#and like i’m a fucking spectacle like I’m NOT I DO NOT NEED YOU IN MY ROOM TALKIN TO ME LIKE YOU KNOW EVERYTHING

[weirdo09]

i’m so done, why i come in my room after a shower with my blinds open and now my door can’t close, i hate this, I want my privacy, i want my privacy, I want my privacy, i want my privacy, I want my privacy, I JUST WANT SOME PRIVACY !!!!

[hearts4hughes]

RAFECHELLA | RAFE X FEM!READER

note: i’m super jealous of anyone who got to go to coachella. my outfits would go so hard 😓

more like this…

rafe hated coachella. he hated the music festivals, the skimpy outfits, the pure spectacle of a clear money grab.

but you? oh, you loved it.

you asked him if he wanted to go with you. it’d be two weeks in palm desert, spending time together, and partying on the weekends. of course, he politely declined, pressing a button on his phone and wiring you all the money you could need.

but now he knew he fucked up.

he clenched his phone so tightly that it creaked in his hand. the screen illuminated your instagram post: a photo of you wearing next to nothing with some douchebag male influencer next to you. his hand grazed the bare skin of your hip, not obnoxiously, but enough to have rafe dialing your number within two seconds.

it rang two times too many before you answered.

“hi, baby! i miss you so much!” you squealed, barely taking a breath before rambling on. “oh my gosh, it’s so hot out here. i mean i was in a bikini and i was practically having a heat stroke.”

“baby-”

“wait one sec, i have to tell you about charli xcx’s set,” you screeched into the phone. “it’s tonight and i’m praying that she brings out billie eilish or lorde-”

“that’s nice, hun, but-”

“and then julia forgot her shoes at her house and we had to go out and buy a new pair, and-”

“y/n.” rafe snapped, his voice stern and demanding. you stopped blabbering with a furrow of your brows. “who the fuck was next to you in your instagram photo?”

“that was just julia, sarah, and lexi… why?”

he scoffed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. he was losing his patience. “i’m talking about that fucking douche-lookin’ male model that had his hands all over you.”

“oh, you mean mark? yeah, he’s super nice. he’s some influencer that is being sponsored to be here. i only posted the picture because i looked hot.” you said so casually that it made his jaw clench.

“why do you know his name? why does he know your name? why are you even speaking to men? scratch that, why are you even in a ten-yard vicinity as other men?” is what he wanted to say.

instead, he hummed. “yeah, mark, that’s who i meant.”

he thought of twenty ways he could kill mark—half painful, the other half excruciatingly painful.

you thought nothing of it though, continuing to yap about everything under the california sun. rafe sat on the other end of the phone, head in his hands, muscles taut. he crossed the room to his computer with a dangerous stride.

it looked like he was going to coachella after all.

~

the desert sun was merciless, but you barely noticed it. your body moved to the bass pounding through the speakers, hands in the air, hair a mess of waves and glitter, skin warm and glowing. you were in your own little world; sweaty, tipsy, high on adrenaline, and overpriced festival cocktails.

coachella was somehow even more unhinged than the day before. influencers everywhere. lights flashing. girls in metallic bikinis and guys in fishnets for no reason. and you? you were dancing in the middle of it, laughing with your friends, practically vibrating with the energy of it all.

and then it hit you.

that prickly feeling at the back of your neck.

like someone was watching you. no… staring.

you turned instinctively, and there he was.

rafe.

dressed in all black, looking like a threat, jaw flexing, sunglasses low on his nose. his eyes locked on yours like a heat-seeking missile. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching. as if he couldn’t believe his eyes; as if he wanted to scream.

you blinked and he started walking.

not fast but not slow, just determined. people moved out of his way like they could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

and then he was in front of you. no words. no warning.

his hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying over the bare skin above your skirt. he pulled you back into his chest like it was nothing.

you gasped, breath catching. your head tilted back automatically, lips parting in surprise.

he leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. his voice was low. dangerous. like a threat and a promise all wrapped into one.

“you’re lucky i like that little outfit,” he whispered, every word laced with heat. “but if another guy even thinks about touching you, i swear to god i’ll put him in the fucking hospital.”

your thighs clenched, your pulse spiked, and all you could do was smile.

[gurugirl]

[1] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 1 Word Count: 8,282

Ch. 1 Warning: smut (not w/Y/n), funeral scene, parental death, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation

. .

The sky was gray, which seemed fitting for the occasion, and a single bell from the watchtower at the kingdom's town center slowly clanged the funeral toll.

It was a sad day for the prosperous kingdom of Thornekeep. The king’s funeral was quite the spectacle. There was not one citizen with a dry eye, for King Augustus Styles was beloved by all. The townsfolk stood along the cobbled road as two steeds pulled the king’s covered coffin to the cathedral for a ceremony that would end the elder King Styles’ reign and make way for the prince to be crowned by birthright.

The young prince was at the front of the procession riding on a lone horse wearing battle armor, along with his father’s shield and sword. No one could read his expression as he kept his eyes on the road ahead toward the cathedral. The people of the monarchy were not so keen on the prince. He was not as warm as his father, and he often ruffled feathers. Some would say he was downright mean. But what could they do? He had been brought up for this very thing. To rule and protect the kingdom and its people. They would have to put their trust in him no matter what.

The ceremony was attended by the royal court, Privy Counsellors, Lord Mayor, Realm High Commissioners as well as the family of the King. Prince Harry Styles sat on the woven red wool chair at the front as the announcement was made by the Council and the accession declaration was called before the Prince stood to receive his crown.

When the ceremony had concluded the old Sovereign’s casket was taken again by steed for the final burial where the whole of the kingdom stood in wait as their new King made his proclamation over the land and the kingdom to the public.

And so it was. The new Sovereign of Thornekeep, King Harry Edward Styles, would rule over the people henceforth.

.           .           .

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the intrusion, but it is time to get to the order of official business.”

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t intruding, now would you?” Harry’s groggy voice spoke as he remained sprawled on his back in his warm velvet bed with three naked women lying draped over his limbs still fast asleep and unaware of the two men standing at the King’s chambers door.

“May it please Your Majesty if we return in one half-hour’s time? Our Lord Mayor and the Orders of Council are awaiting you in the Great Hall. This is a very important meeting, Sir.”

Harry knew he had a meeting set up. He knew it was important to keep it and he understood the gravity of it all. But he couldn’t resist when he took three lovely young things with him to his chambers the evening prior and they each let him do as he pleased. He’d just been crowned King for Christ’s sake! He deserved to sew his wild oats before things got heavy and real and it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty of his new stifling responsibilities.

“I will find myself in the Great Hall in one half-hour’s time. No need to return.”

“Yes, Sir. And what should we tell the Lord Mayor of your tardiness?”

“Fuck’s sake! I don’t care! Tell them I’ve got my privy member sallying forth and I’m in the sack with three concubines if you like! The Lord Mayor can wait a half hour. Give him a thumb of brandy. Tha’ should keep him with a smile.”

It was this very attitude that had the folk of Thornekeep nervous. Harry’s proclivity for saying what he pleased with little regard for the people he was saying it to.

The two men bowed their heads and backed out the door, closing it behind them before Harry sat up, pushing the women from him and stretching his arms overhead.

His first full day as King. He’d not looked forward to wearing the crown. But he knew what he needed to do and he had no choice just as the kingdom had no choice but to accept him as he was; full of grit and scandal, haughtiness and ego.

His bare feet landed on the heavy wood floors and he scratched his member before draping a sheet over the naked women in his bed. They’d all had too much to drink and Harry figured they could stay put until he returned. Maybe another round or two would do him some good and sober him up before he kicked them out to get back to their duties. Whatever those were.

He robed himself that morning and even though he’d been offered a personal dresser to assist him, he declined. Harry didn’t like the idea of having a valet in wait unless he was feeling like making them watch him fuck whoever he took in his bed for the night. That could be fun… Harry liked being watched. Maybe he’d reconsider and take a personal assistant after all.

The council and mayor were sitting in their places in the Great Hall when Harry sauntered in, unkempt and smelling of muff. Everyone stood and waited until he took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. Light poured in through the stained-glass panel behind him and everyone awaited the King’s call to order.

“We may begin,” he spoke. And so it started.

It was laid out for Harry the major issues that always needed tackling, allocation for funds and the people of Thornekeep, the Kingdom’s allies, and enemies, projects left undone that were awaiting signatures or provisional work. Then there were the upcoming events and additional contracts that needed sorting.

But there was also the concern of the King’s marital status.

“You’ll need a Queen. Someone to continue the Styles’ lineage for Thornekeep. The people will want to know they are under the rule of a stable Sovereign.”

“What does it matter how the people feel? I can rule without a Queen. I’d rather not be hindered.” Harry waved a hand as he spoke unconcerned.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, how do you expect to have a child out of wedlock?”

The cheeky grin that pulled up on Harry’s face had his advisor suddenly standing to stop the King from answering that question but Harry only laughed and looked at the man. “Sit. Do not interrupt me again. I think Our Lord Mayor would like a lesson in biology and I’m not one to turn down a teaching moment.”

The advisor relented with a sigh (what was he to do? tell the King not to speak?), sat back down and Harry began. “One does not need the burden of wedlock to create offspring. It’s quite simple you see…” All the men knew where this was going as Harry continued. “All I need to do is stick my fiddle within the sweet quim whiskers of a beautiful woman and keep it in until I’ve done my duty. Could take a few rounds to set but I imagine soon enough the woman receiving my bounty will be heavy with child and upon the moment of birth will provide me an heir. No need for a marital contract of any sort.”

The men of the council looked around at one another in near shock at Harry’s dismissal of tradition as the Lord Mayor spoke. “That will not do. It is imperative that you find a Queen, my Lord. You need a woman that will raise said heir in the castle with you, bring them up properly, and teach them our ways. This will be your legacy. You must see that.”

Harry knew of course that his words would fall on deaf ears. He knew he’d have to marry and make a show of it. But he did rather enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of the fancy and feathered men, all tensed with their sleek coverings of velvet and wool and white tights tucked into silk and leather shoes with shiny silver buckles and heels that made them appear taller than they were.

“Fine. I’ll have my selection in a fortnight.”

His selection. As if he were choosing a dish to be served for dinner. But that is how Harry saw it after all. He would have his choice of dishes just as he would have his choice of women. It would be the roasted venison with piping hot potatoes, smothered in butter, and artichokes for his dinner, and for his wife, he’d take the pretty redhead with the plump bottom and big bosom lying in his bed. She had the kind of tummy that would take a child well he figured.

Making his way to his chambers he whistled a tune to himself, his mood not diminished by the news of his new tasks, for he was about to wet his fiddle once again. The redhead did seem quite desirable in that moment. But instead, upon entering his room, the redhead was missing.

The two others were lying on their backs and turned to see the King enter. Sitting up quickly Harry pulled his robe off and shut his door. “Where is the redhead with big breasts?”

“She was gone when I woke, Your Majesty,” the one with dark hair spoke.

“Well, bullocks. Do you know her name?”

Both women shook their heads no. “No, King.”

Harry sighed and continued removing his clothes. Well, if he couldn’t find a wife that night, he’d enjoy what was leftover in his room. He had a fortnight after all. Plenty of time to find someone he could tolerate. He had no intention of selecting anyone from the pool of suitable women the advisors told him about. That was a bore.

“You.” He pointed at the fair-skinned girl. “Sit in that chair and face the bed.”

Harry’s undervest was pulled off and he was left naked as he walked up to the one with dark hair and grinned at her. “You’ll suck my cock while she watches.”

He enjoyed his position of power. Women never told him no. Not when he was a prince and certainly not now as King. He had the young woman take him down her throat and checked in with the fair-skinned girl. “Keep watching. Want to make sure you get a good look at how well she does it. Just like last night. This one knows how to suck.”

Her slick mouth encased his girth and he groaned as he stood at the bed, the girl on her hands and knees taking the King on her tongue and gagging violently around his length.

“Oh, a noise maker!” Harry moaned, “Keep up the good work my little whore…”

The girl sputtered and pushed away from him, gasping as she looked up at him. “I’m not a prostitute! I’m–“

Harry interrupted, balking, “I don’t care. Think of it as a term of endearment. Get back and finish the job. It’s much better when you don’t speak.”

“King… perhaps you could just fuck me? My throat is starting to hurt.” She rounded her eyes at him.

He sighed as if it were an annoyance. “Okay. Turn around, face down.” He looked over at the girl on the chair. “Still watching?”

She nodded. “Yes, King.”

Harry poked himself into the pretty woman and she was already slick for him. He enjoyed a cunt just as much as he enjoyed a mouth and the view he had was rather delightful. He rocked into her and watched as her pussy lips gripped him, her insides coating him with a glisten that smelled like a proper cock wrapper.

His heart began to thud harder as he thrust into the hilt, smacking his hips into her soft round bottom and moaning in gasps as he felt his testicles squeeze and tighten. 

The girl was making her own little grunted noises but Harry wasn’t concerned if she finished or not.

Harry’s breathy moans changed into something deeper and more guttural the closer he got and he began to pound into her harder.

“Ahh! Oh!” She hollered as she was spread open by the King’s large cock.

But before she could even find her end Harry was pulling himself from her and spraying her back with his royal come and moaning in delight at his release.

The girl fell into the bed with a whine and the King noted the one watching was sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes upon his cock.

“S’nice in’nit?” He turned toward her with his member in his palm. “Clean it off. Let’s make my knob shiny and new again.”

The girl was quick to lean in and take him in her mouth, licking off the slick from the other one who was left unsatisfied on the bed.

And when he’d had quite enough and his prick was deflating he parted from the girl and patted her cheek. “There we are. Off you go. Both of you. I’ve got to find myself a Queen.”

 .           .           .

Y/n had seen the procession with the new King from his father’s funeral at the cathedral. He was a handsome man with a strange emotion set on his face. She couldn’t tell what it was, but sadness, it was not. She’d heard all the talk about him from when he was a Prince. An ass of a man with an ego the size of Rome. And now, worries of the new King’s reckless attitude being trouble for Thornekeep.

No one could know exactly what to make of it. He’d not yet really had a chance to do much of anything. As Prince, he served in the Royal Army. It was said that he led a very strict outfit during times of conflict and was good at negotiation. That he loved confrontation and could coordinate a group of soldiers to be the best and most feared on the lines. But what did that mean for the citizens of his kingdom? The monarchy relied on his strength and wits to lead. While it was a promising thing that he was good at combat and negotiation, what about the finer details of being a sovereign leader? How would the people fare?

 “Right prat our new king. Doesn’t give a shite about us lot. You wait and see. S’gonna fuck the poor til we’re caged up like hogs. I don’t trust ‘im.” Lane was three quarts of beer in and Y/n watched as he guzzled from his tin.

The pair were sitting outside in the cold near the corner of the factory where the middle-income earners worked. Hoping for any scraps they might be willing to part with.

Y/n was a beggar. She would hold out her fabric basket or her satchel and try to look as haggard and tired as she could. But most just sniffed at her and walked past. She was young and while not the picture of health with her greasy hair and bones protruding, she was not fully unhealthy either. Most who gave to the poor were poor themselves. So she tried to look worse off to get anything she could.

A loaf of bread, a small salt fish, and whatever fibrous mash of grains and beans could be spared was allotted to each household weekly. And for Y/n, that was not enough food for her parents, her grandmother, and her three little sisters. She often went without eating and was the only one who could handle the chilled air for hours at a time to beg anyone who would spare a morsel.

Thornekeep was a rich, thriving kingdom but as was the norm for every city, town, and kingdom across the land, poor people did exist. Y/n had heard tales of other kingdoms that never allotted any food to households. And how some didn’t even have a roof over their heads at all. She was told she should be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping on the streets with the rats and their excrement as was common elsewhere.

But she wasn’t thankful. Her lot in life was hell. No one deserved to be treated as she was even if she was given a monthly stipend.

The debutante was held a week after King Harry’s crowning. Of course, Y/n would not attend. She was not of that world nor even close to being in a league where one would want her hand in marriage. What a laugh! Y/n imagined herself being presented among all the young beauties in their fine dresses with jewels and pinned and curled hair. What man would look at her and think he’d offer a proposal?

The young ladies and their mothers were all dressed to the nines. Shoulders held back, hair pinned high, fake smiles plastered on their faces… They were there to show the kingdom they were eligible for marriage and to compete for the king’s eye.

King Harry would be in attendance to select a bride for himself. He seemed to reject the normal route of having a queen selected for him. There were many who were raised up for that very thing and so his choice should have been easy. But he was stubborn. No one was surprised. Every woman presented to him, of those that his court felt would be a good match, he hardly even looked at before rudely sending away. 

Gossip traveled through Thornekeep as the ball was held to show off the citizens’ most beautiful and affluent daughters around. If he didn’t want the perfectly crafted, and trained young women fit to be his wife and queen, then perhaps he’d find one at the ball.

As always, Y/n sat perched near the castle gates holding out a small fabric basket for anyone to give anything and, as always, the scraps she did get were barely fit for filthy stray street dogs. Most of the people on that day were tucked away and out of sight in their covered carriages, horses trotting past, kicking up mud. She was used to being disappointed. Used to being ignored. Used to going hungry at the end of the day.

 "Dungworms, all 'em. Don't care if they dress in linen and fur. They're nothing but beetle-headed rot. Hate all 'em," Lane moaned as a coach passed them by. He threw a vulgar gesture toward them, but only after they were out of sight. It wasn't worth it to get in trouble over.

"S'true. Can't wait for the Spring. At least then we'll have the sun warming us while all the ratbags pretend they're better than us."

They laughed as they looked into the gates that were opening for the carriage. The castle was a majestic landmark. Y/n imagined that inside it was warm with fireplaces in every room and a hot stove in the kitchen that was constantly cooking food for the king and all his staff.

Maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to sneak inside without being caught. She could hide in one of the many rooms and pilfer food little by little and warm her bum at night by one of the fires.

She sighed at the silly dream, as her stomach growled and the gates clanked shut.

 . .

The young women were all pretty enough. Harry was sure any one of them would be a fit. It wasn’t like he needed to do more than fuck the new queen until she was pregnant anyway but still… He found the freshly washed, smooth-skinned, rose and powder-scented young ladies of Thornekeep to all be a bore. And what good was making such a boring selection? Harry wanted people to watch. He wanted to see as all the advisor’s jaws fell to the floor. He wanted to make a scene. None of these fancy-frocked girls would do. He needed something more exciting that would really ruffle everyone’s feathers.

Stepping away from the pomp and circumstance of the ball he stood out on his balcony and watched out over the front of the castle yard with people milling about and stringed music floating up toward him. The gates were open with guards at the stand as new arrivals made their way in but he noticed a small group of peons sitting not far from the wall with their baskets and tins held out hoping for a scrap.

And he had a sudden idea. Using his small telescope he fitted it against his eye and lengthened the eyepiece to get a better look. Among the group of menials was a young woman. She was thin (too thin) and she had a scowl about her face but the thing that really stuck out to him was that she was… pretty. Not pretty in the way that many would notice but with a month or two of larded foods and sugared pastries, she’d be just as pretty as any of the girls in the ballroom. 

Even better, she was of peasant stock and the kingdom would lose their mind over such a pairing. It was perfect. He could simultaneously cause a stir among the lowly proletariats, the middle-class bourgeoisie, and the affluent magnates at the same time. No one would expect it. And no one could stop it.

Harry descended the stairs as everyone in the room had eyes on him. The King easily dodged anyone looking for attention or conversation and pushed through to the front as he exited the castle. His guards followed close behind with Fred, one of his men in waiting, scrambling to catch up with Harry’s long-legged strides. 

“King Styles! Where are you going?”

“Off to meet a young lady who sits opposite the wall. I think I’ve found my Queen.” 

The King’s approach felt like slow motion. Guards surrounded as he sauntered along the path toward the gates and Y/n couldn’t imagine why the King himself would be walking through them and not be driven in a carriage. Mud was kicked up on his fine dressings and shoes but he seemed unbothered by the mess.

“You.” He pointed, his finger (adorned with a heavy gold ring) appearing to be directed right at her. “What’s your name?”

Looking to her left and right she furrowed her brow as she looked back to the young king.

“Can you hear or not? You, the one with the fabric basket, what’s your name?”

Putting her hand over her chest she responded. “Me? Your Highness, forgive m–“

“Said– what’s your name, girl?” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone.

