchy that their lightness becomes a strength rather than a weakness.

Rosinkranz’s voice seems to mark her out as one of the many Billie clones who populate the current pop scene but her musical ambitions are both simpler and more instantly engaging. Not yet 20, her songs have an element of schoolyard whispers which add a welcome silliness here and there, but she also plays with the intensity of youthful emotions to make them a little heartrending even as she goofs off. Highlights include Dreamer, a break up song where the vocal makes it clear that she’s far from as done as she says she is, and Wes Anderson, which offers some sombre advice but packages it in a song so sweet that you’d never know. But in spite of all this it makes no end of year lists (well, maybe just the one), being merely a lovable set of songs that are very hard to forget. Need it be more? I don't believe so.

Doja Cat - Scarlet

Mired in discourse throughout the year, Doja Cat still found time to make a chart topping single (Paint The Town Red) that took the world by storm and a cracking album which, sadly, did not. Scarlet was in my opinion the better of the two: largely ditching the afrobeat pop of Planet Her, Doja staked her claim as an old skool rapper and brought it off pretty well, mixing hard rhyming with her more scattershot pop delivery and sounding entirely comfortable wherever she landed. While flitting musically between modern RnB and neo-soul grooves, her subject matter was largely taken up by how much she hated her fans, a bold strategy that found her shedding support even as blistering tracks like Fuck The Girls shaped up as some of my favourites of the year.

Whilst I’ve found myself uncomfortable with both the company that she keeps and the views which she may or may not subscribe to (i feel safe in saying that she's a right wing edgelord but i suspect that’s the least of it), Scarlet is such a good album that I’ve found myself, if not making excuses for her, then at least deftly navigating around my distaste in order to keep listening to it. While Agora Hills often reminded me how serious she is about her scumbag of a boyfriend, it’s still a song that can submerge me in its beauty entirely; while some of the complaints from her online audience are less easily dismissed than others, it’s more comfortable just to think about the morons calling her a devil worshiper, especially when she mocks them so wickedly on the elegant Skull And Bones. Am I the problem? Maybe I am: it’s a place I often find myself in with hip hop, where faves are frequently problematic and exceptions beg to be made. As such, I can not wholeheartedly recommend this record to people who might want to take a principled stand against some of her bullshit. I can only say that, as a musical talent, there was no one better all year.

Lana Del Rey - Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard?

After 2021’s fairly middling brace of albums, Did You Know That There’s A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd always felt like it was going to be a return to form and this time the faithful were not disappointed. It was another epic and sprawling record which unfolded like a cross between The Bible and a 50s musical. While changeable in style, ranging from hammy country ballads to trap beats and beyond, the thing that springs to mind most often is the Great American Songbook, as Lana takes the melodramatic grandeur of those standards and soaks them in her own messy and complicated worldview. This draws in family, romance, the future, her relationship with religion and how it all scrappily fits together, ranging widely and wildly across 75 extraordinary minutes.

Much of the album feels like it’s being broadcast from a kind of dreamworld, although one that overlays with reality neatly enough. Lana’s dismissive “if you want some basic bitch go to the Beverly Centre and find her” line undercuts the mood on the otherwise lush and evocative Sweet but the impact is hilarious rather than jarring, a perfect marriage of the strange and mundane. In contrast, the brooding A&W initially brings that realism to a far more uncomfortable level, before goofing off wonderfully in the second half in a way that only Lana ever really dares to do. Much of the record feels like it's creating its own language, as key phrases (“let the light in”, “when you know, you know”) are repeated and musical themes come back around in strange modulations. All in all, while perhaps less satisfying as a pop record than Norman Fucking Rockwell, Did You Know… feels like her most complete statement on a personal level yet, whilst still working well within the broader world that she’s spent over a decade constructing.

Mitski - The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We

Despite liking the odd song or two, I have until now been largely immune to Mitski over the full length of an album. But The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We has a much more organic sound than I’m used to hearing from her, well adrift from the polished guitar rock of her big 10s records. Instead, it takes many of its cues from classic folk and country, occasionally lush and expansive, often determinedly sombre but always at a distance from the areas where she’s generally been at home. Opener Bug Like An Angel is a brooding scene setter, where Mitski unveils the terse and grumpy presence we will grow familiar with over the next half hour. The main elements of the album are already in place - the spare instrumentation; Mitski’s extraordinary voice, hard and intransigent but still full of yearning; the occasional, overwhelming interjections from the wings. It all creates a distinctive atmosphere, extremely intense but intimate too: we’re allowed into Mitski’s world but there’s a lot to take in.

Lyrically, the songs are both heavily allusive and extremely personal, like hearing ancient parables told by the characters from the story. Surprise hit My Love Mine All Mine seems to sit apart as a relatively standard love song but a closer listen reveals deeper layers; the placing of her love as something independent from its object makes it feel more of a piece with the album’s other enigmas. At a time where Mitski seemed to be cooling on being a rock star, The Land Is Inhospitable adds a new twist to her long musical journey, seemingly presenting a more intimate portrait while in fact retaining most of her essential mystery. As an album, it really is quite something: what that is I’m less certain of but I like it regardless.

Olivia Rodrigo - Guts

Tho I wouldn't have called myself a hater (I don’t think I would have been bothered enough), I don't really like Olivia’s all conquering debut Sour, which I thought a bit too one-note and overpopulated with slushy ballads. But by the time Guts came around I was open to listening again, drawn in by its excellent singles and primed for a different experience. Vampire, the best of them and more or less of this year, was a fantastic example of taking something that Olivia is clearly very accomplished at (the grand piano lament) and then, rather than running that into the ground, instead using it as a springboard for an entirely different idea. Get Him Back and Bad Idea Right hark back to earlier guitar based tracks like Brutal, but on Guts they form a much more substantive part of the album, cementing its brand of addictive pop grunge and working up a much goofier version of her messy teen persona.

Elsewhere, the ballads did in fact return. Some have speculated that this may have been a bad idea (right?) but for me they’ve been growers, particularly the likes of Lacy and The Grudge, where Olivia explores the bitterness of youth and uses it to tear holes in the people who’ve wronged her. But if I’m honest, it’s the rockers that I’m usually waiting for: whether the new wave pastiche of Love Is Embarrassing or autumnal Cure homage Pretty Isn’t Pretty, each one feels like a mini-revelation and it’s the style that I hope she leans on most in the future.

Palehound - Eye On The Bat

Palehound have been around for a while now and every so often I’ve given their records a try and haven't really managed to connect with them properly. Eye on the Bat has been the first exception, though whether that's because it’s any better than the others or I just made more of an effort with it I don’t know. Its template is certainly well worn in the indie world - country rock with varying degrees of aggression or melodic sweetness - but there’s still a lot here that grabs my attention, especially in the charming indie pop of the title track and the heart-rending melancholy of Route 22.

But the thing that caught my ear the most was Ellen Kempner’s disarming honesty, with much of the album spent documenting what sounds like a deeply messy break up. Whether she’s bitterly picking through the fall out on Independence Day or remembering some hilariously embarrassing bedroom scene on opener Good Sex, Eye On The Bat's almost diaristic view is mesmerising throughout, making you warm to Kempner even as she works thru some of her own worst traits. And aside from anything else, her understanding of relationships underlines her strengths as a lyricist, as she dissects their complexities with wit, sympathy and occasional anger to capture all the stuff that transcends whatever we were hoping for in the first place.

Poppy - Zig

After the wild ride that commenced with 2020’s extraordinary pop/metal mash up I Disagree, Poppy has journeyed thru indie rock, goth and punk to wind up back where she started, only not quite. Zig may represent a return to pop - indeed it’s produced by Weeknd affiliate Ali Payami - but it’s one that’s filtered thru all of the places she stopped off along the way.

The crepuscular grind of Church Outfit and Knockoff sound like more danceable versions of the I Disagree sound, while the crunching title track suggests that she can still go as hard as ever. But there are nods to a lighter side here as well, particularly in the strong trio that wind up the album: The Attic recasts her sound in a euphoric drum n bass clatter whilst closer Prove It kicks up a remarkable blend of manic hyperpop and gentle electro-balladry, whilst still working in the rich emotional palette that she’s developed in recent years.

In one sense this is a huge departure from the frenetic punk of last year’s Stagger EP but the vibes here stake out territory that you’d still find oddly familiar. Some of the gothy ballads are less immediate than other songs but nothing on Zig is boring, just varying refinements on her ever evolving musical journey. The critics were split, occasionally rattled and sometimes just plain baffled, but that’s only to be expected by now. Poppy follows her own plan and rarely sticks to the same tune: in truth it’s a privilege just to be a witness to the chaos.

Sweeping Promises - Good Living Is Coming For You

One thing that I find missing in a lot of modern guitar based music is snappy songs with good catchy hooks. While Sweeping Promises appear to place their focus elsewhere - their high concept sound is best understood as someone broadcasting direct from 1979 through a wristwatch speaker - their second album still finds time to deliver fully on the tunes. Good Living Is Coming To You is steeped in bubblegum melodies and memorable choruses, with songs that become earworms before you’ve even registered how catchy they are.