He stopped in front of her feet, standing tall over where she sat upon the dirt and brick. “My name is Y/n. Your majesty.” She bowed her head.

“None of that. Up. Stand up.”

She felt his hand groping underneath her armpit as she was pulled upward, clutching onto the empty basket.

"How old are you?"

Y/n looked behind herself toward Lane and then back at the king. "I'm 20, your majesty."

His odd inspection had her feeling a bit miffed. She would have told him to watch his hands and to be gentler but this was the king. She couldn’t have imagined what interest he had in her but when he turned her around and held her out in his arms to view her backside he spoke. “We can work with this. Bit skinny but soon enough she’ll be well fed.”

“Your Highness… sir, the young women in the ballroom are far more… Why you can’t possibly–“ his attendant spoke.

“I can do as I please and I say this is the one, Fred.” The King spoke before he twisted Y/n back around and examined her rag of a dress before speaking. “Bring the coach around. I need to have her come in quietly at the back where the servants enter and then brought up to the Rose Room forthwith. We’ll need a few ladies-in-waiting as well. Do that for me without running your mouth to anyone and I’ll give you the night off.”

She watched with wide eyes, confused as the man called Fred scurried off back to the castle and then turned to look up at the king. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What is your business with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. Your luck is about to change. With a little sprucing you’ll be quite darling I think. You’ll live with me in the castle henceforth.”

Her lips parted as she dropped her empty basket and looked down at Lane who was also in shock with his mouth agape at the whole encounter before looking back to the King. “I don’t understand. Why will I live with you? Am I being sequestered or summoned for a servant’s job?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. In one month’s time you’ll be crowned Queen. You and I will produce an heir to the throne once our nuptials bind us for good. You’ll be given your own room with your own attendants and we’ll fatten you up in no time to prepare you for carrying my offspring.” 

She gasped and felt everything around her spin and spin and spin until all was dark and her mind stopped reaching for answers.

Harry caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground. He wasn’t surprised she fainted, given how malnourished she appeared. A guard and two of his aids helped bring her inside once the carriage arrived and up to the room that would be hers. A down mattress, silk and velvet bedsheets and blankets, a fireplace lit with a pot of warm water on the hearth, and a tray with a bounty of food were all waiting for her.

And if she was shocked by the King’s announcement about her being the Queen then waking up in such a lavish room that smelled of flowers and the smoke of a warm fireplace surely had her confused.

When she sat up, she felt the weight of a goose-down blanket draped over her body heavily. Blinking her eyes she saw a flickering fire and the ornate details of the room she was in.

“Madam…” A woman was suddenly stood at her side with a towel draped over her arm. “The King has requested that you bathe and eat before we bring you to him. Which would you like first?”

She shook her head, unsure of what was going on exactly. “I… is this for me?” She gestured toward the tray of food. Colorful fruits and a loaf of hearty bread caught her eye. She could go for a meal.

“It is. Would you like anything more?”

She quickly slid her legs from under the blanket and stepped toward the tray. The bright red apple beckoned her so she picked it up and took a large bite of the skin and flesh before tearing off some of the bread and stuffing that in her mouth as well.

There were blackberries, pears, bilberries, plums, a bowl of boiled potatoes, and cream. A pitcher of red wine beckoned with a pretty crystal goblet to drink out of. There was a whole smoked and salted fish, a gob of butter, and her favorite, a plum tart.

She’d nearly eaten the whole tray when she realized the woman had filled a tub with warm water and perfumed oil. She sat down the emptied glass feeling buzzed from the wine and stuffed so full that her ribs ached.

The room she was in was easily twice the size of the slum housing her family was given. The room was opulent and lit with fuel sconces and lanterns. A fireplace kept the space warm and the furnishings were a feast for the eyes. She imagined that the porcelain bowl near the tub would pay for a month of food for her family.

"Your bath is ready, madam. If you'd like I can leave you alone while you bathe or I can assist."

Y/n stepped in closer to the bathtub. It was one of those built-in tubs that you stepped down into, not the metal ones you had to climb up in. Her family didn't even have their own tub. It was shared with the men from the workhouse across the way and set at the back of the buildings outside.

But here, the tub was inside in a warm room and there was even a ledge to sit. Privacy. She'd love a little privacy.

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

The woman nodded and left the room after folding a cloth and placing it near the tub. Y/n began to take her clothes off, the dirty rags left in a stinky pile on the wool rug before she dipped a toe into the bath. The water was hot. She could see the steam rising from it as she slowly slunk down inside and settled her bottom into the seat ledge. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water surround her body and soak away the dirt and grime between all her bits and crevices.

And the scent wafting from the water was glorious. Like a flower with honey and tea caressing her skin. She used the small cloth to wipe herself down and then dunked her head to clean her face. The last time she had a proper bath was over a month prior. Her usual cleanup method consisted of a wetted rag wiped over her privy area and underarms.

But to have a hot bath scented with herbs and flowers by a warm fire in a room decorated with the finest fittings was a dream. A real-life fantasy come true. She couldn't wait to tell Lane about the whole thing. It almost all had her so distracted she'd forgotten the reason why she was there in the first place.

She let her limbs float outward as she closed her eyes and basked in the delicious silence. Everything in her life was chaos and noise and panic. But in that moment, none of that existed. Not until the door of her room was being opened and the young woman who'd filled the tub had returned with heavy material and silky fabrics draped over her arms.

She laid the clothes out on the bed in a row as Y/n watched from her spot in the tub.

"I've an outfit here the King has selected for you. I'll help you put it on once you're ready."

Y/n stretched her neck and peered toward the bed. "The King. Will I be seeing him once I'm dressed?"

"Yes, madam. He would like to see you when you're ready."

The reality of it all was heavy when she was helped from the tub and felt the prick of chills run over her skin. As warm as the fireplace made the room, it was still winter outside and she shivered as she dried her skin.

The young woman helped dress her. Y/n'd never worn such frocks before. It was a complicated task, getting dressed in fine clothing. She lost track of all the layers as she was fitted and the material tied around her and her body tossled. But even she could admit, once all the fabric was put into place and the woman began to fuss with her hair she looked quite captivating.

For a beggar.

She was led through a carpeted hall that seemed to stretch the length of the whole of Thornekeep until they were stopped at a wide doorway that opened up to a pair of mammoth wooden double doors. The young woman glanced back at Y/n before she rapped her knuckles over the heavy door firmly.

The door didn't open right away. Moments went by as Y/n shifted on her feet and the young woman nervously smiled at Y/n.

"I'm Phoebe. Think I forgot to introduce myself," she spoke quietly as she trailed her sight over Y/n's dress. "Hopefully the King is kind to you. He's been… difficult—"

The door was pushed open and a beautiful woman with olive skin stepped past them. "He's all yours," she spoke in a sultry voice that Y/n could only hope to one day mimic.

Phoebe gestured for Y/n to pass through and Y/n stepped into the King's chambers. If she thought her room was spectacular, his was a sickening show of lush wealth and haughty, needless adornments.

She was startled when the king spoke from his lounge. "Come. Sit."

Y/n and Phoebe walked deeper into his room and stepped down into a sunken seating area. Harry sat up straight and motioned toward Phoebe. "Not you. Leave us."

When it was just Y/n and Harry and she'd delicately sat her bottom at the furthest spot from the king she could find, Harry got up and placed himself next to her. "Are you scared of me?" He asked with a bright tone, as if it amused him.

"Your majesty, I don't know how to act. I've never seen such indulgent things in all my life as today."

He nodded and looked her over. "What are you wearing?" He lifted at her skirt and she batted his hand away on instinct.

"Phoebe said you picked it for me."

"Who is Phoebe?"

Y/n blinked and looked toward his chamber doors and back at the king in confusion. "The lady who helped dress me and… She was just here with me. The one you sent away."

"How sweet that you learned her name already. And I didn't pick this for you." He plucked at the fabric. "I asked that you come here in nothing but a robe so I could inspect you."

She scooted away from him, her heart racing at the idea of showing herself to him without clothes. Harry laughed and leaned himself back into the large cushioned seat and draped a leg over his knee as he watched her curiously. "You are scared. Good. You should be. Take off your clothes."

Shaking her head she squished herself as far from him as she could but he simply reached his leg out and hooked his foot under her ankle to pull at her. "Don't do that. Said remove your clothes, girl."

"Yo– your majesty… I don't even know how these were put on. I don't know how. I… I've never…" Her heart was racing and she felt her fingers tremble as he sat and grinned at her like this was a game to him.

"What? You can't remove your coverings because you don't know how? I can deal with a timid vazey, but not a liar. Off with your things."

"No! You're rude! I will not!"

The king scoffed, surprised at her disrespect, as he pushed himself up to stand and stood over his bride-to-be. "I am rude, you'll learn well. But I have needs and you're here to keep them. Look at me when I speak to you."

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her face upward to look into the eyes of the man who she could hardly believe would be her husband. That part—that didn't feel real. Not at all. It couldn't be.

"Have you ever been touched by a man before?"

She thought she might pass out as her skin heated under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No. Of course, not. I'm unwed."

He laughed. "Plenty of unwed ladies get their fannies fucked and fingered, my poor feather-brained girl. You're a virgin?"

She nodded, keeping silent, though not happy about the insult to her intelligence. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as someone with a royal education but she knew how to read and could do basic math, which was more than almost everyone in her social stratus.

"I see." Harry sighed and reached down to grip her jaw and look her over like she was an animal. "Surprised no one has warmed their member with your quim yet. Rather sickly but you are pretty. Have you ever seen one?"

She gulped loudly. "Seen… seen one? What?"

He clicked his tongue and smirked. "A cock, my dear. Have you seen a cock?"

Y/n, though a virgin, wouldn't call herself a prude. She was used to crash speak and rude men but the king was a shock to her. She never imagined someone with his pedigree could be so filthy. "Yes."

He let go of her jaw, keeping his eyes set on hers as he lifted his brows. "Oh, you have. And did you play with it?"

"No!" Y/n looked down at her lap and inhaled a breath. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having with the king.

She felt his long fingers at her jaw again, forcing her to lift her gaze back up at him. "Don't look away from me when we're talking."

She knocked her head up and down and he dropped his hand away from her.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Her eyes widened and she shot her gaze down toward his crotch and then back up to his face. "No."

He smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he began to unbutton his forest green silk tricot coat. He eyed her, waiting to hear her protest again but when she simply watched him he continued to undo his outer layers until he had access to his breeches and tucked his fingers into the buttons at his front flap. Raising a brow he paused to give her a chance to tell him to stop.

But she only watched, flicking her gaze from his hands up to his face. She wouldn't admit it but she was curious. Scared a little of his demeanor and that he was the sovereign and could do as he pleased with her if he wanted, she still wondered what it might look like.

His pink lips curved upward slowly as he unhooked one button and let the fabric drape dangerously low. "I'm not going to make you suck it or anything. But if you want, I won't deny you your pleasure."

Y/n bristled and blinked her eyes away from him to the edge of the room before looking back up at him. "You're rude."

He smiled sweetly, a handsome dimple dipping into his cheek like he wasn't just about to whip out his big fiddle and show her. "You said that, yes… Keep going? Or stop? Up to you. I've got plenty of others I can show it to. They're all waiting, just hoping you disappoint me. They'd love to be in your shoes right now. Vying to be the next Queen of Thornekeep. If you don't want to be here you may leave and go back to the street. What will it be?"

She inhaled slowly and fought the stinging embarrassment that needled at her insides. She wasn't keen on seeing the king's privy member but his handsome face was alluring and if she said no, would she not be kept as Queen? Did she even want to be Queen of Thornekeep? She could say no and he'd send her back out into the cold with her old brown rags and her fabric begging basket. She'd have quite the tale to tell but that would be it. Everything would go back to how it always was. She'd continue sitting in the street and asking for kindness from strangers who wouldn't even offer her a glance, as the excruciating pain of hunger slowly ate her alive.

"Continue," Y/n spoke as confidently as she was able to. She didn't want that life anymore. Though she had no idea what she was getting herself into with the king, she figured it was better than life as a beggar. Cold, dirty, starved, angry, riddled with pain in her bones like she was an elderly woman… Being fed, bathed in perfumed oils, and dressed in fine silk and wool skirts, inside a warm castle, with a bedroom all her own wasn't just tempting, she wanted it. Even her bed and its heavy down blanket were to die for. Worth the humiliation.

Plus, if she told herself the biggest truth of it all, he was dashing. More than just dashing. He was the most fine-looking man she might have ever laid eyes upon. But she wasn't ready to admit the way his green eyes had her pulse fluttering like a small bird.

Harry reached down to run a finger over her jaw gently while he unplucked the second button from the front flap. "Keep your eyes on mine for a moment."

She tried to wet the dry desert of her throat as she steadied her eyes on him, which turned out to be quite the task when she could see at the limn of her vision his hand working something fleshy just in front of her. His cock was out, she knew that much, but she wanted so badly to take a quick glimpse.

"Mmm… Your eyes are pretty," he spoke, still moving his hand about. "How many cocks have you seen?"

Blinking her eyes softly she puffed out a shaky lungful of air. "I don't know. The men at the workhouse who use our tub just walk around nude."

"And they never touched you?" His finger felt sweet on her face and for a moment she thought he was a man she could find herself trusting, loving even. Perhaps she was too naive.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't let them."

"They tried?"

"A few."

He clenched his jaw and stretched his neck as he lifted his sight away from hers. She resisted the urge to peek at his crotch even though she could have gotten away with it right then as he wasn't looking at her.

When he returned his gaze down at her he stepped in closer, pushing her legs apart to stand between her feet. He glanced down at himself and moved his hand from her jaw. "Look at your king's cock."

Y/n swallowed hard and blinked as she shifted her stare downward until she saw the big thing in her face, swollen and thick. And long. His big palm was wrapped around the space of him that grew out from a thatch of dark hair.

Now, she'd seen cocks before. Soft ones, hard ones, weird and infected ones… The workmen didn't care who saw when it came to bathtime and some of them even tried to get her to participate if she were anywhere near them. But Harry's was… well, it looked fit for a king she supposed. Maybe all royals had clean, pretty pricks.

"Touch it."

She glanced up at him, struggling to even breathe. Not only was the corset pulled too tight around her ribs, but the king's vulgar words and his cock in her face were making her feel quite fettered and discombobulated. Her chest heaved so hard she was worried she was about to burst the stay lace that held the corset together.

She reached her fingers upward and focused on the very tip of him where there was a small slit that carved outward like it was draped in a blanket made of smooth flesh. The rest of him was a little more crude with veins that ran along the rigid flesh. When she touched the top of it with her fingertip she gasped and pulled her hand away. It was like a warm small naked creature that'd been warmed by the fire for a bit too long.

"He's not going to bite. He might spit at you, though." He laughed. "Touch it. No need to be virtuous with me. You'll have to get used to handling it anyway."

"It's the first I've touched. I… Where should I place my hand?" She was genuinely worried she'd do it wrong, and he was the king so she was cautious.

King Styles reached down to grab at her hand and he spat a big glob of slick from his mouth that pooled into her palm. She winced as he placed her hand on the long shaft of himself, pressing her fingers around his girth and guiding her upward to his smooth tip.

"What do you think? Not bad, right?"

When he let go of her hand she slowly continued smoothing his spit over his flesh and peered closely at the organ. It was a curious thing to touch a penis. She was surprised by how warm it was and the mechanics of how all that worked were still somewhat of a mystery to her. She understood that men used their pricks to stick babies into women and that it hurt and it was disgusting.

"It feels funny. S'really warm."

"Is it?" He smirked down at her as she examined him, her hand still sliding in very stunted strokes up and down. He quite enjoyed the way she looked at it in awe. Of course, the way she was handling him did him no good. That wasn't going to do anything for him but she'd learn soon enough what he liked. Whether she liked it or not.

"How does it feel for you?" Y/n knew enough to know that for men, it felt good and that while what she was doing wasn't sex, it should be favorable for him.

"You'll need teaching but your little hand will never feel quite as nice as your mouth or the warm treasure you're hiding between your legs."

She stopped and frowned at him. "I haven't ever—"

"Yes, we know. You haven't touched a man before. But we'll change all of that, won't we? Keep going with your hand and spit on it."

Sliding her palm over his tacky skin she spat over the spot just above her fist and smeared her saliva upward. "What will I tell my mum and dad? I should tell them where I am and—"

"Oh, girl." He patted her cheek condescendingly. "Let's not talk about mum and dad while you're working my knob. Tomorrow we'll fetch them."

She swallowed and tried to focus but everything was so overwhelming.

"Are we going to have intercourse?" She looked up at him with big pretty eyes.

"Of course we are. How else do you expect to find yourself with child?"

"I don't know… I'm scared to do it. I don't like the idea of it."

Harry pushed her hand away and tucked himself back into his front flap as he sighed. "You're no good at this. And if you don't want to learn how to be good for me then there's no need for you."

He turned to walk away, leaving Y/n sitting on his plush sofa she sat up straight, confused. "Should I… What shall I do?"

Harry pulled his jacket into place and rebuttoned it as he looked at her with an indifferent expression. "Go to your room or stay here. I don't care particularly either way. I was disappointed by you so I'm going to have to call in someone who can please me properly. Someone who can do the things you can't. If you want to stay and watch and learn then so be it."

Y/n stood up quickly and clasped her hands together in front of her hips. "Your majesty, please—"

"My King. You'll address me either as My King or My Lord. Yes?"

She nodded quickly, stepping closer to him. "Yes, my King. I only need a little more time to learn. I promise tomorrow I'll be better for you. I'll do whatever you need. Please don't replace me."

Harry lifted a brow, his still unreadable expression was worrying to Y/n but the way he scraped his eyes down her frame made every inch of her body burn. He wouldn't tell her but he was pleased with her already despite what he'd told her. She was desperate and quite pretty and that was all he required. She played into his rude affront exactly as he hoped and it had her worried he wasn't going to keep her. He had no plans to touch anyone else now that he had his mind made up. She'd do just fine once she learned to be more obedient and malleable.

"We shall see." He flicked a hand in the air and then gestured toward his door. "Off you go. You'll try again to be better tomorrow. You'll have one more chance to prove yourself to me."

She felt defeated. Walking slowly past him she turned to look back once more and watched him step out onto his balcony, the lace curtains blowing in the wind as he moved out of view. Pushing at the heavy wooden door she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying. She didn't know if she was more upset with herself for not being bolder, or if she was angry at how the king had just treated her so poorly and insulted her. The situation was discouraging but she was determined. She'd dealt with worse, hadn't she?

Phoebe met her outside the doors and walked her back toward her room. Y/n wasn't sure how she was going to work up the courage to be enough for the king. She didn't want him to find another to take her place so she needed to do something. But what?

"Would you like anything, madam?" Phoebe asked.

"Are there books here in the castle? A library?" Perhaps she could read about pleasing a man if such a thing existed.

"Yes. A grand library. I can't read myself. Are you able to?"

Y/n nodded. "I can read, yes. I'd like to see it. Would you show me there?"

. .

next part >>

. .

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[reidrum]

undone lace | s.r.

A/N: user reidrum back with another softdom and munch!spencer fic but with insecure reader this time please act surprised

summary: in which you buy lingerie to impress spencer

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, afab!reader, reader wears lingerie, pet names, praise kink, slight breeding kink if you squint hard, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, insecure!reader, munch!spencer, softdom!spencer

wc: 2.3k

masterlist

You’re standing in the middle of the bedroom fiddling with the garter straps hanging on your upper thighs when you hear the lock click followed by the front door opening.

Fuck.

You have to admit, it really did seem like a good idea when you were at the store.

The clerk in the lingerie store saw you staring for just a second too long before pouncing on you, feeding you off anecdotes that embarrassingly enough sent you home with a tiny pink bag not even ten minutes later.

But now that’s left you standing in the middle of your bedroom, dressed up in a way you know Spencer hasn’t been privy to seeing you in yet. And the anxiety of seeing his reaction is quite literally eating you alive.

Spencer calls out for you letting you know he’s home early, something about finishing his reports early. You’re not entirely sure, all you can focus on is your eyes widening as you take a paralytic stance, unmoving even when you hear his footsteps inch closer to the door.

“Hey, I knew you were home, probably didn’t hear me come in,” he says opening the door, “Did you want to get Thai food for—“

The rest of the words don’t make it out. And that’s when Spencer finally looks up at you, and he really gets a good look at you.

His eyes slowly rake down your figure and you can’t help but feel a bit like a spectacle, awaiting the rousing approval and applause from the audience with bated breath. He doesn’t speak for another minute, and it makes you squirm in your skin even more.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, “I’m gonna go change—“

Spencer doesn’t even let you move an inch before jumping into action, reaching out to grab your hand and pull you into his chest. “Don’t change.” he whispers hoarsely, eyes wandering and taking in all of you.

The self doubt within you only rises as you meekly say, “D—Do you like it?”

His eyes snap to yours finally, “Do I like it?” his hands take purchase on your hips, thumbs hooking onto the garter strap connecting the fabric on your midriff to your panties and pulling you closer, “Sweetheart…did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I was nervous about this all day, wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“You could never be too much. “ He blinks at you while his voice comes out strained, “Nervous? W—Why would you be nervous?” his hands smooth over your skin in all the places that needed placating, a soothing reminder that you could calm down, that you were safe.

You shrug slightly, “Didn’t know if I liked myself in it…and then I didn’t know if…you would like me in it.” you deflate a little more, “It’s stupid I know, I’m sorry I’m just gonna go chan—“

Spencer shakes his head mindlessly, his hands gripping your hips harder on instinct, “Oh, baby,” his voice strained and coming out as a mumble, “I am not doing a good job showing you how beautiful you are,” his hands slowly turn you around and pull you back into him so your back is flush with his chest, leaning down to your ear to whisper, “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

A shiver runs down your spine as you straighten your back against him, his hands inching dangerously lower and lower. “Can I do that? Let me make it up to you?”

The words are knocked out of you and all you can manage is a small nod, “You don’t have to.”

“No, actually I think I need to,” his hands ghost the lace frill edges of your panties, “Went through all this trouble…for me?” The length of his finger presses firmly to your entrance, you let out a soft gasp when he gently rubs, “Think you deserve a reward, sweet girl.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his hands move to cup your lace covered breasts, thumbs intentionally rubbing over your nipples and letting them harden under his touch. Spencer guides you to the edge of the bed as the warmth of his breath ghosts the crook of your neck, gently pressing kisses that trail up to your ear. You let him sit you down and watch with wide eyes as he sinks to his knees before you.

His hands part your legs open, bending his head down to press chaste kisses up your inner thigh stopping at the apex before repeating his motions to the other side.

“You okay?” he glances up at you, “I can stop if you want.”

“‘No! No, I’m okay I just…”

He presses another kiss just shy of where you need him, “Just what, baby?”

A soft whimper escapes you, “…Didn’t think this would work”

Spencer pauses and looks at you confused, letting his mouth wander back up to your face, “You thought,” Kiss. “Seeing my insanely hot and sexy and intelligent girlfriend,” Kiss. “All dressed up in lingerie,” Kiss. “Just for me,” Kiss. Kiss. “Wouldn’t work?”

You knew it would work. Of course, it worked. You knew that, he knew that. It’s why you planned to do this in the first place, because you wanted to do something nice for him. And if doing something nice for Spencer came at the cost of your confidence, you would gladly make the fruitless trade.

It made you feel silly, to be frank. Spencer never, ever, gave you a reason to feel insecure about yourself. In fact he made every humane effort possible to always remind you of how highly he thought of you. Yet here you were, with the audacity to self efface in front of the human embodiment of unconditional love.

“Angel…” he murmurs into your neck, bringing you back to the moment, “Where’d you go?”

It was just easier to let Spencer believe the fallacy of your plan than admit that despite his earnest efforts you, unfortunately, were incapable of receiving his love and affection.

You clear your throat to remove any tremors before you speak, “ ‘m okay, promise.”

Spencer was unconvinced, “You’re in your head again…” his thumbs kneed the flesh of your thighs as he kisses down your shoulder, “I’m really slacking, huh baby?”

“Spence—“

He shushes you gently, “It’s okay, baby. I know. I’m gonna make up for it.” he rises to his full height, standing in between your legs before working on the buttons of his shirt. His thumb and pointer pinch your chin and angle your face upwards, “Will you go sit pretty and lay down on the bed for me?”

You nod wordlessly and scoot backwards until you’re able to lie down and rest your head on the satin pillowcase. The mattress dips near your feet and you watch Spencer crawl back over you in only his boxers, his eyes raking over your outstretched body beneath him.

“God, you are perfect.” he murmurs, holding the words close like a sacred prayer. He gingerly pushes the hair from your face to behind your ear and lowers himself to press a kiss to your lips. You watch his mouth kiss and trace the outline of your lace bralette, following the path of dips and curves before he resumes his journey further down.

His finger toys with the edge of your panties again, finally hooking below the fabric and pushing it to the side exposing you to the brisk air. Spencer swore he could never get sick of the sight of you glistening, knowing he was the one to get you like that. He prods at your entrance, collecting the arousal to spread all over you, grinning when he hears a breathless moan.

“Feels good?” he whispers, you nod quickly watching him continue, “Good, pretty girls deserve to feel good.”

You preen under the praise as his finger pushes past your entrance, setting an agonizingly slow pace. The drag of his finger is so deliberate you can feel the notch of his knuckle as it leaves you, and it drives you insane.

“Nmph—Spence…please,” you plead. What you’re pleading for, you’re not even sure. But Spencer clearly knew as he adds one more finger, the stretch opening you up in a way that ascends you that much closer to the heavens.

You lift your head slightly to watch Spencer and find that he’s not even looking at you. He’s entirely more enticed by watching his fingers enter and leave you so captivatingly, your slick coating and entrapping him willfully. He must feel your eyes on him because he finally looks up and meets your gaze. His fingers quicken their pace, watching your face contort with pleasure as he undoes you piece by piece with a delicacy he knows how to use on you only.

His lips kiss up your inner thigh again, this time reaching your center and attaching his lips. At this point you realize you’re a goner, left for nothing and everything as Spencer pushes through to bring you to your peak. The tandem effort of his mouth and fingers is hypnotizing, so much so that you’d call witchcraft with how easily he’s able to disarm you completely.

“You’re close, angel girl.” he mumbles as more of a statement than a question, since clearly he knew your body better than you. All you can do is pathetically moan as you’re left entirely to his mercy and ministrations. The peak builds in your stomach, coiling and building tension while barreling towards that sweet release before he removes his presence from between your legs wholly, leaving you a panting mess above him.

“Spencer!” you whine loudly, “Wh—why’d you stop?” you breath out desperately.

He sits up and back onto his legs while he maneuvers his boxers off, “I told you pretty girls deserve to feel good, right?”

“Yeah well, this pretty girl doesn’t feel very good right now.” you tut.

He softly chuckles, moving closer while giving himself a few pumps, “I know,” he hooks his fingers onto your thigh garter straps and pulls you closer to him so his center is only mere centimeters from yours, “But, you deserve to feel the best.”

“So this pretty girl,” he rubs the tip of himself on your clit through the lace of your panties, “gets to come on my cock.”

You barely have time to be shocked by his crude words before he’s hooking your panties to the side again and slowly pushing himself inside you. A languished cry leaves you as you’re feeling him deep inside, reaching places only he knew about.

You’re reduced to blabbering syllables and cries of his name at the expense of his unrelenting pace, meeting his eyes and gaping at his smugly satisfied grin. He plays with the lace bow situated in the valley of your breasts before moving his hands to lift your legs and placing them on his shoulder, deepening his angle within you.

“I’d stay here for hours, for days, if you let me, sweet girl. If you asked for it, I’d give you everything.”

Your eyes nearly roll back feeling yourself enter another dimension with the combination of his words and the way he’s absolutely fucking you dumb. Another soft whine bubbles out of your throat, “Fuck—Spe—Aahh—.”

He coos softly, “I know, honey. Gonna get you there, promise.” he continues his thrusts unceremoniously, adding a thumb to your clit to push just over the edge hurling towards your climax. It hits you like a bucket of cold water dumped on you, a shivering chill reverberating up and down your spine while simultaneously setting your nerve endings aflame.

It’s overwhelming, it’s everything, it’s him.

Spencer isn’t trailing too far behind you with only a few more thrusts before he’s spilling into you with a low groan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck as he lets the last of himself pour into you before gingerly slipping out and placing your panty back in its holding place. He collapses at your side, the only sound left in the air is your alternating heavy pants.

“Guess I can’t return this now.” you lightly chuckle after a few minutes.

“You were going to return it?” he rolls over to drape an arm over your torso, “Did I not prove my point?”

He did. Very well.

“Y—You did, I just…still remember how I didn’t feel great in it before you came home.” you blush sheepishly.

Spencer sighs and pulls your body to rest in the you shaped crevice in the side of his body, hand smoothing up and down your back while the other rests on your thigh he’s hooked over his hips. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

“I didn’t do anything, in fact—“

“No, sweet girl. I am proud of you, because I know how hard it must have been for you to go out of your comfort zone for me. You shouldn’t feel obligated to do things like that, you know I’ll always love you until the end of time,” he moves his hand to cup your cheek, “But, I feel so grateful that you want to venture out for someone like me. I just want you to know that every and any effort, no matter how big or small, is always deeply appreciated and I am lucky to be the recipient every time.”

Tears well up in your eyes. For as much as you felt vulnerable and bared your heart to Spencer, there he was with open arms and a basket to cradle it from danger. Even if you couldn’t feel safe in your own mind, you could trust that Spencer would find a way to keep you from harm, even if it was self made.

“Thank you.” you whisper softly.

He presses a long kiss to your forehead, “Loving you is my favorite thing to do in this world, no need to thank me.”

You smile into his chest, voice all giddy, “Really? I thought reading untranslated and original classics had me beat there.”

“It’s a close second, pretty girl.” he nuzzles you closer to him and sighs in content.

It isn’t that close at all, Spencer thinks.

[dannyriccsystem]

I love your writing!! Could you please do the drivers being soooo angry at the world and everyone’s scared to approach them but they’re soft for you(idk if that makes sense)

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE SPRING HAS SPRUNG!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: When you’re the only one they can tolerate when they’re angry!

OVERALL W.C: 2.6k

WARNINGS: Mean drivers (soft with you), Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, KA12, CL16, CS55, GR63, OP81

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

When Max was mad, everyone in the paddock knew. After the outcome of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, the air was undeniably tense. Your boyfriend was reasonably upset with his penalty— He didn’t want to deny and say it was unfair, because it wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to be upset about it.

It didn’t help that the FIA had cornered him immediately afterwards and lectured him on his censorship. He could write four thousand paragraphs on that topic alone, but he didn’t need to get into it right now. The 2025 season had been undeniably shit for Max overall. With all the booing and the RedBull seat switching. It was a pain for everyone.

Everyone seemed to be walking on glass, unsure of how to approach the angry man, currently holding the title of 2024 champion. It was a lot to handle. The RB garage was scurrying around, trying to get things straight. Then you walked in.

One of the mechanics tried to warn you, but you brushed off the incessant complaining and walked right over to the Mad Max. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the surprise blow up, but it never came. He seemed to melt in his seat right then and there, staring up at you with such gentle eyes.

“Hi Max,” You whispered in that sweet voice he loved as you situated yourself to stand between his legs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, staring up at you.

“Lieverd,” He greeted, pressing a kiss to your clothed stomach. “Did you enjoy the race?” He asked it so casually, as if nothing was upsetting him and nothing went wrong. You were so capable of washing his concerns away, it astounded even Max.

“It was good, although a little frustrating.” Prying eyes figured now would be the time. You brought up his mistakes, so the only reasonable plan of action was to scold you like the mad man he was. But no, Max just chuckled and nodded.

“I know it better than anyone else.” You took a step back to let him stand up, his hand finding yours. “I’m just glad we get a week off now.” You both exited the garage, hand in hand. Meanwhile, the remaining staff members all locked eyes, unsure if anyone would believe them when they inevitably told the entire paddock about the astounding spectacle.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

It had been a really tough race for Daniel. He was typically a very positive and charismatic guy— Most people found that it was easy to love Danny, because no matter what happened, he tried to keep a positive attitude about it. This time was different.

He was approached by his engineer after his crash. Normally they’d discuss what went wrong, but instead, Danny brushed him off. He screamed in anger, clearly feeling immensely unsatisfied with his performance, as well as how the team was treating him.

You saw this. You saw him be angry and dismissive, but you approached anyway, because Danny needed you. You just knew it. Before he could even take his helmet off, you were standing before him. If you were anyone else, he might have shoved you aside or barked a comment at you, but instead he just pulled you into his arms, clinging to you tightly.

“Worst fucking race ever,” He’d mutter. He sounded harsh, but his voice was rid of malice. He slipped his helmet off and set it aside, allowing him to bury your face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

You ran your fingers through his curls, humming a low tune. “I’m still proud.” You could feel him smile against you. It was a seemingly slow process, but eventually his lips curved up into that grin you knew and loved. “It’s one bad performance out of many.”

“Yeah, I know.” He muttered, only audible to you. He was always like this, seeking comfort in your relaxing presence. When he pulled away, his hands were still upon your hip. “I think I’d be lost without you.”

“Glad you recognize that,” The two of you shared a laugh.

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Lando had been pissed off all day. He showed up to the MTC in a bad mood, and it was very obvious to everyone. Nobody tried to ask why, because it seemed like every syllable directed towards him just put Lando in a worse mood.

He carried out the rest of the day feeling crappy. He didn’t seem to retain any of the information from the meetings, got nothing productive done, and ended up making them re-film a video for the Mclaren youtube channel like eight times. It was beginning to get uncomfortable for everyone else.

He was excused early, and told to go home and get some rest. When he arrived to the hotel you were both staying at, he still seemed fairly mad. He was just angry with the world, harboring a negative feeling from his performance at the last race.

Lando wanted nothing more than to scream and shout when he came back, but when he saw you lying on the bed looking so soft and sweet, it all melted away. You grinned at him, and for the first time all day he smiled back.

“It’s a little early, isn’t it?” You questioned with the tilt of your head. He didn’t answer, he just dived into the bed beside you, immediately encasing you in all his limbs. You laughed, your own arms finding his body immediately, and hugging him close.

“I missed you.” He finally spoke, his voice a whisper against your neck. He laid a few sloppy kisses there, just upon instinct.

“I missed you too.” You had never seen him behave in such a way. Lando was always somewhat clingy, but this was different. He seemed entirely dependent for a moment. Not that you were complaining.

You were just what he needed in that moment.

—

KIMI ANTONELLI - KA12

It was hard to imagine Kimi Antonelli truly angry. He seemed so happy most of the time, which is why it took everyone by surprise. Nothing should have angered him, either. He qualified quite high, especially for a rookie. But for some unknown reason, he was pissed.

The problem is, he had a hard time looking angry. He sort of just looked monotone from afar, but when anyone tried to talk to him, he’d get snappy and dismissive and the other person would eventually just leave him alone. It was weird. Even Ollie had trouble communicating with the guy.

“Kimi-” He heard your voice, and he immediately perked up. His head swiveled around the Mercedes garage, and his eyes immediately locked into you. You were talking with George, that sort of awed look on your face. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could assume it was about him.

When George finished talking you gave a confused look and shook your head, pushing past him. “Kimi you did great today!” Everyone watched, waiting to see what he would say. What sort of backhanded comment would he make this time? Hopefully someone had a tissue, he might even make you cry.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He had a boyish grin on his face, and he appeared somewhat dreamy as he stood up to greet you. He kissed your hand politely, and then both of your cheeks. “Did you see? I qualified P5!”

It was incredible. No anger, no disrespect, no snappy attitude.

“I did see! You’re doing so good this year.” Everyone claimed it was solely because of the team. He raced for Mercedes, of course he’d do good. Maybe that’s why he was upset, because whenever he received a compliment, it always seemed like it was directed towards the car rather than him.

But you… You were supporting him. He gave you a cheeky kiss on the lips, whispering in a soft giggle, “Grazie, cara mia…”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

The day had been especially rough for Charles. It was almost as if the whole world was pitted against him. The team strategies had been extra disappointed, he was continuously receiving hate for his performance, and the pit wall was being extra frustrating today. After the race, he seemed rigid and cold towards the rest of the team.

He stormed off to his drivers room, trying to seem as polite as physically possible when he was experiencing this sort of rage. He sat down on the sofa, burying his head in his hands. He felt like the next person he saw was going to end up getting decked in the face— Which was ironic, because soon after the thought crossed his mind, the door creaked open.

“What-” He spat out bitterly, but froze when he saw you. You looked surprised, mouth slightly agape. His demeanor melted away into something softer, his brows knitted together in an expression that was damn near pathetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

You carefully shut the door behind you, and then leaned back against it. It was silent for a moment, filled with comfortable eye contact as you let him adjust to your presence. He appreciated how understanding you always were. At times, Charles felt like he was taking you for granted.

“I know you’re upset,” You murmured quietly. You finally pushed away from the door and sat beside him, your shoulders brushing. He flinched at first, and then leaned his head over to rest on your shoulder. You hummed, following his lead and pressing your own head against his. “We don’t have to talk about it if you—”

“I don’t,” He spoke shortly and softly. You pursed your lips into a sad smile, nodding with understanding. “Thank you.” He shut his eyes, letting himself relax as he softened beside you.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

When you stepped foot into the Williams garage, you were faced with the unpleasantry of stares and quiet whispers. You glanced around yourself at the mechanics and other staff, who were acting rather shifty. It had never been like before; you were typically greeted with kindness, but right now you felt somewhat alienated.

You continued walking, brushing past the odd behavior, hoping that you weren’t the root of the problem. You figured Carlos was in his driver’s room, because he wasn’t present amongst the others. You put your hand on the door knob, but one of the mechanics rushed over to stop you.

“Wait-” They blurted out in a whisper-yell, waving their hands around. You froze, pulling your hand back as you pivoted, facing their direction. “Y/N, you probably don’t wanna go in there.”

This was starting to worry you. Your brain automatically jumped to the worst possible assumptions. “What? Why?” You questioned, looking uncertain as you began to reach for the handle once more. Was Carlos being unfaithful? These thoughts plagued your mind.

“He’s been super upset all day. Everyone’s made him angry.” They explained, shifting nervously. Your eyebrows furrowed as you hummed in thought. If Carlos was upset, you should be there for him.

“Thank you for the warning, but I can handle this.” You gave a polite smile, although you were somewhat frustrated with such unprofessional behavior. With a deep breath, you entered into his moody fortress. He was laying back on the small couch provided, his kneees scrunched up and one arm over his eyes.

Carlos slowly tilted his head, one eye peeking out from his makeshift blindfold. When he saw you, he didn’t say anything, he just sat up, manspreading and leaning with his elbows on his knees. “Hey,” He tried to force a smile.

“Hi,” You grinned sincerely, standing right in front of him. He looked up at you, and then tugged you down to sit perched on his lap. He leaned back against the wall, pulling you close to his chest.

You understood. He needed you— Your warmth and your comfort. You wrapped your arms around him, letting him safely bury his face in your neck. You both sat there silently, healing.

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

George was always regarded as the paddock’s mean girl. Regina George, of course. It was funny in theory, assuming it was just a silly joke shared between friends. It was funny until George realized people truly perceived him in such a way, disliking him for his “hateful ways.”

Most of the time he was just speaking the truth. There was lots of animosity between drivers on the track, and he was going to be truthful when interviewers asked him for his opinion. If he thought of someone as a bully, he’d happily call it out because sugarcoating it certainly wouldn’t help.

He was especially frustrated today. He was told to keep his peace and stay silent about any future conflicts, because his forward thinking caused a bad outlook on the team. That alone was enough to piss him off, but considering some unfair play that took place during the race itself, it was like adding fuel to the fire.

He knew you would be the solution to this issue. He always felt serene when you were around, which is why George immediately sought you out after the race. It didn’t matter to him that he came P4 and was supposed to celebrate— He wanted your comfort, and he wanted your praise and approval.

He found you on the sidelines, and he practically jumped the barrier to pull you into a hug, kissing you directly on the lips. He felt his anger beginning to fade as you smiled against him, whispering an “I love you” that was shared between only the two of you.

That’s all he needed to hear to know everything would be just fine.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar rarely showed an emotion that wasn’t joy, or just his typical monotone expressions. Sure, he experienced rage and sadness just like everyone else, but he portrayed it differently. Like right now, instead of screaming at everyone to ensure his wrath was made known, Oscar was silent. Abnormally silent. Not a single thank you to the team, or a congratulations to his teammate, Lando.