More than anything, it's dominated by Lira Mondal’s imperious vocals: whether it’s in the cascading harmonies of Throw Of The Dice, the fierce yells and hisses that close out the title track or her sweet voiced switch-outs on Ideal No, her character springs out of every song in a way that few singers ever really manage to impose. While you might think that the post punk era has been mined to death by now, Sweeping Promises drag new life into it by going back further: their sound may be heavily rooted in a specific moment but the elements of songcraft often have more in common with 60s girl group classics than gnarled art rockers. Ten bangers and no filler: Good Living Is Coming For You is everything I wanted from it and more.

Wednesday - Rat Saw God

While the queasy vibes of 2021’s Twin Plagues are still high in the mix here, it was the welcome injection of melody on Wednesday's third album that managed to alert the media. That lightness was more apparent in Karly Hartzman's lyrics than you might notice on a passing listen too: though often praised for her grimly amusing takes on middle American backwaters, the key to them was her deceptively soft touch, casting a sympathetic eye over grisly scenes even as she retained their gnarlier undertones.

Single Chosen To Deserve, with its crunching chorus and heartwarming romantic turnaround, feels like the designated big moment from the record but in reality Rat Saw God has an embarrassment of riches. Quarry in particular, with its Waterloo Sunset-esque signature and matter-of-fact dissection of grim local gossip, is an almost pop version of the most haunting aspects of Hartzman's craft, while the washed out bounce of closer TV in the Gas Pump pitches a lonelier scene in a similarly gorgeous manner.

This is not to forget that Wedneday can still rock extremely hard when they want to, especially on the brutal 8 minute Bull Believer, an ambitious multipart epic that ends with Hartzman screaming “FINISH HIM!!!” repeatedly over the chaotic finale. But while Rat Saw God brought this kind of sawtoothed sound back to widespread acclaim, its real trick was how it sugared the pill just enough to get it past even the most determinedly sweet tooth.

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wistfulweaverwoman · 2 years ago

Text

I Feel Fine

I’m not sure why I volunteered to ride with Gale on the drive to the lake house. It’s not like we’re actually friends. We talk, know stuff about each other. Used to be neighbors, back in elementary and middle school. His mom watched me and my little sister sometimes. I’m pretty sure he still thinks of me as a kid, even though he’s fucking my best-friend. Well, really, she’s my only friend.

They met at the bowling alley where the three of us, as well as what seems like most of the other teenagers in town, work. Boys have always liked Madge. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect tits. A regular beauty queen. Seriously. She hates it, but her mom was Miss Arkansas and insists that Madge follow in her footsteps, even if it’s just for the shit she can put on a college application. She always calls it a scholarship program, like she can live with herself if it’s for college. No one knows about the pageants; I’m sworn to secrecy. I don’t really know why, it’s not like the other cheerleaders are going to tease her like I do.

I’m not a cheerleader. I’m not anything.

I don’t realize I’ve been sleeping till the protesting brakes wail softly. I jerk upright, wiping the sticky side of my face with my forearm. The truck follows Madge’s white Jetta along the gravel road. Through the pale dust swirls I see the girls jammed in the back seat, their hair piled in messy knots on their heads, moving their arms in sync. They’re probably listening to some terrible pop song they’ve used in one of their routines. I bet they’re screaming the lyrics off key.

I contain a shudder; I kind of hate dramatic people.

The anticipation starts to build as we begin to ascend the last hill. I’ve been coming here with Madge's family since we became friends back in second grade. Usually it’s just the family, her mom, and dad when he has time, and her younger brother, Brian. We’ve had a few slumber parties up here, but never any real “party” parties. There are three kegs in the bed of the truck, bottom shelf liquor that’s probably closer to rubbing alcohol than anything that’s fit for human consumption, spiked lemonade, cider, plus every flavor of wine cooler ever made.

I’m not really sure who else is bothering to drive up for the weekend, but the whole senior class was invited. Which is kind of crazy, even if our school is pretty small. But it’s our graduation, our last big hurrah. Everyone was warned that the beds are first come, first serve and to bring a sleeping bag, just in case. The house is pretty big. Besides the master, already claimed by Madge and Gale, there's the attic bedroom, where Madge and I usually sleep, Brian's room, three guest rooms, and the bunk room. Plus, there’s a pullout couch in the boathouse.

I roll down the window, lean my head out, close my eyes, and just inhale. It’s not really too different from home, but I’ve always been happy here. The spicy pine hanging in the air smells how carefree used to feel. Without raising my lids I roll my eyes. Nostalgia is making me sappy, but I don’t bother forcing away my smile.

Everyone climbs out groaning, and stretches. A series of car doors slam as the cluster of girls excitedly shoulder their burgeoning duffle bags. Gale grabs his, and several bags from the grocery store. I grab another two, along with my backpack. I didn’t really need to pack anything. I’ve got lots of stuff up here, but Madge made me buy a dress for the party. And she treated me to some stuff from Victoria Secret’s. Which was weird.

I tried to just get some sweatpants with ‘pink’ on the butt. But she insisted that every “woman” needs at least one set of sexy underpants. I hate them. Not only are they not comfortable, but they seem to emphasize everything I hate about my body. My thighs look fatter, and my belly seems to ripple beneath the synthetic band. They even look bigger than my cotton briefs. And I feel like an imposter. Panties like these belong on someone beautiful, or at least someone who looks beautiful naked.

I don’t cringe when I look in the mirror or anything, but, as Aunt Jo once said when she was drunk and trying to give me some sort of confidence boost, I’m basically the opposite of a “butter face”. It’s not the nicest thing to say to a distraught sixteen year old girl. I guess I found some comfort, since I laughed, though embarrassed and horrified, at her graphic description of some girl she supposedly knew in the Army that always had to suffer the humiliation of wearing a bag over her head or take it from the rear, or maybe in the rear? I never wanted to ask.

Really, the whole thing sounded humiliating. Ever since then I’ve been suspicious of guys and their motives. I generally assume that the only reason a guy would be interested in me is to use me to get to know Madge (this has happened), or because they want to masturbate in me (this has not happened). The result is that I’m kind of mean to most guys my age. Not Gale, because, though he’s a bit of a douche, he’s decent enough. He listens to Rush, buys us booze, and doesn’t act like I’m a third wheel. I think he gets that really we’re the ones that let him tag along with us. But he actually knows Madge. As popular as Madge is, no one really knows her, other than us. When we were younger I was always side eyeing other girls. I probably came off as jealous, but really I’m just protective.

Okay, so maybe I’ve always been a little suspicious. Madge tries to get me to hang out with some of her other friends, but she acts differently around them. I don’t think she even notices. Gale does. The few times we’ve all got together he’s gotten real quiet. His face seems relaxed, but I can tell he’s pissed, because I wear the same expression. He wouldn’t have come up for the party, except for the obvious promise of copious amounts of sex.

The gravel crunches under my flip flops as I follow the others across the driveway. The girls hustle through the front door to claim a preferred bunk. A squeal echoes down the hall with Gale’s rough chuckle, and then pounding footfalls disappear upstairs. A door slams from somewhere far away. I place the bags beside the others on the counter in the kitchen and put the perishables away.

Shit.

I forgot to bring my one piece swimsuit. Upstairs I only have a bikini from sophomore year, when I first started gaining weight, but wasn't actually the size I am now. I don’t care that it’s too small when it’s just me and Madge. I try not to get too athletic in it. If I so much as sneeze my boobs try to escape the top like a pair of unruly puppies. Leaping off the dock is out of the question when Brian is lurking around. I’m pretty sure he’s already had an eyeful. Ugh.

If I go change now I can at least get in a swim before anyone else arrives.

Throwing caution to the wind, I cannon ball off the dock, breasts be damned. I may joke that if I do jumping jacks that I’ll knock myself out, but they aren’t really that big. Still, it’s hard to keep them in my top while they're trying to float up to meet my chin.

The water is freezing, but that’s how I like it. It’s a murky green brown, and I can barely see two feet in front of me when I swim down, reaching out with my fingers, exploring, only to shoot back up when I touch the slimy tangled bottom. I hate touching the bottom, but always seek it out, like I have to make sure it hasn't changed.

I float for a while, my hair undulating gently. The trees sway overhead. I forget why we’re here, who’s here. I forget a lot of things. I get lost in my memories, remembering joy, and the person I used to be, before my world was wrecked.

A car door slams. Then another.

Startled, I sink below the surface. I try to blow the water back out of my nose, but some of it is already burning at the back of my throat. Ungracefully I haul myself up onto the edge of the dock and realize I’ve left the towel on my bed.

I breathe in slowly smelling sun baked wood, my cheek, naked belly, and palms are pressed against the gray weathered boards, almost hot enough to burn my skin. I consider my options, either rush through the house and risk showing my goods to god knows who, or… or go see if there’s a towel in the boathouse.

The gaggle of girls from Madge's car are straggling down from the house having changed into swimsuits. Not wanting to wait around till even more people show up I hop to my feet and speed walk toward the boat house, the skin where my thighs touch burning with the friction.

After retrieving the hide-a-key from under a fake rock I let myself in. It’s stuffy and warm, but not unpleasant. The boats are actually stored one level down. This upper area is really more of an entertaining space, with a sleeping nook in the rear.