He was quiet.

The absence of sound wasn’t abnormal, but it was usually when someone else was talking that Oscar remained so silent. This paired with his blank dissociating stare was enough to intimidate everyone amongst Mclaren. He was pissed, to put it lightly.

You walked in, and everyone stared at you as if you were a ray of sunlight, or as if you were their guardian angel. You greeted the team with a kind smile, calling a few of the people you were closer with out by their name. You were undeniably charming, and certainly a perfect match for Oscar.

He stood up to greet you, and he couldn’t control his smile anymore. There was a collective sigh of relief amongst everyone, who could safely continue their work without worrying about Oscar silently breathing down their neck. He kissed both of your cheeks and then finally your lips. “Thank you for coming to the race,” He spoke politely.

“Of course! You did great.” He only placed third, but that was clearly enough for Oscar as long as you were congratulating him. If not, he’d usually appear a little more grumpy, like he did moments ago. “Give me the rundown.” Of course you were watching, but you didn’t get to experience everything he did firsthand. It was always more entertaining to hear it directly from the source.

“Well,” He began his rant, and all was well with the Mclaren team.

[moonstruckme]

omgomg can i request wolfstar or any of the marauders (literally so excited j leave it up to u) with a reader who faints when she sees blood? I have severe blood phobia and i hate feeling lightheaded but it's kinda funny if u think about it... have a great day ❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, fainting, Sirius on a power trip (everyone's worst nightmare I think)

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 968 words

You watch Remus look down on the onion with concentrated, dry eyes. “I don’t know how you can do that,” you say, mystified.

“He’s a freak of nature,” Sirius says. 

“Even when I cut along the lines, like you’re supposed to…” You brush a knuckle underneath your lashes, catching the residual wetness from when you’d attempted what Remus is doing so easily. “Maybe you are a freak of nature.” 

Remus is more than a little smug. “Maybe my eyes are just better than yours.” 

“No, that can’t be it…” 

“Cut your tomatoes, love,” he teases. “Those won’t hurt you.” 

You scoff, grabbing the serrated knife from the knife block. In the second your back is turned, you hear Remus’ knife hit the cutting board funny. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Bollocks.” 

“Ha!” Sirius cries triumphantly, though he moves closer to ensure Remus is okay. “Who’s the pro onion chopper now? What’d you do to yourself, let me see.” 

Remus rolls his eyes but gives his hand over to Sirius’ care. Your boyfriend coos, pulling him closer to the sink and turning on the tap. 

You hear more than see yourself stumble, your feet clumsy on the tile floor. Remus’ gaze snaps to you. You feel suddenly very warm. 

Remus says something, you think, but it’s lost to the rushing in your ears. Blood drips from his hand into the sink. You watch it turn pink as it swirls into the drain.

You stumble again. 

---

“What did you think shouting at her was going to do?” 

“I don’t know!” There’s a hand on your cheek, tapping insistently. “This is your fault anyway, get a plaster on that. Or just wrap it up for now, we’ll deal with it after.”  

“Your concern is touching.” 

A sigh. “I’ll kiss it better in a minute, darling, but I’m somewhat occupied right now.” More tapping. “Hey, open your eyes, baby. Come on, I can see you twitching.” 

“Did she hit her head?” 

“I don’t think so. Just give her a second, yeah?” 

With effort, you lift your weighted eyelids. Sirius stops tapping. His thumb strokes down your cheek instead. 

“Hey.” He smiles, concern lingering at the corners. “In the future, I think we’d all appreciate a bit of warning before you drop like a bag of rocks. Okay?” 

Your voice comes out quiet and wispy. “I’ll try.” 

Sirius’ grin widens. “Attagirl.” 

“I think you’re supposed to lift her legs,” Remus frets from somewhere you can’t see him. You try, but Sirius puts his hand under your chin, tilting your head back up. 

“You can lift them once you’re cleaned up,” he says lightly. “Eyes on me, sweetness. Rem needs to stop bleeding before you two can resume gazing lovingly at each other, I’m afraid.” 

“Are you okay?” you ask the ceiling. 

“Fine, love. It’s just a cut.” 

Your voice wavers. “It looked like it was bleeding a lot.” 

“It was, but it’s shallow,” Sirius reassures you. He gives you an easy smile, thumb stroking a short line from the corner of your mouth to your chin. “You know our Moony, he loves to make a spectacle of himself.” 

You manage a little smile. “Sounds like him.” 

Remus makes a sound like a laugh that’s trying to be a sigh. Your ankles lift up off the floor, and Sirius finally allows you to look down, where you find your boyfriend with a paper towel wrapped around his hand. 

“Why is it that even when I’m hurt, you’re both still ganging up on me?” he asks. “Does your head feel alright?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. You feel yourself frown as you look at his hand. Hoping you won’t see more blood, fearing you will, worry keeping your gaze trapped either way. “Are you hurt?” 

Remus visibly softens. “No. I’m fine, sweetheart. How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay, really. I think it just surprised me.” 

“Do you realize how full my hands are with the two of you?” Sirius asks, fondness obvious in his agitated tone. “You fainting, you bleeding all over the place—I mean, Christ, how’s a man to make supper?” 

You let your eyes shut for a moment. Truthfully, you still feel a bit odd. You know it’ll pass soon. “I’ll cut the onions next time,” you say. 

“That might be best,” he says. “I hate to do it to you, sweetness, but lesser of two evils and all that.” 

“I am still perfectly capable—” Remus tries to say, but Sirius cuts him off. 

“Hush, you. Go wait in the bathroom, I’ll come take care of you in a minute.” 

Remus does not go to the bathroom. He stages his rebellion silently, rolling his eyes as he stays put. 

“Do you really feel alright?” Sirius asks you. 

You hum. “Yeah. I mean, I’m…” You nod your head from side to side. “You know.” 

His eyebrows raise amusedly. Remus chuffs out a laugh. “Course I do, babe. I know exactly what you mean. Care to elaborate for Remus, though?” 

“I’m okay.” 

Sirius waits a moment for you to say more. When you don’t, he nods, taking this in stride. “Do you think if I help, you can get over to the couch to lie there for a while? Just until I finish tending to our wounded soldier over here.” 

“It’s just a scratch,” Remus insists, exasperated, but he lowers your feet back to the ground so Sirius can help you up. “I don’t need help with it, really, it—oh, bollocks.” 

Sirius shields your eyes with his hand before you can see what the fuss is about. “Get another towel and go wait in the bathroom,” he tells Remus firmly, helping you stand. He half drags you towards the couch as you hear Remus’ cursing move down the hall. “God, always the dramatics with the two of you. Honestly.” 

[hedwig221b]

I gotta ask now since I’m not seeing it in the rec list, do you have any good recommendations for jock Derek stories?

I do 💕

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?” The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.” Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Pong Me, Bro by LadyDrace

Stiles doesn't date jocks, because it seems like all they do is prance around making a spectacle of themselves to impress whoever they're trying to hook up with. It's pathetic, and Stiles isn't into it. Which is probably why it somehow completely escapes his notice that one particular jock is determined to catch his eye.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

soluble by HalfFizzbin

Derek comes back after summer break all hot, beardy and brace-less. Stiles honestly has no idea what everyone's freaking out about.

When the Rose Blooms by DevilishBittersweet

The first time Derek saw him was at a football game. There he was, cheering loudly for number 12, leaning over the bar in front of the bleachers. His nose was bright red due to the cold night air. His messy hair was half covered by a loose beanie. His skin was almost translucent under the large stadium lights. Derek’s acute sight could pick up the small moles that covered his face. Derek could hear his heart beat thrumming loudly in his chest out of excitement. He saw his friends around him. But Derek had his eyes set only on him.

Sandbox Love is Forever by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other. An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now. “Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.” The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile. It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

loving him is red by allhalethekings

"Who’s that?” Stiles asks, eyes not leaving the table. “Who?” Scott asks, following Stiles’s line of sight. “Him? That’s Derek Hale. And you better forget about him. He doesn’t date."

erroneous manoeuvres by slippingfromreality

"Hey, Stilinski!” Stiles clenches his teeth. “What do you want, Hale?” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. The smug smirk that’s most likely waiting for him is already seared into his mind from overexposure. “A date!” the answer comes, still as loud, and most of the bystanders giggle or snort in Stiles’ direction. Stiles rolls his eyes. This is the third time this week. He’d complain that Hale’s jokes are getting pretty stale, but he’d probably be milking this situation for all that it’s worth, too, if their roles were reversed. “Wrong aisle,” he grouses back, “try the bakery section. I hear they have fresh tarts.” Or, in which Stiles grievously misjudged his bullying situation.

If I should stumble, catch my fall by Gorgeousgreymatter

Well, friendship is canceled. That's all Stiles can think when he walks into the locker room and finds it empty, with Scott's dumb werewolf ass completely AWOL despite the text message he'd received assuring him otherwise. Which wouldn't be that bad, if not for the fact that now Stiles is face to face with a very wet, very naked Derek Hale.

Kingdom By The Sea by kilaem

Lydia grabs his arm and pulls him down in the seat next to her. “When the hell did you find time to bag a guy like Hale?” “We’re friends,” Stiles feels his face heat up, and then the team are running out and Derek sees him and smiles. His blush gets worse. “Oh really?” “Our moms were friends, okay? We’ve been in diapers together.” “I thought you two hated each other.”

Game On by stilinskisparkles

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

[masterlist link]

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Ok hear me out: how would the ST boys react if their gf!reader let them hit raw for the first time?

(please I love ur writing & I‘m ovulating)

Go to fucking hell dude… I’m due any day now and you made me foam at the mouth with this. You all need Jesus… and so do I because I loved writing this way too much… Mary fucking cumshot sluts.

warning: smut and this time tissues won’t save your vagina. Bring a bucket.

Vessel

He’s quite careful with this shit. Doesn’t like taking risks. Sure, he had thought about it, but that dude doesn’t. But he can sacrifice that need for now. So even if you’re on birth control he is still using condoms. Until of course he is not…

It’s the worst fucking day he is having. The show is in four hours. The lights aren’t working. They can’t get the sound right, the echo is killing him. Some pieces of ii’s dum went missing. It’s just a bunch of anxious, overstimulated people feeding off each other and it’s suffocating. His head is going in loops. He can already see it all going to shit and then people dragging him through hell after.

“Come on”, you thread your fingers through his, giving him a little tug. “I need to go check…”, he starts, “You don’t, you need to get out of here and breath for a bit”, you cut in firmly, “At least for a bit, it will do you good”, you reach out cupping his face, “You have a show to play tonight”, “If we have a fucking show”, he grunts. “Vessel”, you say firmly, “Yes, break”, he lifts his hands following you to the back room. You let him in first, looking over the corridor before locking the door.

“Why did you lock it”, Vessel frowns slightly, “Go sit down”, you motion for the sofa. “Y/n”, he shakes his head, and you simply stare at him before pulling your shirt down and letting your breast fall out of the material. “Jesus”, Vessel grunts. “Sit down I want to ride you”, you lick your lips as you climb over his lap. “We can’t”, Vessel grunts, as you grind against him. Hands instantly reach for your hips. “Why not, no one is around. Everyone’s out on lunch break”, you lean over, letting your lips trail down his neck. “Don’t have a condom on me”, he bucks his hips against you. “So?”, you throw your hair over your shoulder, “On birth control, remember”. You let your fingers slip into his sweatpants as you pull his dick free. Already semi-hard. “You will be the death of me”, Vessel whines as you palm him, spitting onto your hand. “You haven’t felt me raw yet, hold on”, you chuckle, lining him against yourself before you sink down.

You both moan in unison. Your fingers digging into his shoulder. Vessel who usually has good sense of control loses it. Pushing you down his cock, no time to properly stretch you out. “Fucking shit”, he grunts bottoming out. The warm gummy feeling of your walls makes him feel lightheaded. “Your cock is fucking…my”, you moan as he lifts you back up before slamming you back down once more. You clench around him, making it hard to even pull out, “I’m gonna cum on another thrust if…”, but you just push him back into the sofa, bracing yourself against his shoulder as you move your hips in circles, moaning his name. “Cum inside me”, you whimper, picking up the pace, “Want to feel you filling me up”, “fuck you dirty bitch”, his hand wraps around your neck as he pulls you closer bucking his hips every time you bottom out. Both feel your climax approaching and it truly only takes a couple more thrust before you two are falling over the edge. Vessel pushing you all the way down till your hips meet as he spills inside you. “That was…”, Vessel sighs, leaning in to kiss your chest. “I never came so fast”, you chuckle, feeling the mixture of you both gushing from where you two are still joining. “I can feel…”, he swallows thickly, “Your cum in me, pull out and see the spectacle”, you chuckle pushing up on your knees. The gush of cum trickling down onto Vessel’s lower stomach makes him growl. “Come here”, he grabs for your hips as he flips you both over hovering over you. “What happened to Mr. I always wear a condom”, you chuckle teasingly. “Shut the fuck up and spread your legs open”, he grunts, plunging back into your cum covered walls.

ii

Birth control didn’t sit well with your body. He had watched you suffer through so many months of adjustments. You were willing to keep trying but ii had stepped in, quite frankly done watching you suffer. “We’ll just use condoms and if we get pregnant we get pregnant”, he cupped your face before throwing your birth control pills out.

Just the problem was that you two fell into these rabbit fucking spells from time to time. Especially when he would have to go away. It was silly honestly that a couple of weeks without sex would end up making you so desperate but that’s what happens when you find your person.

So it’s well into the morning, you’re sure your neighbors are casting death spells on you by now. You don’t even remember how many times you had already cum. ii came back after a festival they played in and the moment he walked through the door you were wrapped around his neck. It was pathetic the way you two fucked right against the door. Then bent over a kitchen counter. Sofa. Living room window. And then the bedroom. The sheets drenched from your cum and the used condoms piling up. ii reaches back into the nightstand, grasping for that foil package as you pull him closer kissing him desperately. But his fingers don’t seem to grasp anything.

“Hold up”, he pulls away slightly, leaning over the side, pulling the drawer all the way open. His brain blanks when he sees the empty box… surely you two haven’t... Your nails dig into his ass as you buck your hips against him, his dick rubbing against your soaked walls, making him moan as well. “Baby, we don’t have condoms”, he grunts, making you snap your head his way, “I can go and…”, “Just go raw”, you whine, hands already reaching between you two. “Hey, you’re not thinking straight”, he grabs your wrist. “I’m thinking quite alright”, you grunt, “We both are clean, been together for a while, go raw. We’ll grab a plan b pill when we go to the side shop for condoms”, you sigh, grasping at his neck. “Yn”, he grunts, he knows he won’t be able to hold back but this is big shit and he feels like he’s taking advantage. “Think with your little head now please”, you moan, “I need your cum, just fuck me”, you reach back out lining you two up once again. “Yn”, II whimpers feeling the head of his cock pushing past your swollen lips. “All of it, fuck me into the matters”, you pull his hand, pressing it around your neck.

“I fucking love you”, he moans, pushing into you, head hanging low as he tries to not cum on the spot. The feeling of you two with nothing in between altering his brain chemistry. “You feel like heaven”, he grunts, rutting into you full force, watching as your head falls back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Ii”, you scream out, the feeling of his veiny dick stretching you out making you see stars. It’s ridiculous how fast you both manage to orgasm. No extras stimulation nothing, both cumming together right as ii bottoms out and he swears he has never cum so much in his life as he lets his chest fall onto you. Both breathing heavily.

“My god I… you did that”, you whimper, feeling him still twitching inside you. “For the first time in my life I need a moment”, he chuckles tiredly. He pulls back moments later, “Want to watch?”, he whispers catching your dazed eyes. You brace yourself on your arms as you watch him pull out. His cum slowly dripping out, and his eyes go dark again, “Fuck”, you clench your walls sending a wave of white to gush out. “Can I?”, he looks up fingers itching. You simply nod watching him gather his cum back before pushing his fingers back into your sensitive walls. You can’t help but fall back against the sheets with a moan. “Don’t fucking do that”, ii grunt, “You’ll make me want to go again”, “Who said you can’t?”, you bite your lip watching him and he’s back on top of you in a heartbeat.

iii

I feel like raw dogging is how you live your life. Idk sure he always asks but you two love the feeling of it. You’re both adults so what the fuck is holding you back. The first time however is your first time in general. You two had been pinning after each other for months. Sexual tension is through the roof. He barely walks you back home from your first official date before you pull him into your apartment. Then there’s a whole mess of hands everywhere. Clothes flying. Side tables getting kicked before you two are tumbling into bed. Because he’s a gentleman he eats you out first, savoring the feeling of your walls on his tongue and fingers. You’re a desperate mess by then, clinging to him, “Just fuck me”, you whisper arching your back. “Let me grab a condom from my wallet”, he muses kissing the valley between your breasts. “You don’t have to”, you whimper, “I’m on birth control”.

“What?”, iii blinks at you, quite frankly it feels like a dream come true cause that’s all he had wanted to do but none of his previous girlfriends had agreed to it and he respected their choice. “Go raw, iii, want to feel you”, you lick your lips. And you don’t have to tell him twice. “You’re something else, darling”, he shakes his head, pumping his dick a couple of times before looking back up at you, “You’re sure?”, “Yes, yes I can sign the papers after, just fuck me”, you grunt, wrapping your legs around him as you pull him closer. “Needy, minx”, he chuckles, running his dick again your lips, “naughty fucking girl”, he nips at your neck as he pushes into you. Grasping onto the headboard, his whole body nearly giving out as he feels you stretching around him. “Fuck… yours so big”, you whimper, trying to stop your muscles from squeezing him. “Relax or I will bust like a teenager”, he grunts, moving to circle your clit, catching a glimpse of his dick stretching your tight pussy out. “I can’t”, you whimper, feeling the head of his cock brushing against your cervix. You both moan in unison as he does it over and over again. “Iii”, you whimper feeling your toes curl. “I’m right behind you”, he grunts, “fucking cum”. And you do just that, legs shaking as you try to push him away but his relentless sharp thrusts keep you pinned to the mattress. And the moment you feel the ropes of his cum painting your walls you swear you’re coming once again, arching off the mattress as he lazily thrust into you, watching you shaking beneath him.

“Good girl”, he brushes your hair away from your face, “Did you cum again?”, he’s smirking but you can’t even give him shit as you nod, still seeing black dots. “From me cuming inside?”, he chuckles, fingers reaching between you two, gathering bits of the mess you two made. “Suck them clean baby”, he pushes his fingers between your lips, you moan as you lap it up, hooded eyes watching him. “Don’t worry, I will help you”, he kisses your breast before moving between your legs.

Ivy

He was hard the moment you had put that sun dress on. He couldn’t help it you looked too good in it. The dent in his pants getting more and more uncomfortable as he watched you chatting with some other girls. Yeah, he hated this fucking party. He wanted to be back home between the sheets with you. “I can’t do this”, he grunted against your ear as you giggled walking through the crowd with him. “A couple more hours”, you promised and he swears time never went so slow. He’s standing up the moment the first person says they are going home. Pulling at your hand as he waves his friend goodbye.

“You’re so horny”, you chuckle as he opens the door to his car for you. “Tell me about it”, ivy grumbles, “Major blue balls now”. You can’t help but chuckle watching him angrily starting his car. “Give me your hand”, you whisper. “I can’t do cute hand holding now, yn”, he grunts yet his fingers still find yours. You know it’s insane. You’ve never do shit like this. But it’s late, the road is clear, you’re outside the city, and the road to the main road is still far ahead. So you dip his hand between your legs. His head snaps to you instantly, his fingers finding nothing but your warm wet pussy. “You didn’t”, he grunts, “eyes on the road”, you warn him. But he just turns the car slightly before slamming the brakes. “Out”, he orders. “What are you…”, “Out, yn, don’t fucking play with me baby”, he grunts and you watch him undoing his belt. You hop out, as he pulls the back seat door open before pushing you down against the leather. “You’re misbehaving, love”, he says through gritted teeth as he pushes his pants and boxers down. “No bra too”, you whisper, pulling the elastic material down, nipples hardening instantly against the coolness of the night. “Fuck me, women”, he growls, pulling your hips closer to him as lines himself against you without warning. And it’s something you two had never done before. It doesn’t even hit you that you two are raw dogging in the back of his car because you are way too worked up and fuck does it feel good. “Ivy”, you cry out as he snaps his hips into you, the car rocking with the movement. “You’re such a tease”, he grunts, spiting against his palm before moving to circle your clit. The sounds that leave your lips are primal, fingers pulling at his shirt sending buttons flying. The windows are foggy by now. You two aren’t even able to form sentences both two lost at the feeling before the string snaps and suddenly you’re filled with so much warmth. Ropes of ivy cum sending shock waves through your system. He braces himself against the arch of the door, lazily thrusting into you. Before his hips halt.

“Shit baby, I came… I came inside you”, and suddenly there’s pure panic on his face. As he reaches for his phone pulling the flash on as if maybe he had just imagined it but what he’s met is a mess on his leather seat, cum oozing out of your puffy lips. “Fuck”, “it’s okay, come here”, you pull at his hand, throwing his phone to the front seat. “Yn, this.. I'm sorry”, he whispers into the dark, “don’t be, on birth control remember”, you whimper, “fuck me one more time before we go”, “yn”, he grunts, “Maybe bent over the hood so I could drip over your car”, you bite your lip trying to suppress a chuckle as ivy lets out a breathy moan, “You’ll be dripping cum for weeks after im done with you”.

[jinxsequin]

hiii!!! was wondering if you could write like a modern!au w powder/jinx, maybe them in uni?

ALIGHT ✧.*ೃ

| modern au!powder x fem!reader

| wc: 6.5k

| content/warnings: uni/college au, men dni, brief mention of violence (?) unintentional, fluff, kissing, mentions of anxiety & alcohol, maybe ooc powder, slightly weirdly paced writing, caitvi mentioned (couldn't help myself sorry), reader referred to as a girl, no mention of y/n, r & powder are both losers <3

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Begrudgingly trekking down to the floors of the flat to escape the deafening sounds of the fire alarm, you joined the others on the field who had actually bothered getting out in the dead of the night for what was definitely the 5th practice alarm of the month. You’d almost not given in, the warmth your blankets had provided you too precious to lose. But the blaring of the alarm was unforgiving, and despite your efforts to block it out, the damage had been done - you were awake. 

You stumbled clumsily onto the field, slippers being your swift choice of footwear was beginning to prove ineffective. The mix of people murmuring in the dark,  complaining, some yawning hit your ears as you struggled to navigate the crowd of bodies. The field being pitch black wasn’t helping, but right as that thought had passed through your head, the blazing rays of a torchlight rendered you blind, the sight actually leaving your eyes for a solid minute. “Hey!,” you croaked out, squinting through the pain to see where it had come from. The culprit jumped in surprise, torch flying out of their hands and hitting the same affected eye with a whack. “OUCH,” was all you were able to yell, a hand instinctively clutched over the affected eye. As if the aching from the first incident hadn’t been enough, the throbbing pain pulsating in your eye now made you sure you were going to wake up with a nasty bruise.

“Oh fuck, I’m SO sorry, oh my god,” the voice of the offender rambled out, hands coming up to your shoulders in panic. Though the pain hadn’t subsided yet, you moved your hands from your eyes, opening them curiously to catch a glimpse of the owner of the voice. Your breath caught in your throat. Bright blue eyes flicked over your face, rosy lips turned down into a concerned frown. Choppy tresses the same colour as her alluring eyes, save for a singular pink streak, framed her freckled face. She was so breathtaking, the predicament you had found yourself in was slowly being forgotten.

“Hello, are you good? Do you need medical help?? Oh god, what have I done?” the panicked rambling forced you back to reality. 

“I’m-It’s fine. It was an accident,” you managed to huff out, her hands sliding away from your shoulder as she stepped back. Her gaze still ran over your face, thoroughly examining you with a guilt-ridden expression. Your right eye was still burning with pain, but you couldn’t even really be that mad at a face like that. Though, you did make a mental note not to ever bother acting accordingly with the fire drill again - leaving your bed had only caused an embarrassing interaction with a very attractive woman. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The girl wasn’t letting go easily, eyebrows drawn in concern as she observed you trying to play it off, admittedly failing. You wished the ground would just open up and swallow you, this whole spectacle reducing you to a mumbling mess.  

“I’m fine,” you forced yourself to speak with a cheer to your voice, facing the girl with a smile you prayed to whatever powers were listening was normal. “Look, doesn’t even hurt anymore,” you pulled your hand away from your face, instantly mentally facepalming for your choice of unconvincing words. The girl raised an eyebrow in incredulity, but nodded reluctantly. “I’m so, so sorry, again.” 

You chose not to speak, opting for a shake of your head and a tiny smile. As if the gods above had decided your suffering was finally enough, the guards of the building had given the green light, announcing it was safe for everyone to finally go back in. You sighed in relief, shuffling as quickly as you could to get back into your bed and pretend this was just a dream. 

Alas, your wish wasn’t granted - when you got in the elevator packed with several other people, who should at the last second sliver through the metal doors but the same blue-haired charmer from before. Her eyes briefly flashed in recognition as she took her spot besides you. Not daring to look, you watched out of the corner of your eye as she looked you up and down, a small smirk on her lips at your bear-covered pyjamas. You closed your eyes abruptly, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Your cheeks burned, and you swore you heard a faint giggle from her as she caught sight of it. Motherfucker. 

As soon as the elevator dinged, you hurried out, your room suddenly not being close enough. You finally reached it, hastily pulling your keys out to unlock the door. 

“Oh hey, would you look at that,” the voice spoke cheerfully. You whipped around to meet the mischievous eyes of the girl standing in front of the room right across from you. “Looks like we’re neighbours, pretty girl!”

Your eyes widened at the boldness of the nickname. “Goodnight,” you uttered simply, pretending to ignore her taunting chuckle in response as you turned around and slammed the door behind you. You crashed onto the bed, throwing off your slippers and burrowing your head in the pillow. That was definitely a dream. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

It was most definitely not a dream. The morning after, the remnants of the impact ached, but for the most part you were unscathed. You shook off any distracting thoughts of the girl from last night, setting about having a productive day catching up with university work you’d been procrastinating. It was nearing the end of the afternoon when the knock came on your door. You looked up from your laptop screen, scanning your phone for any texts. None, and when any of your friends came over they always dropped a text beforehand to let you know. Your hands found your temples, massaging to alleviate the aching. Maybe attempting to study with the pain wasn’t the best idea, you thought as you stared hard at the door, as if willing hard enough would make the person behind it go away. It wouldn't - they knocked twice again, slightly louder this time. You sighed in relent and crossed the room, opening the door to whoever was behind. 

And who else was it but the girl who’d plagued your thoughts all night. “You,” you breathed out, staring in surprise. You hadn’t meant to sound so contemptuous, regretting it when the girl’s confident gaze faltered for a second. She quickly recovered, holding up a plate. “Hi. I made cupcakes,” she grinned, gaze steadily scanning your face. 

You stood back, wordlessly inviting her in, not knowing what else to do. She looked around for a place to put them, deciding your desk would do. She turned back to you watching her actions curiously, then moved towards you quickly. You barely held in your yelp of surprise as her cool hands came up to your face, fingers running under the skin underneath your eye. Your eyes fixed on her concentrated gaze, struggling to get any protest out, the proximity striking you dumb. “What are you doing…” you finally stumbled out, voice just a tone above a light whisper. She stepped back abruptly, hands dropping to her sides as she smiled nervously. “Thank god, toots, no damage done. How are you feeling?” 

Your hand briefly ghosted over where her hands had just been. You’d already thoroughly examined the injured area in the mirror the moment you’d woken up, thankfully no mark had been left somehow. You shot her a look as she flopped down onto your bed, looking up at you expectedly. Resigning, you joined her on your bed, facing her. 

“I’m completely fine,” your gaze flicked over to the sweet treat she’d set down on your desk, “thanks for the cupcakes though, you didn’t have to do all that,” replying genuinely. She smiled amusedly, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “Consider it an apology.” You returned her smile, the thoughtful gesture was a complete contradiction of her feigned nonchalance. 

“So what’s all this,” she was holding a page of your dog-eared meticulously taken notes, trying to make out the words scribbled across it. 

You rolled your eyes at her antics, “well I was studying.”

“Oh! What do you study?”

“Psychology,” you answered, shuffling the notes out of her reach, all plans of studying disturbed. “You?”

“Mechanical engineering. Different worlds then, huh?” she mused amusedly, shifting her position so she sat with her shoulder to yours. 

“You could say that,” you replied, still not adjusted to how comfortable she had made herself next to you. The wildly different degrees and schedules answered your question of how you’d never seen her around despite how close she lived. But here she was, dropping into your room like you were best friends, and with cupcakes - not that you were ungrateful, just completely stumped.

She watched you closely, puffing her cheeks and blowing the air out as she figured out her next proposal. “So….what are we doing this evening?”

“We???” you shot back, though your lips curled up despite yourself. 

“Yes, we,” she rolled her eyes lightheartedly, getting off your bed and walking backwards towards the door, “be ready in 15 minutes. Gonna show you the best sight you’ve ever laid your pretty eyes on,” she sang out. 

“I don’t even know your name!” you called out. 

“It’s Powder!” her voice laughed back, voice fading as the door swung shut. You barely had time to process what had just occurred before you remembered the time limit she’d given you, pulling yourself to hurriedly get ready.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Ever since the day Powder had, by definition, dropped into your life, you’d become immeasurably close. Despite your slightly rocky start, from the night she’d shown you the hidden rooftop where you could observe the city’s twinkling lights for miles, you’d grown a bond that was undoubtedly unbreakable. 

Of course, it wasn’t immediate. Though you’d absolutely taken a liking to Powder, perhaps even from the moment she’d hit that torch over your eye - putting yourself out there wasn’t really a thing for you. You much preferred to stick to your own small circle of friends, the familiarity calming your nerves. But then Powder had come along, the very picture of candidness, spontaneity and openness - everything so unfamiliar it surprised you how much you craved more when you were apart. Though Powder was never away for too long. 

Thinking back to the first evening you’d hung out, how she had her head thrown back, laughing at something insignificant you’d said. Calming down and nudging your shoulder with hers, so casually throwing out “I think we’re going to be good friends, you know,” watching you as you stared back at her, smiling softly. She’d been so playful the entire evening, wary of your resistance, but you truly felt the genuinity her words conveyed for the first time that night and it set your body alight, enveloping your body in that warm fuzzy feeling you constantly seeked in her absence. If only she knew how open your heart had been towards her from the beginning, regardless of your anxious demeanour. 

You could barely remember a memory from the past six months that didn’t include her somehow, it was as if she’d become entwined with your very being. Library visits, movie nights, exploring a new place in town, concerts, occasional parties, everything was done with you by her side. Contrary to before, you found yourself saying yes to things that you’re sure would have astonished past you. Of course, she never pushed you to do things entirely out of your comfort zone, much preferring cuddling at your side staying in if the two of you weren’t up to something particularly adventurous. Powder was your greatest weakness, it was increasingly hard to do anything but agree with her. And your massive crush on her certainly didn’t ease that impulse. You’d, of course, been aware of that from the moment you laid eyes on her. Many times, you’d fallen victim to the false belief that it didn’t exist anymore, then she simply lean into your personal space with her charming grin and the truth would come crashing down on you once again. You’d reached a point of acceptance now, convincing yourself you were content with how things were. Admittedly, though you’d definitely consider each other your best friends respectively, somewhere the line between friendship and the unknown had become fuddled, and you were currently residing in the limbo that was characterised by fleeting, uncertain tension.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Powder lay sprawled out across your head, tossing something - likely one of your poor calico critters - in her hands, throwing it into the air and catching it repeatedly as you worked away at your desk. Summer break closely approaching unfortunately meant an influx of exams, and though Powder had already finished all of hers, you still had one left, the timing particularly cruel as the start of the holidays were only 2 days away, simmering on the horizon.

“When will you be done? I’m getting boooored over here with no attention,” she drawed the words out, haphazardly opening your bedside drawers. 

“The same answer you got when you asked last, you big baby,” you replied, flipping through your textbook. 

“Wrong answer!” Mimicking an incorrect buzzer sound. “C’mon, trinket, you’ve been studying for this one for weeks now. How about you give that brain of yours the rest it deserves?” She remarked, glancing at the back of your head as you exhaled softly. “And I mean that shit, you’ve been muttering study notes in your sleep.”

“I have absolutely not,” you turned around in your chair abruptly, wide-eyed. Powder simply raised an eyebrow in response, teasing grin on her face, and you turned back round, resting your forehead on your hands.

“Okay, you’re right,” you spoke, your voice muffled. “One more page.” Powder huffed at that, but counted it as a win ultimately. 

“Also, I’ve witnessed you, with my own two eyes, do chemistry problems for fun, I don’t wanna hear it,” you teased back, straightening up in your seat. 

“Touché, toots.” She closed the drawer, glancing around the bedroom she’d grown accustomed to curiously, before sitting up and staring at the back of your head again.

“Why haven’t you packed up? Leaving it to the last minute doesn’t sound very much like you,” she asked, face scrunched up in confusion. 

You paused in your seat at that, pen frozen in its place. You didn’t dare turn around for fear of being read instantly, a power Powder had annoyingly acquired very early on into your friendship.

“I’m not going home,” you simply replied, picking up your pen again and hovering it over the page, though your train of thoughts had long dissipated. 

Powder’s question as to why stopped in her throat, the memory of you mentioning your complicated family situation flashing quickly through her head. She simply nodded though your back was still turned, tinged with guilt at bringing up bad memories for you unintentionally. 

“Well, there’s one big final party tomorrow, the night after your exam,” she spoke up again after a few beats of silence, the question hanging in the air.

You turned around to face her, your turn to raise an eyebrow at her lightheartedly.

“Way to end this year with a bang?” she practically pleaded, “I live all the way across the country, this’ll probably be the last thing we do before we come back for next year.”

The thought hadn’t even had the chance to cross your head before this, and hearing it now from her made something in your chest twist a little. The next few months without being attached to Powder at the hip were going to be surreal to say the least, a wave of the imminent loneliness crashing over you as you sat before her now. You managed a small smile, meeting her anticipating gaze. “Sure, Pow.” 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

To say parties were not your forte was an understatement, but the buzz of the shot you’d taken 10 minutes ago was starting to hit you now as you downed another. Powder had been swept into conversation with a few friends that greeted you cheerfully and roped you into their chat, very familiar with you at this point, but the lack of alcohol in your system was beginning to make you doubtful about being here in the first place. So you’d slithered away, making your way into the kitchen, taking in the surroundings, people packed into every corner, the bass of the music matching the beat of your heart, the bloodstream running through your veins. 

“Sulking in a corner so early in? Can’t have that, toots, can we?” came Powder’s voice, a lilt in her tone as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing her face close to yours so you’d hear her over all the noise.

“Are you forgetting I sat an exam this very morning, and still made it here?” you remarked playfully. 

“Oh shit, yeah,” Powder’s expression quickly turned serious, concern flickering over her face though your words had been lighthearted. She hadn’t had a chance to ask about it, getting ready before arriving had only consisted of excited chatter. “How did that go?” 

You shook your head in response, “let’s not,” you whined lightly.

“My brave soldier. I’m proud of you,” Powder’s grin reached her eyes. You made a face at her words though the giggle escaping your throat betrayed you as you picked up a third shot. Powder’s eyes widened slightly. 

“And tipsy already, without me???” she said mock-exasperatedly.

You shrugged slightly. She was exaggerating, she’d taken a couple when you’d first arrived, but the effect hit you a lot sooner than it did her. 

“You were pretty busy over there,” you opted for, and raised the glass to your lips. Powder’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a second before swiftly taking the glass out of your grip, holding it to her own lips and tipping her head back slightly as she drained the glass. That fuzzy feeling intensified as you watched in awe, eyes unblinking as the heat of her shoulder wrapped around you suddenly became too much to bear. 

“Dance?” She abruptly asked, a hint of a light smirk on her lips.

“Dance?” you quizzed back, incredulously, though that glint in her blue eyes told you she was serious, determined to get her way. 

“Oh come on, you won’t refuse me a dance will you, when we’ll be apart for so long,” she replied, a hand draped against her forehead dramatically.

“It’s not like we’re going off to war, Powder,” you shook her head at her antics, smiling widely. 

Powder snorted at your response, before wrapping her hand around yours, squeezing tightly as she led you through the packed crowds of people dancing wildly. 

Settling in your own space, she danced freely, the movements coming to her naturally as just about everything else did, in your eyes at least. You followed her movements, though the combination of alcohol and the heat from the close bodies was slowing you down significantly. The bleary feeling increased as the two of you continued, your head fuzzy from the shots and the loud bass music blaring through the speakers, Powder moving dangerously nearer. Somewhere in the haze, some emotional switch was turned on in your body, your heart twisting and writhing in your chest at the mere thought of being apart from her for just a second. How on earth would you survive months without her? Your movements slowed down to almost a halt as you were caught in a trance, watching as her blue tresses slipped free from her half pinned hairstyle, cheeks flushed, the signature charming grin spreading across her face as she wrapped her arms across your shoulders, pulling you into her. 

The sudden contact broke you out of your haze, nervously chewing at your lower lip as your gaze ran over Powder’s suddenly very fixated stare. Her eyes dropped down to your lips at your involuntary action, staying there for a beat before they looked up to meet yours, though you were mirroring her action, glancing at her rosy lips before darting up to meet her questioning eyes. She held your gaze for what seemed like a painstakingly long amount of time, wordlessly searching for an answer before you nodded desperately. You met her halfway as she closed the distance, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that seemed to speak a thousand unsaid words. You reciprocated immediately, any previous expectation of this moment crumbling away beyond comparison as she tightened her grip on the back of your head, pushing you even deeper into her embrace. When you eventually parted, her eyes immediately met yours, attempting to read you but you wrapped your arms around her hastily, deciding the vulnerability was too much, hiding your face in her shoulder. She held you tighter, the touch a middle ground between intense and tender, all thoughts of the implications and consequences melting away. The way she was holding you made such things feel so insignificant, as if nothing mattered outside of where you were right now.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

The coloured scenes of Fantastic Mr. Fox reflected off the white walls of Powder’s bedroom as you fixed your gaze on the screen of the TV, currently pressed into her side as her arm lay casually across your shoulders, fingers occasionally lightly tapping your arm, betraying her current nerves. It was the day after the party, and though what had occurred hadn’t been brought up by either of you, the weight of it lingered like a brewing thunderstorm after a heatwave. When you'd got the text from Powder asking you to swing by, you'd paced your bedroom several times, worried that the topic would be what had transpired the night before. It wasn't, she had just asked because it was the last night she'd be here, set to leave early the next morning. The air was still charged, you’d both somehow silently agreed to not acknowledge it, you personally attributing a lot of it to the fact that today was the last day before summer break. The bags and half packed suitcase strewn across the floor of the room was a constant reminder of what was looming on the horizon, but you tried your best to ignore the surge of emotion and focus on right now, the feeling of Powder’s arm around you. You felt sick at the thought that no matter how much you both pretended nothing happened, or that it was a drunken, spontaneous action not holding any meaning, that blurry line of your connection had spiralled out of control, and that nothing would ever be quite the same.

The sound of Powder calling your name broke you out of your brain spiral, focusing your attention back on to the movie playing. You hummed in response, assuming it was another observational comment on the movie. 

“Come with me.” You whipped your head away from the screen and turned to Powder, finding her already staring at you, eyes wide with her objective. “Come home with me,” she repeated when you stared in silence.

“Pow, what do you mean? I can’t do-”

“I’ve already talked about it to my family. I don't want you to be here alone for the rest of the holidays,” she quickly cut you off, rambling. 

“You don’t need to pity me, and I don’t want to be a burden,” you replied, heart in your throat. 

Powder shook her head, eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re not a burden,” she replied firmly, “and it’s not pitying. I want you to come home with me.”

The words caught in your throat at her response, the surge of sentiment washing over you at her sheer generosity. “Thank you, Powder. I appreciate this, so much,” you settled, smiling softly though anxiously hoping at the same time she understood how genuine your thankfulness to her was.

Powder breathed out as if in relief, before shooting you a small smile. “I’m so glad.” She paused, laughing at something in her head. “I am gonna have to warn you about my sister though…”

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

The drive back to Powder’s hometown had been pleasant, though long. The music from the stereo played quietly throughout, sometimes you’d pass conversation back and forth but for the most part you watched your surroundings or slept, absolutely exhausted from having stayed up the entire night before, hurriedly packing your things and making rearrangements.