Probably no one’s been here since last summer. In the closet, on the top shelf, are a stack of towels and another of bed linens. If my mom had put them there they'd probably be threadbare and musty. Madge’s mom buys new towels every year and sticks dryer sheets in all the closets to keep them smelling nice.

I’m contemplating how I’ll reach the top shelf when I hear a laugh. I freeze on tip-toe with my arm in the air.

“That’s right motherfucker!” says a boy from somewhere very near the door. “It’s mine, and I’ll fight anyone that tries to take it.” Someone yells something back, and the boy laughs, and I hear a thump and the door slams shut, probably using his foot.

Fuck.

Without looking I know who’s here. Madge once suggested that I like him. “Like him” like him. He’s really nice, but I said I didn’t, because I don’t like anyone. But I’m not blind. He’s probably the hottest guy in school.

He grunts, sounds like he’s shifting whatever he's carrying, and I turn as he stumbles into the room trying to tug his shirt off with one arm, the other clutching a sports bag.

For half a second I consider hiding, he hasn’t seen me yet, but instead just turn back around and try desperately to grab a fucking unreachable towel. The dripping tips of my hair sway with my effort, tickling my lower back. His stuff thuds to the floor.

“Oh!” he gasps. “I’m sorry! Are you staying in here?”

I glance over my shoulder, wishing I was someone or somewhere else. He looks a little like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and staring.

“I’m just here for one of those,” I say, waving my hand in the general direction of the linens.

He presses up beside me. His eyes dart toward my tits and linger a little too long. The heat coming off his bare skin is like a campfire and my skin actually prickles in response. He plucks a towel off the shelf, barely needing to reach up.

I’m taken aback when he unfolds the thing and wraps it gently around my shoulders. Maybe it suddenly occurs to him how intimate the gesture is, or he catches the look on my face, but he takes a big step back and smacks his shoulder on the closet door.

I tuck the towel firmly into place, glaring down, really feeling out of my depth.

Should I say something? Why the fuck haven't I left yet? Run, Bitch! Flee!

“So. Thanks for the towel!” I say, my voice pitching up. I sidestep him, shuffling back toward the exit. “See you later, Peeta!”

I don’t look back, and manage to make it up to my room without being seen. Madge is waiting for me on the bed when I’ve finished showering. She’s already dressed, makeup and hair done like she’s dressing up like Taylor Swift for Halloween. She’s laid out my dress and the hateful butt gobbling “sexy” underpants, with matching bra, which smashes my boobs together into what basically looks like an ass crack. She looks gleeful to the point of maniacal. I glower, aiming my best “I hate you” at her, causing her to cackle.

“You promised,” she says. I did promise, after she and Aunt Jo pressured me into agreeing. Madge retrieves one of many make up cases from under the bed, scraping the floor. The argument was that I didn't always need to be a bitch, that make-up is just another kind of armor. Whatever. It’s all bullshit. None of it would matter in the zombie apocalypse.

Madge sets my hair up in these giant curlers and then spends way too much time on applying my makeup so that it doesn’t look like I’m wearing any.

“So how many times since we got here?” I ask. I hate talking about it, but also have a morbid curiosity. Plus, who else am I going to ask? Not mom, or grams, even if they were still alive. Aunt Jo welcomes these types of inquiries, but I’ve found her explanations way too detailed.

“Four,” says Madge. “Now that I’m on the pill he doesn’t use condoms. It feels great for like, two minutes, then he’s done. Which is fine if we’re, you know, in the hot tub. But we’ve got a bed here and no parents.”

“Ew, the hot tub? Seriously?”

“Just once. Not as awesome as it sounds.”

“Sounds gross.”

“You think sex in general sounds gross.”

“It’s all the sharing of body fluids. Plus, I can’t really wrap my mind around how “good” it’s supposed to feel after you described the first time.”

“I told you, Mark just... went at it. I wasn’t exactly warmed up.”

“It hurt because you were cold?” I say in a mystified voice.

Madge leans back and squints at me.

“Pffft,” she says, realizing I’m teasing. “Asshole,” and smacks the back of my head with a pillow.

“Mark convinced you to have sex because it was junior prom. Not because he liked you. You cried the whole time. Why the fuck would I want that?”

Madge shrugs, and I can tell she’s struggling not to look superior.

“It’s different, when you care about someone.”

“I think I’ll stick to climbing trees and building forts with Prim.”

“And that’s why I love you,” she says, and kisses the top of my head. “You’re more of a kid than Prim is.”

“She’s too excited to get it over with. We get a few years, and then we’re grown.”

I pull the dress over my head and then Madge removes the curlers. I don't know why she’s being so careful, she has to know it’s going up in a ponytail sooner or later.