“It’s like you’re moving in,” Powder had remarked teasingly when she saw the amount of stuff you’d packed. 

“It’s called being prepared, we don’t all live as spontaneously as you,” you’d retorted back lightheartedly, while she began loading the bags into the car, insisting she could do it all by herself.

The nerves that had been building along the journey melted away the moment you’d stepped into the home. Vander, Powder’s adoptive dad, had hugged her immediately upon sight as she yelped playfully, her coat not even fully removed. “You’ve gotten taller since I’ve seen you kid,” he jested when he stepped back.

“It’s always the same joke with you every time, old man,” she’d quipped back, biting back the laugh as her gaze shifted to you at the side watching the interaction fondly.  A nervous expression flashed across her face briefly before she took the chance to introduce you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you finally spoke up, smiling. Vander paused for a second before copying the same action from before, hugging you too. 

“Nice to meet you too, kid.” He tapped your shoulder, smiling. “Heard a lot about ya.”

You finally felt at peace, all worrying thoughts of somehow making a bad impression vanishing the longer you conversed with Vander and Silco, who had joined the three of you for dinner in honour of Powder’s return for the summer break. The best part was being able to watch Powder so at home with them, alternating between serious conversation and jesting. She was so loved and content, the warmth spreading and seeping into your bones, that fuzzy feeling making you feel fulfilled again. 

Once the post-dinner spectacles were over and the exhaustion began to take over, Powder had showed you up to the bedroom you would become familiar with over the break. You were currently going over the funniest moments of the evening, stifling your giggles in fear of waking anyone up as you entered the room. 

“Well, it is a pretty ridiculous story after all,” you laughed as Powder flopped onto the bed, tossing a monkey plushie off the side as she patted the space beside her, beckoning you. You were referring to Silco’s reaction when you were recalling the story of how you’d met and befriended each other, Vander shaking with laughter despite seemingly having heard the story already.

“I think it’s actually more ridiculous how quickly you let it go, actually,” she retaliated. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you replied, playfully punching her shoulder, “I just got…distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” she hummed as she leaned in closer to you, smirking, “so you’ll just let anyone hit you over the head with a torch as long as they have a pretty face?” 

“Only one,” you shot back, hoping she couldn’t hear how wildly your heart was beating underneath your confidence. 

Powder smiled at your unexpected response, watching as you broke the eye contact, choosing to sweep your eyes across the decorations lining her room. “I thought I’d screwed it up, you know, I’d seen you around a few times before that.” You looked back at her, eyebrows furrowed together as you were about to question what she’d meant, but she shifted on the bed, moving to lay under the duvet cover.

“I’m sorry about this room,” she spoke up, suddenly feeling insecure about her younger self’s taste. 

“Don’t, I love it,” you breathed out, smiling fondly as you gazed at all the sheer amount of decorations and trinkets that lined almost every surface of her room, paper stars dangling from the ceiling, imagining teen Powder adorning the room with them.

She smiled tiredly, lifting the duvet cover so you could join her. “Thank you so much for this again, Powder, you didn’t have to do this,” you said, eyes slowly losing the fight to stay open as you settled under the covers next to her, meeting her gaze. 

“How many times, toots, I wanted to. Besides, I don’t think I would have survived break without you anyway,” she joked, though her grin was genuine. “I thought today might be a lot for you, so I tried to break it up a little,” she huffed out a laugh, though you picked up on her nerves as you listened attentively. “Vi and her girlfriend Cait invited us out tomorrow, though only if you’re okay with that,” she looked to you, gaze shifting from where she’d been fidgeting with her fingers. 

“Powder,” you lay your hand lightly above her fingers, stilling the movement, “I love your family. Of course I’m okay with that.” 

She moved her hand so her fingers were interlaced with yours, squeezing them together. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Your pulse was still racing when you laid down later to finally sleep, back faced to Powder’s back in your usual sleeping position. You squeezed your eyes shut as if to will yourself to calm down and actually sleep ahead of tomorrow, Powder on the other side of the bed blissfully unaware of the effect she had on you. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

“And I think you’re going to really get along with Cait,” Powder was filling you in on details as you walked into the restaurant. You’d of course heard plenty of stories from Powder before, so none of this was new, but it was endearing how she rambled on in attempts to alleviate any anxious feelings. You simply nodded with a smile in response, watching as her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on the table where they had already taken a seat, waving briefly before turning to you. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you affirmed, welcoming the feeling of her hand wrapping around yours as you strolled towards the table. You watched as Powder greeted the two and vice versa, before their gazes shifted to you inquisitively. You introduced yourself, shaking your hand over the table as you and Powder took your seats across them. You passed conversation as you waited, already deciding you really liked them as the waiter made their way to the table.

“Well, it is certainly nice finally meeting the girlfriend, we’ve been convinced Powder was like, gatekeeping you from everybody or something,” Vi snorted as she raised her glass slightly. 

Cait’s head whipped to the side to shoot Vi a sharp look as Powder melted into a mess beside you, though you hadn't noticed a single thing, your hearing having left you after the word ‘girlfriend’. You tried your best to compose yourself, you’d been midway through a sip of your drink when Vi had unexpectedly piped up, the choking sound that had left your mouth particularly undignified - and you were now miserably aware of the waiter to the side cluelessly asking you if you were ready to order. Powder glanced at you, then pointed at two random things on the menu in despair, words similarly failing her.

Vi watched the scene in confusion, eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment as Cait took over the ordering before turning back to you with an entertained grin. The look on Vi's face was so similar to Powder’s, it took everything in you to hold back from bursting into laughter at the comparison.

“In other words, we’re both very glad to meet you. Any friend of Powder’s is a friend of yours,” she spoke genuinely. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard so much about you both,” you smiled back. 

“All good things, I hope!” Vi finally chimed in. You simply shrugged playfully in response, though you swore you heard Powder mutter something about ‘not after this’ under her breath. 

You waited for a pause in the conversation before leaning closer to Powder, letting her know you were just going to the bathroom quickly. She nodded, getting up so you could make your way out. She gripped your wrist just as you were about to leave, making you turn back to look at her questioningly. 

“Please, don’t leave me with them for too long,” she whispered desperately. You snickered lightly in response, promising you wouldn’t before leaving. 

“For their sake,” she added under her breath as she sat back in her seat, shooting a scowl at Vi across the table.

“What the fuck was that about before??” Vi blurted out, gaze alternating between Cait and Powder confusedly.

“She hasn’t asked that question yet,” Caitlyn responded, amused as she watched Powder groan frustratedly into her hands. 

“WHAT? Are you kidding? How??” Vi shot out exasperatedly. 

“They haven’t talked about it yet,” Caitlyn replied, a giggle escaping her lips as the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation. 

“Yes, we don’t all move as fast as you guys,” Powder snarked, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Okay, that’s nonsense - you said you were going to ask for her number before you ended up hitting her eye,” Caitlyn teased in retaliation. 

“I told you that in confidence!”

“You told us you both already kissed too!” 

“Hold on, hold on, there’s way too much too much to unpack here,” Vi clutched at her head, “and why do you know way more than me about this?” She turned to Caitlyn quizzically. 

“Right, stalker,” Powder narrowed her eyes playfully. 

“I prefer observant,” she shrugged, before pointing a finger at Powder, “besides, you told me all this over call plenty of times.”

“You just had to open your mouth, sis,” Powder huffed out, though there was no bite in her voice as she shot Vi her 100th glare.

“Put it this way, Pow, I just made things a whole lot easier for you,” Vi smirked as Powder looked around the restaurant, eyes landing on you as you emerged and began to walk back to the table. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

“Are you kidding?? That’s so many plans, I’m barely going to have you to myself at this point,” Powder grumbled playfully, laying her head on your shoulder as you both sat propped up against her pillows. Caitlyn and Vi had made an array of plans to hang out over the summer, you’d hit it off very successfully with them and the thought of winning the approval of Powder’s loved ones warmed your chest as you chuckled at her protest.

“You’re going to be there for all of them, Pow,” you rolled your eyes as you shook your head. 

“This was their plan all along, trust me,” Powder sighed though she was smiling too as her gaze fixated on your face. She was similarly delighted at how well you’d all got along, her heart warming at the thought. You continued your idle chatter, both waiting for the sleepiness to wash over you. 

“And Vi totally cheated in that last round - there’s no way she got a strike all of a sudden,” Powder snickered, still salty over the two of you losing to Cait and Vi in your impromptu bowling game. 

“Sure, Pow,” you giggled, “we’ll get ‘em next time,” you said, stifling a small yawn. Powder’s eyes flickered at the action, pulling your arm to lay down properly. 

“That’s enough, toots, time to sleep!”

“I’m not tired, I wanted to talk more,” you whined sleepily, though you let her tug you down next to her. 

“As much as I want to, we have all the time to do that. You need to sleep right now, I have more stuff planned for us tomorrow and I don’t want you to be grumpy for it,” she smiled amusedly as she faced you, lying down. You pouted mockingly in response, her simply tapping your cheek lightly before turning around. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, giving in as you turned around too. The events of the evening ran back through your head as you closed your eyes. Your mind drifted off to the fiasco before you left the table, her memory lighting up the bulb in your head as you’d almost completely forgotten it. You stifled a giggle, reminiscing as you heard Powder’s soft breathing from behind you. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” you spoke quietly into the silence, unable to hold yourself back. You’d said it teasingly, not expecting a response - and it didn’t look like you were going to get one, taking the silence as an indication that the girl beside you had already fallen asleep. You froze as the sheets ruffled as Powder sat up in the bed, looking down at you wordlessly. You mimicked her movement, sitting up next to her as you turned to face her. You were expecting a smirk, her usual confident steady gaze, anything but the vulnerable, anxious look painting her face as she fought herself to keep eye contact with you. 

“I was going to ask you soon, I swear, I just didn’t know if you felt the same, but then we kissed but we didn’t talk about it and-” she rambled breathlessly, words spewing out uncontrollably. Your hand placed on her cheek stopped her train of thoughts briefly, gaze dropping from your hand back to your eyes. Your face flushed furiously, the beat of your heart threatening to spin out of your chest altogether as you nodded slightly. 

“I wanted to kiss you long before that, I just wasn’t sure…” she carried on, words stumbling out now. 

“Powder,” you stopped her going on another anxious rant, her eyes fixated on you as you spoke, “I’ve felt the same since the first time we met,” you confessed softly. 

“I’ve been plotting on you since I first laid eyes on you,” Powder managed out, grinning back at you. Her gaze flitted between your lips and your eyes as you leaned in closer to her apprehensively. 

“Are you going to stop talking and kiss me already?” you laughed, teasing. 

Powder didn’t waste a second before closing the remaining distance between you, her soft lips working against yours as if they’d been made for this very purpose, smiling into the kiss as you tugged her closer by the hand still cupping her face. She snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against her as she deepened the kiss. The first time had been great, but God if this didn’t feel a thousand times better, unrestricted, the uncertainty and intolerable tension vanquished - and both of your feelings reciprocated. It set your very insides alight as you pulled back for air, briefly, before you were pulled back in, Powder pressing kiss after kiss to your lips as if to make up for lost time. It was much later in the night when you lay down to finally sleep, Powder’s heart steadily beating pressed to your back as her arms held you tight, close to her. She pressed a sleepy final kiss to the crown of your head before finally closing her eyes, content enough to stay like this forever with you in her hold. As you were both finally drifting off, she suddenly opened her eyes, as if remembering something urgent. 

“I didn’t even ask the question!”

You snorted, turning around in her arms to press a kiss to her cheek. “Yes, I will be your girlfriend, you absolute dork.”

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

a/n: first req done !! hopefully met your expectations though this was definitely supposed to be a drabble i just got entirely carried away <3 also wrote this when i have two exams to be studying for (guess my degree!) calico critters are actually called sylvanian families in europe, but i figured barely anyone would know what i was talking abt 😭 anyways enjoy, pls let me know ur thoughts and feel free to send more requests ♡

(gifs by cafekitsune)

[kumkaniudaku]

Askew

Summary: Terry makes good on a promise.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SMUT (18+)

Previous: At Last: Part Two

“I’m gonna fuck the glasses off your face tonight. Okay?” 

A simple sentence. No fanfare. No lingering touch or a suggestive look. Not even a repeat of his matter-of-fact declaration despite the words nearly being lost to the pockets of conversation in Corey’s kitchen during a rowdier than usual Friendsgiving gathering. Terry calmly whispered the plain statement into Patrice’s ear as he passed by on the way out of the door to join the other men in the backyard. 

Patrice tried to appear unphased while she sipped from her plastic cup of white wine. “Now?”

“I’ll let you know.” 

He’d made up his mind to have her babbling incoherent sentences while he bent her over the living room couch before they could make it out of the house, but holding in his little secret had proven difficult. Terry wished he could blame it on the tequila shots or the haze of weed smoke blown out of mouths far too federally employed to still be dabbling with the plant. Either would be an acceptable lie because the truth was too trivial to share. It was the North Carolina A&T crew neck and black cat-eye glasses Patrice had chosen to sport for the night. His mind dreamt up all the times he’d missed her studying for exams in the sweater a hair too large, and glasses that made her look like a professor during office hours while she bounced around the room making small talk with people he hardly recognized. His social butterfly moving her lips a mile a minute when all he wanted to do was feel those lips on every square inch of his body.

Terry needed her in the worst way. The bathroom might’ve sufficed. Maybe even the backseat of his truck. But neither option provided the sound insulation he needed to fulfill his raging desire. He’d need the privacy of their home and a TV turned all the way up to avoid disturbing the neighbors. 

The signal to leave came with a quick tap on Patrice’s hip in the middle of a spirited talk with her best friend, Vicky, about something he couldn’t care less about. 

“I guess that’s my cue, girl,” Patrice laughed, trying to play her role as the chatty wife being called away by her quiet husband. “Talk to you later?” 

Their exit featured hurried goodbyes and promises to return for the Christmas game night that they likely wouldn’t remember come daylight. Hands fumbled with keyfobs and door handles in their mad dash to somewhere a little more secluded. Blue lights from the dashboard reflected from Patrice’s glasses as they made out in front of their childhood friend’s house like maniacs, too intoxicated with lust to care if someone saw them from the open front door. 

One hand on the steering wheel and the other middle and ring fingers deep in warm pussy had Terry breaking speed limits and running stop signs to turn a twenty-minute journey into ten if he were lucky. 

They didn’t waste time with light switches or picking up discarded clothing on the clumsy journey to the bedroom. A split second of clarity told Terry to flip on the lamp as Patrice made the descent to his dick one sloppy kiss on his chest and stomach at a time. 

“What you got for me?” 

More than he’d bargained for should’ve been the answer had she taken the time to use her mouth for anything more than making his muscled thighs tense like he’d been tased. 

With a pillow folded between her legs while she lay on her stomach and eyes looking up at Terry over the rim of her spectacles, Patrice put on an oral demonstration fit for a professional. Her glasses fogged from the cold air and steamy situation unfolding on their marital bed. 

The corners of her mouth stinging from the stretch of him and the ache building in her core kept her tethered to reality when she wanted to escape into the pleasure of seeing her man so vulnerable from her touch. 

He hissed and cursed as she ran a flat tongue on the underside of his dick. “Fuck, girl. I knew I’d get all of this up out you one day. Damn…” 

Gobbsmacked. Astounded. Sucked into oblivion. Terry had transcended time and space once Patrice made a home for him at the back of her throat over and over again. Spit coated her hands, chin, and his lap while she focused on leaving him too stupefied to utter anything that had more than one syllable. She could’ve swiped every dollar from his wallet, bank account, and retirement fund and he’d still thank her for inviting him into her mouth. 

Low groans and rough requests for more sounded like applause as Patrice went to work on her lover. His approach to the mountaintop matched hers as she desperately searched for friction from the pillow below her. 

“Hell yeah, like that, baby. You know what you doin’. Shit.” Praise came in heeps. Her silk press had long turned into reigns for Terry to keep her head stable. Tears mixed with saliva for extra lubrication. She looked gorgeous under amber light to her husband. 

Up and down, up and down. Take it. Gargle it down. Breathe through your nose. Looping mantras played in her head as he took control to finish what she’d started.  

His release came in a photo finish. His toes curled from pure ecstasy. Body seized up in beautiful suspension, each bulging muscle in his arms and torso on display. Head thrown back to direct his loud moan to the ceiling. Eyeballs rolled behind fluttering lids. Kids drained down the hatch, never to reach their full potential. 

She cleaned up the remnants with her tongue, splitting her attention between Terry and the building orgasm as she swiveled her hips against firm cotton. He stared down at her, taking in the way her jaw dropped to form that ‘o’ he loved so much. Her brow furrowed once her teeth took hold of her bottom lip. 

“That feel good to you, baby?” 

“Mhmm.” Patrice tried to give a more accurate description of her mind state. All she could manage was a slurred hum in the affirmative while he watched her unravel at the seams without his help. 

“Show me. I wanna watch.” 

And watch he did. Dick in hand and back pressed against the headboard, Terry used his refractory period to watch Patrice turn his pillow into her personal fuck toy. Her hips bucked slowly under his attention while she searched for her first eruption. 

His stroke matched her movements blow for blow while she admired her lone audience member. Siren eyes and a confident smirk, hands kneading bountiful breasts, and his name rolling from her lips kept him engrossed in her one-woman show. 

The inevitable approached like a crashing wave against a calm shore. “Let me cum for you, Terrence. Can I do that? Tell me.” 

Patrice knew the trouble she’d started. Using his first name, and asking for permission, it was all to elicit the reaction Terry so eagerly provided. He scrambled to his knees for the chance to hover over her with his forehead pressed so tightly against hers that they shared pools of sweat. 

Intense blue-green eyes peered down at her, wordlessly edging her closer to paradise. 

“Nuh uh, eyes up here,” Patrice instructed when the view of quaking thighs and waxed lower lips became too distracting for Terry. “Tell me when, my love. I’m all yours.” 

Her voice climbed, sounding like a symphony to his ears. He waited and watched until she met the brink of too much stimulation. “Now. Right now.” 

A rush of emotions forever intertwining two bodies flowed between them through a kiss dominated by silky tongues and Patrice’s swallowed mewls. Terry had perfected the art of kissing. Knowing when to suck at her bottom lip, when to wrap his large hand around Patrice’s throat to keep her head angled upward, and when to pull away for other pursuits. 

Normally, hickeys were childish evidence of adult activities, but tonight they were trophies for a job well done. 

“I love you so much.” Even in furious fucking where feelings took a backseat to more carnal desires, Terry refused to miss an opportunity to utter his favorite phrase. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart’s content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. “I love the way you sound.” 

“What else?” 

A lick up her sternum before a kiss. “I love the way you say my name.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love your body. You’re perfect.” An open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck as he gripped her waist. “I love the way you take dick. Especially tonight. Think you can take some more for me, pretty?”

Like a magnet, Terry’s fingers found their way to Patrice’s slick inner lips as he gathered wetness to drag skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle with his lips pressed against her cheek. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Terry didn’t say much. It wasn’t his nature. Only short, honey-sweet directions for Patrice to press her chest to crumpled sheets and spread her knees wide. He made it so easy to comply. So easy to contort herself into any position he wanted because she knew what awaited her on the other side. 

He had her at his mercy. Her sat ass high up in the air with her flower on display from a gloriously deep arch. Terry felt an animalistic switch flip to remind him of his promise. Pupils dilated and reinvigorated by the lewd image manifesting at his fingertip, he went to work. 

A relentless pounding. Punishing strokes that made the bed creak from the stress of it all. The sheer force knocked Patrice’s glasses askew without an opportunity for adjustment. She could only claw at the foot of the bed and push her hips back into his to match the rhythm. 

The sound of smacking skin and mixed moans created a soundtrack for rabid, desperate fucking. His thumbs left impressions on the delicate skin of her back, turning his knuckles white as he dug deeper. 

Patrice took every inch like only she could, earning a rough smack as appreciation. 

“That’s my girl,” Terry gritted through clenched teeth. “Stay with me. I feel you.” 

It was all too much. The angle. The vision of Terry’s chest clenching and releasing for exertion as Patrice looked back at him. The way his brows knitted in concentration. The scent of his cologne wafted with every move. His tattoos glistened under dim lights.

“Oh my God!” 