She scans the floor, and then looks at me accusingly.

“Where are your new sandals? The wedges?” she demands.

“Oh no. I must have forgotten them at home,” I say in a non-sad voice. “I guess I have to wear my flip flops.”

“If you didn't really want them, why did we spend two days shopping?”

I shrug. It seemed really important at the time. And then I remembered they're just shoes.

“Will you try to have fun tonight? Really try?”

“Sure.”

At some point, after going down stairs, we separate. I’m not going to follow her around the whole time; she takes her hostessing duties seriously, greeting everyone, chatting. She doesn’t realize she’s acting just like her mother.

I have a beer. It’s thin and sour but the warm feeling in my belly somehow makes me feel like less of an outsider so it suddenly seems like a good idea to have a few more. I sit down with a group with my red plastic cup, trying to remember I'm wearing a skirt, assuming they’re playing a drinking game, and not really paying attention to what till the boy next to me leans over and kisses me sloppily on the mouth. I draw back in protest, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I say.

“It’s your turn Katniss.”

I squint at the middle of the circle, and realize we’re playing fucking spin-the-bottle like a bunch of sixth graders.

Whatever, I said I’d try. I give the empty Cuervo bottle a hard spin. Only then do I take the time to glance around the circle to see who I’m actually playing with.

Weirdly, there are mostly girls. There’s Jessica Riley, Melissa Karkowski, the Vargas twins, Jared Unibrow is next to me, Monique Jones, Gretchen Wilkinson, Richard Talks-to-tits across the way, and oh, great, Peeta Mellark a bit over to the right.

Explains all the girls.

The bottle stops pointing at the girl beside Richard. He grins at me.

“Nope,” I say. “There’s only three dudes, if we played by the sixth grade rules you’d get like a million turns. I’m kissing her,” pointing at Jessica, who looks startled, and then weirdly smug.

She jumps up a little eagerly, and is leaning over me before I can stand. She presses her lips against mine, and I’m surprised I don’t hate it.

Jessica is back to the bottle and kissing some other girl before I can gather my bearings. I stop paying attention again, easy to do since I’m nursing another drink that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. A hand grasps my arm just above my elbow and pulls me to my feet.

Peeta.

“Hey, you’ve been drinking,” he whispers. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” God he smells good, like some kind of spicy smelling body wash.

“I think so,” I whisper back, and wink. Am I… flirting? I've done that exactly never.

Peeta looks me in the eyes, searching for something. Should I smile? I cross my eyes instead. He throws his head back, laughing. The whole time he’s got his hands on my arms, like he’s afraid I’m going to tip over.

“Dude. She’s fine. Kiss her already.”

And he does. It’s gentle, he doesn’t mash his lips against mine. He brushes against them. His hand slides up my arm to the side of my head. It’s nice. I open my mouth, and instead of jack hammering my tongue with his he just kind of slides the tip in. I don’t want to stop, but this is just a game so I sit down. Peeta stumbles back to his spot.

“Katniss,” says Jared. “Spin it already.”

I glance at Peeta, he’s still watching me. Well everyone is; it’s my turn. I’m way too delighted when the bottle points to Peeta. I stand up carefully, trying to keep my knees together so I don’t flash everyone. Peeta’s just stepped up to me, has just clasped my elbow, when pervy Richard speaks up.

“No, no. You two already frenched. It’s seven minutes in heaven now. Into the closet.”

We both stare at him. I’m not sure what’s going through Peeta’s mind, but I’m both simultaneously intrigued and terrified. What goes on during these brief rendezvous? Do kids just feel each other up? Hand stuff?

“Nope,” says Peeta. “Fuck that, I have a room.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out the backdoor, toward the boathouse. He walks right past it, though, and sits down at the edge of the dock, his legs dangling. He pats the rough wood beside him and I plop down.

“Sorry. I wasn't going to take you into that closet so Richard could get his rocks off thinking about me groping you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Now he’s just going to think you brought me to your room to fuck or something.”

He cringes. “I didn't think of that.” He stands again, tottering a little, and offers me a hand up. “Let’s go back. Have you eaten?”

I shake my head and follow him carefully; the beer in my system seems to be messing with how far away the ground is from my feet.

A group of kids has gathered out on the large deck lit by hanging twinkle lights. Some kids are setting up their instruments off to one side. Playing music is always a family affair going back generations in our area. They start their first reel, fiddles and guitars and a mandolin twanging out into the night. Couples take their partner and begin clogging.

It’s damn magical.

I feel the pull to join, either the singers or dancers, but I keep walking. We edge around the deck and enter the kitchen. It’s already a mess, abandoned cups, spilled drinks, chip crumbs litter the floor. While I’m trying to figure out what to eat Peeta assembles an epic plate of nachos. I’m about to start my own plate when he indicates they're for the both of us. I’m too drunk to be annoyed that I have to share.

We pass Richard and the rest of what’s left of the group. At least half of the girls have left, and I catch a few stink-eyes as we pass out of the room. Some of these girls are as pretty as Madge, and clearly want him. Why is he still with me? The obvious answer is unclear. Does he pity me? I don’t need his pity. I do need a hairband because my hair is sticking to my sweaty neck. Peeta follows me to my room. He sets the plate on the desk by the window, but instead of eating looks around with interest.

Madge’s mom had the whole place professionally decorated about twelve years ago, it was even featured in a spread in Southern Living. This room is sweet, made for little girls. Above the white paneled walls is a wallpaper scattered with tiny blue cornflowers. The canopied bed, though huge, seems small compared to the size of the space. There are built-in cushioned window seats, shelves of books. There’s a rocking horse in one corner, and a huge dollhouse in the other. Instead of a closet there’s a wall of built-in cupboards and drawers. There’s an attached bathroom, complete with a shower and a seperate clawfoot tub. When we were small, and Madge and I weren’t outside swimming, we spent hours playing noisily, or reading quietly. I love it here.

Peeta steps into the bathroom, and pauses, gripping the edge of the door and staring at my swim suit hanging over the shower rod, drying. The door shuts with a thump, and I twist my hair up onto my head. The cool breeze hits my sweaty neck and goosebumps cover my skin for a moment. Peeta seems like he’s in the bathroom for a long time, but time doesn’t seem to be passing with it’s normal regularity, so maybe just a minute goes by.

“Want to go for a walk?” he says, stepping through the doorway. I nod.

We go back downstairs, leaving the nachos to wilt untouched, not remembering them till we’re three stories down. I grab a hotdog. For some reason it seems like a good idea to take a shot of whiskey. It burns going down and I gag on the aftertaste. For good measure I take another. Peeta silently hands me a red solo cup. I discover it’s just coke, and I take small sips while leading him down to one of the walking trails.

It’s dark, but the moon is out, so there’s not too much stumbling. I take him to the hammock halfway around the lake and sit sideways to allow some room for him to perch beside me. Still, the sides of the hammock kind of force us toward each other and we awkwardly lean in the opposite direction. It dawns on me, in an abstract way, that this is a very romantic spot. I just want to show him one of my favorite spots on the property. I’m suddenly worried that he might think I’m trying to seduce him or something.

I try to come up with something to say, or do, other than to flee again. I can’t. So I stare at the sky, looking for shooting stars. I pretend not to notice that Peeta’s watching me instead of the stars. Finally I give in and motion to the sky.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

“The prettiest I’ve seen.” He didn’t look at the sky. Is he... trying to get in my pants?

“What?” I’m laughing, it’s so cheesy.

“You’re pretty” he says, shrugging and gives me a genuinely shy but sweet smile. I impulsively lean in, pressing my mouth onto his. We stop fighting the hammock and press into each other, our feet leave the ground, and the hammock swings us back and forth.

After a while the good feelings merge into something else entirely. Though the hammock had mostly stilled a while ago, I feel like I’m spinning. I pull away to catch my breath, and struggle to get back on solid ground, sinking to my knees. But the sick feeling stays, and then grows. Peeta seems to have realized I’m not feeling so good because he got to his feet and is standing over me, trying to help me up. As soon as I’m standing I go down on all fours and crawl towards a bush. My hair is unbound again and I struggle to push it back over my shoulders, trying not to heave. I fail. I can’t keep the contents of my stomach in. First comes up the sweet coke, followed by the salty half chewed hotdog chunks with the acrid combination of booze and bile.

Long after I’m empty I still dry heave, but eventually I come back to my senses. Peeta’s crouched beside me, holding my hair away from my face and rubbing my back in soothing circles. He hands me a crumpled napkin from his pocket, and I wipe my mouth while he hauls me to my feet. Taking my hand, he leads me back, promising a bottle of water from the boathouse. I mechanically follow. We stop at the door and stare at the sock that’s hanging on the knob. Peeta cracks opens the door, and I hear a strange slapping noise and low moans. I can’t figure out what I’m hearing, but Peeta quickly pulls the door closed blocking out the sounds, looking irritated.

I struggle against him, trying to get inside, managing to turn the knob.

“Peeta,” I hiss. “Someone sounds like they’re getting hurt in there, we need to help.” I ram my shoulder against his chest and my stomach rolls in protest.

“Trust me”, he whispers into my ear. “They don’t need your help.”