Early sparks of a white-hot release turned Patrice into putty, forcing Terry to hold her close. 

One hand between her legs and the other putting soft pressure on the sides of her neck kept Patrice and Terry tethered on their quest for joint waves.

“I love you.” 

“I need you.” 

“You feel so good inside me.” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

“Cum for me.”

Terry sank his teeth into Patrice’s shoulder as she clenched around him, no longer able to contain himself inside her. Shared euphoria. A once in a blue moon experience that neither of them had encountered. 

Moans became indistinguishable. Eyelids clamped shut as hips sputtered. Glasses tumbled from the bed to the floor, having served their purpose. Bodies wrapped themselves around the other until they were spent, toppled over, and basking in the feel of each other. 

“Good job, baby.” Terry praised, his voice soothing her mind while his hands rubbed the peaks and valleys of Patrice’s hips and thighs while they lay on their sides. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out, too engrossed in the subtle aftershocks deep inside her body. “You okay? Talk to me.”

Patrice breathed out a delirious laugh as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I can’t see! I can’t believe you fucked me blind. You’re insane.” 

“How much time you got tonight? I got some shit I been wanting to do to you for a long time.” 

“Like what?” 

Whispers of new positions and marathon lovemaking made the hairs on her arms stand at attention. A second promise had entered the mix. 

They’d make a baby or spend the rest of the night and into the morning trying. 

---

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[monkebearness]

A Cold Summer Fling

Lynn (tripleS) x Male Reader

Tags: smut, angst, (light) fluff, heartbreak, first love, fling

Word count: 9.5k

a/n: this one is more on the angst side, so it may or may not be for you. regardless, if you do wanna give it a try, I hope you like it.

Neither of them knew how he’d reached this point. They did, but the ‘why’ still keeps on running in his mind while Junghoon has his arms wrapped around Lynn’s waist as they lie down on the couch, staring in front of the television playing a music show in the past half an hour. Idols dancing has never been his most favorite content to watch in general, but he has always admired their singing, hard work, and overall talent.

Nuzzling her head on his chest, the woman turns to his direction. “Oppa.”

He looks down—seeing her face him—with an earnest and clueless smile. “Hmm?”

“I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but we have a performance coming up at the Summer Festival. If, uhh, you have the time—”

He hesitates for a second. “Of course! I’m sure that I have time to watch. Maybe I'll finally get to see what you and your crew have been cooking up for months.”

“Hmmm… I don't think it's too different from what you're seeing,” she teases him, her fingers delicately trailing from his chin down to chest. “Well, except for one thing.”

“What's that?” He entertains her suggestive cadence with his soft and suave delivery, his fingers trailing across her smooth shoulders to match the mood she’s setting up.

Her smile turns into a smirk, leaning closer. “Only you can touch me,” she whispers.

With a wide smile, the woman closes her eyes and lovingly leans her lips into Junghoon, which he welcomes as she turns the rest of her body around to face him, deepening the kiss while he tightens his arms around her, with his fingers trailing down her curves.

“I want it now, oppa,” she gasps in-between their kiss, holding his chin. “Please…”

“Of course,” he grunts as he continues taking over her mouth with his dominant tongue. 

With Lynn’s fingers ticking his crotch, excitement drives him to use one hand to slide off his joggers, unveiling his hog right before Lynn's eyes, further amplifying her excitement towards him in an instant. She quickly takes her skirt and panties off and gets up to sit on his lap. Their timing couldn’t have been better—sensing his cock erecting in almost an instant at the same time she takes off her top, revealing her plump breasts without a bra to hold them. With his salivating mouth, he prowls straight to her mounds, inciting a prolonged yelp that she can't contain. “Nggggghhh, so good… Fuck! Opp—augghhh...”

“Jamkkanman.” He parts from her breast, holding her hand. “I’ll just get a condom—”

“No need,” the woman piles her hand over his, her smile glowing with lust. “I'm safe tonight, oppa…” She leans closer to his cheek, giving it a cool lick before whispering. “Just do it.” next to his ear.

Within seconds, he aligns his member into her entrance without hesitation and struggle. Sliding in her tight hole. With his rod now inside throbbing her tight walls, a determined Junghoon holds onto Lynn’s hips and begins thrusting in and out of her. In seconds, his movements find Lynn's sweet spots, as he usually does. Hearing his sweet whispers, the woman can only respond to him through her growing moans, matching the movement of his robust rams with her smooth grinds. Until now, this act hasn't gotten any older, even though it’s what they’ve been doing almost every time they hang out here.

The woman’s nails dig through his skin, her grinds on his member intensifies with each second until her tits begin to bounce. “You're so… fucking goooo—auugghhhppa!” With such a spectacle in sight, Junghoon falls into the temptation of taking a second dip with his mouth, feeling the vibrations while sucking. “Su…ssugoi!” she howls out of the blue.

“W–what… is it?” he mutters, himself still powering through their strenuous movement while feeling the contrast of pleasure of his balls deep inside her at the same time. The woman can only giggle playfully—as if she’s lost all her sanity while being impaled.

The ticking of the clock and their skins sync to their ears. The woman looks up, gasping for air as her eyes roll back to the side. “I’m… I’m close!” she groans from the top of her lungs, closing her eyes and bracing herself for her own juices to slowly spurt out. At the same time, her thirst slowly forces her tongue to stick out, her jaw opening like a shark.

“Me too,” the man huffs, tightening his embrace around his partner while his mouth continues to nibble and suck on her neck, triggering a note that prolongs her moans while they maintain their movement with every powerful thrust against each other. Finding her own primal noises as harmonious to his lust-driven senses, Junghoon cannot help but relish by rewarding Lynn a sloppy kiss as their movements begin slowing down with their stamina.

With three more thrusts, Junghoon stops and shoots his load into Lynn’s womb while the latter squeals with jubilation with her back arched, unable to contain herself from basking in the wave of pleasure which is now transmitting across her quivering body.

They stay in place on the sofa, only left with a smile of satisfaction on their faces. Lynn lays her head on his shoulder, giggling, while Junghoon steals a kiss on her cheek. As they catch their breaths beside each other, the wall clock strikes nine in the evening.

After wearing her top once again, Lynn puts her panties back on as she gets up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen. “I’ll just have a glass of water. You want a glass too?”

“I’m good.” From his seat, Junghoon looks back at her. “But thanks, Lynn-ah.”

He reminisces about how he’s gotten to this point, with this wonderful woman beside him. He has promised to sleep over her place for the night, though he was hesitant to decline her offer at first. Needless to say, he’s quite glad that he didn't turn her down.

They’ve been seeing each other for three months, not long after Junghoon returned to the university campus after a year, although he wasn’t the only one who has made this decision in mind. He simply took advantage of the situation, and now, he’s reaped the fruits of his labor. For better or worse.

His eyes glance at the calendar on the wall, it’s already May. His graduation is coming up in less than a month. Slowly, his smile fades as his mind goes blank, but it will turn out to be a calm right before the thunderstorm of his misgivings has come flooding in.

= = =

Four months earlier, the campus of Seoul State University reopens after winter break. Tons of snow have accumulated on all of the building rooftops, yet that doesn’t stop students from reuniting with their buddies in this first week of classes of this new semester, especially the ones they haven't seen even before the long, cold break.

“You two have grown up so much!” Kotone coos each of her two friends with a quite melodramatic, motherly pitch. She pinches Honggi’s shoulder, before moving on to pinch Junghoon’s left cheek. “Aww… There’s not much I can pinch there anymore.”

Their hairs have grown inches since they first enlisted, still a few inches halfway to their usual look. Their overall body shape appears more ‘toned,’ as their posture is straighter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Junghoon politely pushed her touchy hands, although the sight of his friends warms his heart. “But, I gotta say, I am glad that we’re back with you guys.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Honggi places his palm on his shoulder. “But we’re mostly gonna be on our own for this year, bud. But again, I’m glad we still have each other.”

“Yeah, but I think it’ll be fine. I don’t think being a senior should be any different.” Kotone and Myungsoo can only smile at their close friend’s wholesome optimism.

“Except for our thesis,” Honggi adds as he forms a smirk, which weirds out Kotone and Myungsoo with their raised eyebrows and tilted heads. Who even smiles at the mention of the word thesis? As Honggi nudges Junghoon’s shoulder, he only rolls his eyes with a chuckle, knowing exactly what his friend is insinuating. “Isn’t that right, Jung-ah?”

“Yah, yah… Is it what I think it is? Just because we’re all friends, you better not dare freeload our maknae!” Kotone exclaims, raising her fist right at Honggi. “Both your grades and graduation will be at stake here if you ever mess up his concentration.”

“As if I’ve ever!” He raises his hands in the air. “We rarely get paired up because most of our classes were different, but whenever we were partners, I was the only one who stood up to him. I have only met up and worked with him, whenever he wasn’t busy working!”

“That’s fair, but then again, you’re not Sohyun-sunbae,” Kotone shoots back.

“I’m pretty sure she was the freeloader to Junghoon, remember?” Honggi counters her.

“Come on, guys! Enough arguing,” Junghoon burns their fuse with his voice, something that he rarely raises. At least not when he really has to. “It’s already past noon and it's still freezing here… Plus, I’m kinda starving. Aren’t y’all?”

“Finally, someone’s thinking straight!” Myungsoo backs him up, lightly holding onto his shoulder. “You heard the soldier. Today, we’ll have the almost-veterans take their pick.”

That day, seeing his closest friends was the start of his routine going back to normal.

“Oppa!” He hears the cheery greetings from two familiar voices he hasn’t heard in the last several months since they visited him at their training center with all his buddies.

Gong Yubin and Jeong Hyerin would catch on to his return later that afternoon. They may no longer have a little club to meet up, but they didn’t want to miss out on their sunbae and old friend returning. “Omo! It’s been long, you two. How’ve you been?”

“Still kicking through a couple of semesters now… And somehow, Mad Money has yet to reunite!” Yubin confesses, running her hands through her hair. “The rest of us anyway.”

“Well… I’m sure the spirit of the club still lives on with you girls,” Junghoon hopes, even though he understands what she meant. The more their unnies and fellow members had left or graduated, the rest could no longer keep up with the passage of time and stacks of priorities weighing them. “From what I heard, you’d still meet even without the club.”

“We have.” A warm smile leaves Hyerin’s face, just before a sigh of  weariness follows. “By next week, Kae-chan and I are gonna practice all night for some event our leaders aren’t even telling us about yet. Yubin-unnie here is probably gonna be sent off by her parents to culinary school in the summer.”

“Wow…” They’ve come this far. Deep down, he feels a sense of pride for them. “I don’t know what else to say, other than I know that you’ll do well.”

“And you, oppa?” Yubin chimes in with curiosity. “Were things well at the center?”

“I mean… I did pretty okay?” He answers with half the confidence, shrugging at her. “All things considered.”

“We’re just glad that you’re back,” Yubin admits, playfully squishing his shoulder. “Even if you still have the rest of your semester.” She counts with her fingers, starting with her pinky. “To finish your training, your internship, and your thesis.”

“I'm sure it's doable. It just takes a little planning and a lot more effort,” Junghoon humbly retorts. “After all, I've learned from the best club.”

Yubin only exhales a smile, shaking her head as a few blissful memories of their old crew flashes back to her.

“We know, but whenever you’re having a problem, you better ask for our help!” Hyerin slowly points her finger at Junghoon as if she’s giving him a threat, which scares him a little. “The club may be done, but we wanna repay you somehow for being there for us, with our unnies.”

“Gomawo…” Looking back, he believes more that, without the Mad Money Club, and the considerate people in it, he would not even be here, and he’ll always wear that mentality.

“By the way, your cousin has been a handful, you know that?” Hyerin adds, inciting a nod and chortle from Yubin while she crosses her arms.

“Yah… You’re the ones who volunteered—begged me even—to take her the moment she got here,” he defends himself, keeping his cadence relaxed while holding in a somewhat smug smile. “Even though Tone-yah was the first one who offered to give her a tour.”

“Oh, she still joined unnie’s club since they’re still hanging around,” Yubin corrects him. “And we’re pretty sure it was Yooyeon-unnie who really got to her without doing much.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “I guess she gets to have the best of both worlds.”

But joyous reunions aside, he knows that not everything is the same. And it won’t be. Still, even with this truth, he moves on with his life in many ways he can. Sentiments about the past will not help him get through it. If he has to do it alone, he’ll have to.

Back to being a senior, awaiting his graduation in the following year. Despite him having stepped down from the student council, he was able to win over his old batchmates since they knew his capabilities as an aide. By the end of the month after his return, Junghoon managed to land a gig at their University Library, agreeing to shift for two to three times a week due to his ongoing service. Afternoon and night shifts, to be precise. It pays a little, but it's enough for him to compensate for his old part-time gigs. He’s even surprised that it pays at all.

From six to ten, the library gives him a haven to study and spend more time outside his dorm so he can work on his academics in their counter without much of a disturbance.

“Annyeonghaseyo, sunbaenim. I'd like to borrow these books.”

For the most part. Though, it's not this process that bothers him, since it's his job after all. Rather, it's this familiar person right in front of him.

“Soomin-ah… What are you doing here? It’s late.”

Thankfully, his patience is better than most folks.

“Come on. I’m exercising my rights as a recent college sophomore, oppa!”

“Do that elsewhere then. Namely, your dorm.”

She pouts at him, placing her knuckles on her waist, like a whiny kid. “Hmm… That’s not a nice way to treat your little cousin.”

“Your brother does that too,” he shoots back. Of course, he can’t be angry at family.

“Hmph. That’s the problem.” She crosses her arms. “You're not Hyungmin-oppa. You’re you, which I need... And I’m here to support you on your late shifts! You didn’t complain whenever we came to visit you at your training center.”

She's done it. Talking her out of going home is no longer an option. She’s not in middle or high school anymore. “Well, you’ve proved your point. But… you can start ‘showing your support’ by keeping your voice down first, arasseo?”

“Hwaiting!” She keeps her voice down, but not without making herself sound sardonic. A few minutes later, Soomin would venture to another area in the building. The lounge where she can still bring herself out of her boredom with her laptop and a few manhwa books. Meanwhile, Junghoon is given a new task from his superior.

“Junghoon-ssi… Do you mind returning the books to the shelves? I know we still have an hour left, but it’d be better if you only got a few things to do before you wrap up.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” he complies in an instant, walking to the book cart with alertness. “I'll get to it now.”

It took him about ten minutes to return all fifty books to seven sections, but as soon as he finishes his task, his eyes catch something else that's lost. Walking inside the Korean Literature Section, he sees an I.D. has been left lying on the floor. Approaching the item forward, he picks it up, finding the face of a woman. By the looks of her identification number, she’s more likely a junior. Kawakami Lynn, from the Department of Dance. Feeling that privacy has just been violated, he quickly looks away, only for his gaze to land back at the counter, seeing three women talking to the main librarian.

The first two women are about the same height, though the one that stands out with her strangely high pitched voice, while the other’s hair is dyed brown. But finding familiarity with the third woman unleashes a surge of relief over him. Thank God she hasn’t left the building. She faces him just as he walks to her. Astonishment towards her height arises. Seeing the woman a few meters apart, she appears to be about two centimeters shorter than him, but still tall nevertheless, he almost forgets how to initiate the conversation until the woman’s friends shift their gaze towards him, giving more pressure to him.

He gives a few light taps on her shoulder. “Ma’am..? Jamkkanmanyo…”

In front of his presence, her gaze remains just as stunned as he was. “Ne?”

He raises his hand. “May I ask if this is yours?”

“Ne!” she almost raised her voice in surprise. “That is mine. Omo! Kamsahamnida!”

But she's not done. “May I ask what your name is?”

He offers his right hand to her. “My name’s Geum Junghoon. I'm a senior.”

But something tells him his own gesture might be too much. His own hesitation.

“I know you already saw it from my I.D., but…” She catches his hand quickly before he can pull it back. “I’m Kawakami Lynn. I am a junior.”

Her rush of explanation makes him chuckle. “I have, but it’s nice to meet you, Lynn.”

Whether or not her memory was shrouded in her own romantic butterflies swarming her mind and body, Lynn definitely remembers feeling a spark of electricity the longer their hands touch and slowly shake. Scanning Junghoon’s appearance from head to toe, she notices his I.D., instinctively comparing both faces in front of her eyes. His nose. His lips. His physique. Her common sense knows they're the same person, yet she can’t help but give him a second look, in awe with the finding. Junghoon awaits her response with a simper. On her left, Lynn’s brown-haired friend nudges her on the shoulder. “Psssst!” while the black-haired one giggles, shaking her head with her eyes closed.

“Mianhae! It’s, uhhhh, nice meeting you too, Junghoon-sunbae…” Her smile widens the more her butterflies start to fill her stomach. Still beside her, Lynn’s friends can only shake their heads while holding their grins and chuckles. “And these two are my friends, Hayeon and Sion,” she continues, hoping it will conceal her sudden fit of panic.

Did she just check me out? is the immediate question that pops up, since meeting her that night, but her presence has already enticed him just as well. Her smile. Her eyes. Her height, still. But he reciprocates her formalities, bowing to both her friends while such intrigue about her still lingers on. “It’s nice meeting all of you. I’ll just be here.”

Even before they leave the counter, Lynn steals a glance at her sunbae from a distance. Whether it's through his peripherals, senses, or both, Junghoon also feels her gaze from afar, but the moment his hands look back, he finds her rushing to her friends as they all exit the room. A snortle exhales through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief while he returns the book cart next to the counter desk.

= = =

Weeks have passed. Junghoon thought it was a silly encounter he and his friends would look back on and have a laugh at or wonder about what ifs. He couldn’t be more wrong, considering how the same woman would often cross paths with him since that night.

Several meetups on campus might not be the fanciest dates they’ve had in mind (even though they weren’t dating), but they made the most of their time. Aside from his bud Honggi with their thesis revisions, Junghoon didn’t have anyone else visit him in the library except for Lynn, which he didn’t mind that much. Discomfort is far from the word he would describe her presence. It was more or less fascinating. She’d ask for books whenever she can’t find something. He would comply in almost an instant.

“Have some, sunbae,” she hands him a cold bottle of caffeinated green tea.

In fact, he appreciated it, even before he realized what her moves were suggesting. He is that slow, but he managed to catch it, for her own sake.

“Oh…” He takes the bottle with some hesitation, but his own thirst has compelled him to crack it open with a sense of urgency. “Kamsahaeyo, Lynn-ah.”

Having someone as company wasn’t new to him. But it was refreshing, to put it simply. Not just because she’s a new face, but it is because she stayed with him during his late night shifts when anyone else in his life was occupied with their own personal affairs.

“If you’re gonna be here every night, you don’t have to keep calling me sunbae.”

She places her finger on her chin as she ponders. “Soooooooo… Junghoon-oppa, then?”

His sip hits the wrong pipe, causing him to let out a few coughs. Lynn rushes to her bag, unzipping the lowermost compartment to get a pack of wipes.

“Gomawo,” Junghoon takes them from her hand, quickly wiping the juice off his lips.

“Mianhaeyo, sunbaenim,” she can't help but slightly bow her head out of guilt.

“Gwenchana, gwenchana, Lynn,” he waves his hand. “It’s not your fault, it’s just…”

She keeps her hands clasped. “It’s because I like you, Geum-sunbaenim…”

And there she goes. The man’s been silenced by her words, mentally and verbally.

Her heartbeat grows even louder, having confessed those words to him. Junghoon’s heart is not that different—his palms slowly sweating around the already damp bottle. Lynn’s eyes suddenly become more captivating. Her lips appear redder. He knows well that her body isn't his business, but his eyes are already trapped by how striking, even a bit more revealing than before, her dress is; not to mention her stronger and enchanting spring-themed perfume. The woman’s confidence has captured him, and he’s more than willing to surrender to it. “I, umm, I like you too, Lynn…” Slowly, his lips curve upwards.

= = =

April and May became their courtship period, if that's still even a thing that people call.

For a start, proper dates have started to become a weekly thing for them after classes or outside their part-times. The first one was like most first dates. Awkward at first, but it ended smoothly. What made it more special was the fact it was on Lynn’s birthday. The second was a bit rough, not because of either one’s faults, but it’s more on their personal priorities clashing with their plans. It ended with their first kiss, so that compensated for it. The third date was better, even though they've only met up on campus that night.