He quietly pulls the door shut and leads us back to the party. I must be pretty drunk still because one minute I’m right behind Peeta, and the next I’m in my room naked, standing on the hateful underpants. At least I’ve shut the door. I get a whiff of the nachos and fling the whole plate out the window like a frisbee. I’ve pulled on some boy shorts and an old tank top by the time Peeta enters with a few bottles of water and a bottle of pills.

I dutifully take the medicine he offers and down the first bottle of water. Is he staring at me? Or is he just really drunk too? He opens his mouth, but I turn and stumble toward the toilet. It’s a weird sensation, throwing up the cold water. It comes up so fast that some shoots out my nose. Peeta is behind me again, trying to save my hair from the toilet. The feeling of wanting to crawl into a hole intensifies when I glance behind me and see that more than a little water has splashed onto his shirt and cargo shorts. He drops my hair and removes his shirt and rubs his front with the dry part. He loads up my toothbrush with toothpaste and hands it over.

Legs shaking, I stand. I splash my face and rinse my mouth. Going slow to avoid activating my gag reflex I watch Peeta watching me. This feels way more intimate than kissing. Why is he still here? I try to analyze his motives, but my brain is mush. Clearly, as I’m puking like the possessed, he must realize nothing is going to happen between us. Right?

I lean over to spit, and through a mouthful of foam say “We’re not going to fuck.”

I’m not sure how I expected him to react, annoyed maybe, for putting in all the time but never getting very far. I glance up while I cup my hand under the water flowing from the faucet. He’s still staring at me, though his brows are drawn. He looks confused.

“That’s not- I never though that’s where this was headed, I just really like you. I always have” he says.

What? Since when? No… I’m suspicious this is a last ditch effort to have graduation sex. But there are plenty of girls downstairs that’d be happy to oblige.

His pocket buzzes and he steps back into the bedroom. I hear him groan. He’s staring at his phone with disgust.

“What?” I ask, walking slowly into the room.

“Sometimes I wonder how Rye and I are even related,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Rye is his twin, but not identical, brother. Peeta’s the baby of the family by, like, 20 minutes. Rye is a known slut, so that’s probably who was in boathouse. I wouldn't be surprised if he sent Peeta a text bragging about it. My phone buzzes on the side table. One glance tells me that Rye actually sent a mass photo text. I toss the phone at the bed and point.

“Make it go away,” I say, swaying a little. He snatches it up.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at the photos.

“It’s fine,” I say, “It’s not like this is the first time Rye has sent me a dick pic.”

Peeta’s head snaps up. “WHAT!?” he says, loudly. Peeta’s always so mild, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pissed. He chucks my phone down with enough force that it bounces off and thuds on the floor.

“Sorry! How does he even have your number?”

“We were lab partners sophomore year.”

“Oh, yeah. God, I was so bitter about that.” Was he? I did set the curve that year. Rye only got an “A” because of me.

I open my mouth to answer, but turn back for the toilet. I lay my arm across the seat so I can rest my head. Peeta sits on the edge of the tub and makes me take small sips of water in between the dry heaves. I’m so tired.

“Do you want to be alone now?” he says. I’m so overwhelmed with longing the back of my nose and throat burn.

“I want my mom,” I whisper, ashamed I’m crying. He reaches out and squeezes my arm.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks quietly. I nod, snuffling. He leads me to bed, pulls the covers back, and then actually tucks me in. I’m out almost instantly.

Weak light glows through the window and my bladder is so full it’s actually painful. On my way to the toilet I see Peeta asleep on the floor with a pillow and a quilt. After pulling on some shorts and yanking the curtains closed I nudge him with my foot. He lifts his head and squints at me.

“You can lay on the bed, it’s big enough for us both.”

Then I fall back onto the mattress and pull the bedclothes over my head.

After an indeterminate amount of time passes I wake, a little too warm, but so comfortable that I don’t want to move. As I become more conscious I realize that Peeta has cupped his body behind mine and I have become the “little spoon”. At least I’m not being forked. I roll away to find a cool part of the sheet and fall asleep again.

When I wake again light pours in from the open window, a square of sunshine nearly reaches the bed. Didn’t I shut that? Madge is poking me excitedly, while Gale is leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Peeta still sleeps next to me. Madge raises her eyebrows, makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger and passes the index finger from her other hand through, back and forth. I shake my head rapidly and point at the door. I mouth “Get the fuck out,” to emphasis my point. Gale is shaking with the effort to not laugh out loud. I point again and she throws up her arms in surrender and tip toes out.

I squirm, trying to get comfortable. I roll over. Finally I get up and shower. By the time I come out of the bathroom Peeta is gone, like he’d never been here at all.

#I Feel Fine #THG #modern day au #wistfulweaverwoman

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