Within those two months, the two learned a few more things about each other. Their mannerisms, habits, favorites. Junghoon would open the door for her whenever they entered the same building; Lynn would often buy him drinks or snacks whenever he’s working late. Still they always preferred meeting at affordable diners outside campus.

Now on their fourth date, they're no strangers to surprising each other with flirtations while facing each other on their table—but everything diverges the moment Lynn asks him the question: “Do you wanna head into my place?”

Junghoon’s eyes can only grow at the same time as he feels his parched throat.

As far as most of the dorm rooms he’s visited, Lynn’s place is pretty tidy, definitely more organized than most of his friends, Kotone included, though she lives with her family, so hers doesn’t count. Besides them, he hasn’t visited a tidier place since… The Mad Money Club. He brushes them off, reverting his attention back to his date while she’s watching the television… And stealing a few glances at him beside her… Just waiting and hoping for something, anything, while they’re on the sofa in the last seventeen minutes.

Lynn’s look has always enthralled him. Even if he couldn’t read her mind, something in Junghoon’s body pushes him to make the first move—leaning closer into her lips in the silence. With the remote control still in her hand, she extends her left hand without looking and presses the off button before tossing it on the floor, as her focus now shifts on his lips by placing both hands on each of his cheeks. Only following the desires of their bodies, Lynn’s lustful curiosity compels her tongue to stick out and touch his lips. Immediately sensing the sticky and slithery yet irresistible sensation from the woman’s mouth, Junghoon complies by widening his mouth, allowing his partner to initiate a dance between their tongues, having a taste of each other’s meals and drinks tonight.

With Lynn’s arms wrapping around his neck, their bodies lower down on the sofa, inadvertently pushing two pillows on the carpet below.

“Can I?” He asks first, even though the woman’s hands have already reached his crotch. Still, she nods at his question, allowing him to take the lead this moment. Taking off her shirt, he allows her to do the same to him. Junghoon leans to give her another kiss while his fingers trail up to his bra, unlocking them as they lock lips. Her breasts astound him, a reaction that even garners a giggle from Lynn herself. “Don’t just look…”

“Oh, majayo…” he stutters, forming an embarrassed smile. “Mianhae.”

He gives each mound a kiss, which tickles the woman with a titter. He stops to stand up from his seat, much to her confusion until she sees him unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants in front of her, also encouraging her to unzip her skirt while remaining seated, lifting up her legs in the air while taking her panties off.

With all their clothes on the floor, both parties are now in their bare forms, awaiting for one to take the other to the next step. Junghoon’s pubic hair is slightly trimmed, but his partner can't take her eyes off it nonetheless. Seeing something real up this close is just different from whatever she has watched through her phone screen, accidentally or not. Her cunt is also unshaven, but it doesn't faze him. Yet, a sudden thought is only making him hesitate—because of one unresolved question.

Before going in, he wants to make sure. He has to. “Is, uhh, this your first time?”

With a look of hesitation and embarrassment, Lynn only nods in silence a second time while turning her eyes from her partner, whose mouth slightly opens at her revelation.

“Gwenchana...” Deep down, he knows he has to say those words to her. “I’ll be gentle.” Hoping to provide more comfort and assurance, Junghoon slides his right hand across her shoulder, inciting a relaxing yet tingling sensation to Lynn as she braces herself with another nod, instinctively biting her lower lip, as Junghoon reaches to his pants lying on the floor. Pulling out one packet of condom—he can only thank his overthinking self that he even bought one from the convenience store on their way here. Lynn’s eyes are mixed with excitement and hesitation as she watches him wrap the latex around his erect shaft. He guides her on the edge of the sofa with his hand on her head, holding his other hand.

His cock has aligned with her entrance. “I’m putting it in, okay?” he reminds her gently. She nods for the third time, just as he slides inside her. “Auuuuggghhhh,” Lynn moans, unable to contain her mixed sensations of discomfort and arousal, her walls tightening around this foreign object as a quarter of it has entered her. It’s as tight as—No—don’t compare, he snaps into his thoughts, fixing his eyes only to this mesmerizing woman.

“I’ll start,” he reminds her again. “Just let me know if it hurts—”

“Just do it, please,” she whispers. He senses tension and desperation in her voice.

Junghoon nods and, with his hands gripped on the sofa’s arms, he makes his first thrust. “Nggggghhh,” Lynn’s teeth tightens its grip on her lower lip, mirroring the sensation of her cunt’s response to the movement of his shaft, feeling the motion around her walls. Her hands latch onto his waist before begging “Keep… going” with her soft cadence.

The longer he maintains his rhythm, the more he can feel her walls loosening. With this, her growing pleasure gradually diminishes the pain she initially felt upon his entry—her body finally giving into her libido. Now that Junghoon is reaching deeper with stronger and faster thrusts, he finds more of her sensitive spots, as if his tip was able to find and plucks invisible strings with every plunge, triggering moans from Lynn as their volume grows by the minute until pleasure overwhelms her senses. It’s a sensation she never expected she’d feel with someone. “Oppa… I–I can feel it. I'm c--close!” she howls.

The man triples his own speed, desperate to catch up with the woman’s nearing climax. Without much thought, he leans into her face, latching on his lips with hers in hopes of slowing her down until he begins to feel the buildup rising on his shaft. As his voice of reason strikes fear through his mind in the final thrust, he tightens his grip on the sofa arm—before pulling his cock out with a grunt, spilling his seed inside the condom. As he examines it, it's soaked with little blood. Thankfully the latex didn't break, he concludes with a sigh of relief. But, I’ve gotten a little rough than I should have. He takes a look at Lynn, as she huffs and puffs with her eyes half closed and a smile on her face. Seeing her cunt also leaking with fluid, Junghoon leans close to her forehead, giving it a smooch.

Both gasping for breath in the afterglow of their hard night work, having overcome their own lingering misgivings and hesitations and felt each other’s bodies for the first time.

Aside from her smile, Lynn's eyes appear to water, yet no tears are pouring. “H-how… How was I, oppa?” her smile remains uncontained.

“You were… amazing… Lynn,” Junghoon wheezes in disbelief. “I hope… I didn’t disappoint… You,” he continues, still voicing his concern for her. “Or hurt you.”

She places her hand on his left cheek, feeling each other’s warmth through her touch.

“You didn’t…” she chuckles. “Oppa, I'm glad… my first time… was with you.”

She moves her head upward, reaching his lips one more time, fueled with more passion, expressing her exhilaration, now that they have reached this point in their relationship. It may have been her first, but it’s the first of their many private adventures, exploring almost every corner of their bodies inside this safe space in the months that followed.

= = =

Two months later. The Seoul State Summer Festival has begun. It’s only been an hour since Lynn’s performance with the rest of her team had concluded, a special event that received a thunderous series of cheers and applause from the audience. And no thanks to his own training and errands outside campus, Junghoon barely managed to make it in time, but even up to this point, he still can’t get that sense of discontent off his skin, holding a red cup and standing inside a clubhouse living room, where dozens of other students have been celebrating in the past half an hour.

“You made it!” Lynn cheerfully runs to him with her wide smile.

“Thankfully, I did,” he chuckles. “But I almost missed your performance, Lynn… I didn't want that to happen.”

“It didn't, oppa…” she reassures him, reaching out to his hands. From her eyes, his face radiates uncertainty, perhaps discomfort, trying to be concealed by his usual easy going gestures. “But, I know what’ll make you feel better,” she softens and deepens her voice.

He raises his eyebrow, sensing the strands of his hair stand up at her tone. “What will?”

She leans to his ear, whispering “Follow me.” Without another word, the woman walks out of the almost crowded room, compelling Junghoon to start following her before he can lose track of Lynn amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces.

This afternoon has been a wild celebration for everyone present. As they walk outside the living room, he finds the pool filled with crazed and naked folks, some of whom are drunk under the sunlight. After a minute of following the leader, Junghoon tracks Lynn down inside a storage room.

She locks it in as soon as he enters, surprising him with a new look, albeit one he's already seen earlier. The rest of her clothes are hanging on the coat rack next to the shelf. “You like it, oppa?”

Under her attire, she’s wearing the same outfit from her performance. “I saw how wide your mouth was when I had my solo performance…” Junghoon tries to deny it, but his stutters have gotten in the way. “So I thought, why not give you a little surprise..?”

Without his restraints and through her kittenish move, he gives his answer by hungrily pouncing on her lips, mindlessly pinning her into the shelf of cleaning supplies behind her, immediately moving her to the wall on their right before they break something.

While their lips remain locked and their tongues tangled, Lynn gently pushes him to the other side of the room, pulling down his cargo pants from his garter in anticipation just as he also pulls down hers. At this point, it's open season with what they’ll do, with the only restraint that’s been holding themselves back being their own imaginations. Lynn makes her next move; the heat within the closed space compels her to take off her top.

“If it's alright with you,” Junghoon stops Lynn with his gentle hands, guiding them until their clothes are only halfway off her chest, accentuating them. “Keep ‘em… Like this.”

His move intrigues her, but she welcomes it nevertheless. She looks down on her own breasts, making her lips curve upwards. “Where do you get these kinds of ideas?”

“I’m not sure,” he confesses. “I just thought you'd look good in it. Try something new.”

As minutes have passed, Lynn keeps her hands gripped on both the edges of the shelf, while her lover gives her cunt a wild and somewhat rageful pounding. He takes turns putting her breasts into his salivating mouth, as he nibbles on both nipples while his hands make their way to her ass, doubling the volume of her moans. Alerted by her, Junghoon takes one hand to cover her mouth while continuing his deeper plunges. Eventually, he catches her mumbling through his hand. “What is it?” he whimpers, releasing his hand to fix her scruffy and now sweaty hair to the side of her left ear.

“I’m safe—today,” she murmurs before mustering enough breath to yell, “Please, do it!”

Holding her onto her tender cheek as firm as he can, he gives a final thrust and fires his load inside her womb. Lynn’s final orgasm-triggered holler stops as her voice creaks into silence and heaves with peace—exchanging each other’s breath without complaint. Their bodies remain in embrace, with his member still inside her. Lynn tightens her hold of her, with her arms wrapped around his back, feeling the warmth of their seeds leaking while their chests are compressed together.

Junghoon leans in to give her another long kiss, which neither of them hope would end, if only his phone didn’t start flickering and buzzing loudly inside his pants, on the floor. He pulls his shaft out of her carefully to reach the device, leaving his partner with a look of concern towards him.

Putting his right ear on the phone, Lynn can only watch and listen to his polite responses. “Ne, ne, I understand. I'll be there in five minutes… Joesonghamnida, gyosunim.”

As the call ends after half a minute, Junghoon faces her with a face that she has and can only read as one expression. “We’re supposed to have a consultation with our thesis advisor. Mianhae.” Disappointment emerges on both parts, albeit different ways of expressing it. “I promise that I'll make it up to you next time, okay?” he tells her while putting on his underwear and pants. “I'm really, really sorry, Lynn-ah.”

“It’s…” She wants him to stay. Just a couple more minutes. Introduce him to her friends. Have a late lunch, even by themselves. Hang out back at her place. “It’s okay, oppa. Just work on your final requirements. Hwaiting!” she cheers on him with a raised fist.

“Gomawo,” he tells her. After giving Lynn a quick peck to her lips, Junghoon walks out of the storage room, caring little about any passersby in the hallway, and rushes outside the venue. Thankfully, there aren't any, for Lynn’s sake while she dresses up.

Left inside the room, she stares right at the door, with her mind going blank. Her index and middle slowly touch her own lips, forming only one deduction. His lips don't feel as warm as they used to. On the other hand, her sense of optimism hopes that this will be the only time she’s felt him ‘like this,’ but hope… It can only get someone so far.

= = =

June. Only a month has passed since their most intimate time, yet things between them have become… Colder, to say the least, as it’s blistering through the summer heat. Their routines would continue, but not always together. Junghoon ended his library duties. They would only text each other. Lynn finds more time to hang out with her closest friends, at least more than she usually does in the past few months. And despite his physical absence, Junghoon kept lingering in her mind the longer they parted in person. As her patience runs thin, Lynn would ask around some of his friends whenever she crossed paths with them on campus.

“I haven’t seen him today, no. Not even last week,” Hyerin told her on Monday, moments after their practice. “Is everything alright with you two, unnie?”

“Unfortunately, no, Lynn-ssi. We’ve only been texting lately, ‘cause our schedules are too different.” On Tuesday, she asked Kim Myungsoo, whom she only knew was taking his masters degree. “Do you want me to call him up? I can tell him you—” She politely declined, realizing that she’s not the only one who he has been seeing a lot less lately.

“Oppa’s been very busy, unnie.” Soomin didn’t have much to tell her on Wednesday. “Even after his thesis with Honggi-oppa worked out, he kept working and working. My parents tried to talk him out of it, but I’m not sure if he even listened... Wait, did he not tell you?” Of course, she wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t have told her either. But Soomin is his family. She’s his cousin, her mind justifies.

On Thursday, she spotted Honggi outside the Tourism and Hotel Management Building. “He didn’t tell you? He’s been cooking for the training center for a month now. Most of his training ended in April, but he wanted a gig until graduation.”

On Friday, she stopped when Sion and Hayeon had asked to meet up at a campus café.

“I know I said that I liked you with him before, but I also said it to you before, unnie. With what's been going with you lately, I’ll say it. Junghoon-sunbae may not be that different from other men.”

She’s in a state of limbo, stuck with unresolved and unanswered questions about him.

“Hayeon-ah!” Sion slightly raises her voice at Hayeon, snapping Lynn back to their concerning conversation. “This isn't helping anyone.”

“It's okay, girls,” Lynn tries to de-escalate the tension between the two with her gentle tone. “He must have been working and training a lot...” She remembers all the things Junghoon’s friends have answered, yet doubt already takes over her mind.

“So have you,” Hayeon interjects, maintaining her firm tone. “You're a freaking dance major. You’ve been practicing for almost three years now, and yet—you still spent most of your time meeting up with him for three months, for some reason! Where's his effort to meet with you?”

“We’ve gone on a few dates this—”

“All you do is go on dates or ‘hang out’ elsewhere… But are you guys going anywhere?”

Not even Sion can keep raising her tone. She heard Hayeon loud and clear. “As much as Hayeon is too out of line… she still has a point. We just don't want you to get hurt.”

“Majayo, unnie,” Hayeon adds, lowering her voice out of respect as her eyes beg Lynn’s. “Think about yourself too, unnie.”

“I'm doing fine, Sion-ie… Hayeon-ah, we’re doing fine.” She keeps telling them, just as she keeps telling herself those three words.

Unbeknownst to the two, Lynn has seen a few glimpses of Junghoon having his own nightmares to deal with, but she was too hesitant to ask him about it. And he's not letting her in while his own phantoms and nightmares tear him up from the inside, making it more burdensome for her since her frantic mind can't help but speculate and speculate for days and weeks, while her friends can only watch her make up excused and voice out their worries for her during their hangouts or virtual conversations.

Ding. She finally receives a text, opening it within a second.

[Junghoon-oppa: Hey…]

[Can we talk?]

The woman swallows her throat, feeling mixes of relief, irritation, and nervousness.

Both the two senses her unease. “What's the matter?” Sion asks first.

“Is that him?” Hayeon asks, before taking another sip of her milk tea. Rolling her eyes, Lynn only types her response to him in silence. Sion slowly shakes her head at Hayeon, only glancing at their friend with concern while she takes a smaller bite of her croissant, unlike she usually does. As much as they’re compelled to help, they let this one play out.

[Lynn: Sure, oppa]

[Where do you wanna meet?]

= = =

Later that afternoon, they meet up at the restaurant. One they had their first ‘proper’ date in. There's no orders from either, only each a glass of water on their side of the table. Awkwardness and uncertainty spread across the air-conditioned atmosphere.

She takes a risk by shooting a certain question at him. “Have you been cheating on me?”

“No,” he answers. She looks deep into his dead eyes, he doesn’t seem fazed by her interrogation, even if they both know it came out of nowhere. “I wasn't.”

“Who is Hyerin-ssi to you?” she continues pushing through. “And that other woman?”

She herself has known Hyerin. But not as much as Hyerin knows Junghoon. As much as she knows Junghoon from Hyerin, or any other friends he’s had on campus. Since their second date, a lot of new things she’s heard and learned about him were from them.

“Yubin? They’re both my friends… Lynn, I've known them since I was a sophomore.”

Lynn is aware of that, considering Junghoon has told her since they first got acquainted. Nothing she’s learned about him seems to raise a red flag, because she’s witnessed those things about him, and it’s what’s been bothering her for a while—eating her from inside.

She knows this won't lead anywhere else, even if she keeps accusing him of things. Even if he is only opening up now and answering all her questions, it is not helping her regain her trust towards him. Towards herself. If they’ve only talked about these things earlier.

“Oh…” She freezes in silence, slowly realizing her own misstep. “But I don’t know if I can believe that. Believe you.” Yet her pride keeps her going. Going past her voices of reason.

“You don’t have to…” he shoots back, maintaining his lower tone. Her eyes slowly darted at him, trying to read his face. Through his soul, it’s as if she feels Junghoon’s loneliness. “And I know we haven't spent more time lately, but can we just talk—”

“Talk about what?” A hint of annoyance and bitterness mixes in with her tone, having had enough of his innocent voice, which kept on enticing her since the night they met.

“About this,” he sighs. “About whatever’s going on with us.”

Her eyes widened. Hearing those words It's inevitable, he realizes. “What about us?”

He clenches his hands under the table, mirroring the feeling of his own tightening heart. “What do you feel about us..? About me?”

She wants to tell him how much she has loved his company. His touch. His voice. His presence. “You've barely opened up to me.” She’s realized what his question insinuates. “I just, I don’t even know how to feel because you wouldn’t tell me what’s been worrying you whenever I see you worried… I don’t even know how you're feeling or what you have been up to lately.”

The moments they’ve had throughout the months, she’s explored every corner of his face and body. Yet as a person, she knows little of him, beyond some of his favorite things or his interests. Just this point—a realization strikes her. She doesn't know what they are. Everything in the last couple of months has felt mundane, overindulgent—incomplete.

“I know,” he mutters, still holding his stone cold front together with her. “I messed up.”

“Why are you agreeing to everything I'm saying?” almost raising her voice, clawing the wooden surface of the table. As her hands clench, her long nails leave their marks. The customers nearest to them can only peek a glance at them, but this pair can’t care less.

“Because you're right…” His voice almost cracks. “You didn't deserve any of this. You're a sweet and kind woman, Lynn-ah. And I took you for granted… I was being selfish. I’m at fault for not paying attention, for not finding and making more time to be with you as much as you have with me. For not being open with you enough.”

Silence follows their table for a moment. He has taken her words right out of her mouth, and she can only let him speak out with a disheartened spirit. He’s given up, she dreads.

“Look me in the eye… And tell me if this is still something that you wanna keep going.”

Through his eyes, she catches a glimpse of his soul. There’s nothing to read between the lines. Just hints of fatigue, loneliness, insecurity. There are no words for her to counter. Her beating heart yearns to say ‘yes’ till her mind stops her from doing so, encouraging her instead to consider his sincere words. For her to listen to her own reason.

“You know too,” he surmises in her absence of a response. “There's nothing to have from this. I don't want you to keep getting hurt and disappointed because of my excuses.”

“They weren't excuses,” she tries to defend him, quickly picking up the shrapnel of his crumbling façade, even if his continuous barrage of discouragement keeps on prickling and piercing her confidence from the inside. “They’re not even lies.”

“What do you call them then? False promises?” he sighs in discontent. “In the last few months, that’s all I could give you while you gave more than company and attention.”

Even if her mouth can’t say it to him, her heart doesn't regret any of it. ”So have you. Did you just throw away all those memories, all those moments we’ve had, from your mind?”

“I didn’t…” he looks down, still racked with guilt. “But will those things be all that we do? Will you be fine with that, Lynn? Will your friends even be okay with that?”

A burning sensation surges through her voice. “Why the hell would my friends care if—”

Lynn halts herself, realizing the error of her own words. Even Junghoon is in disbelief. The woman can only cover her face with both her palms—groaning at her own actions. Sion or Hayeon will let it slide if they hear her say it, but she won’t ever forgive herself. She knows that leaving her best friends for some guy she’s seeing is the last thing she’s doing. Even if it’s someone like Junghoon.

She lets out a chuckle. “We've been pretending like things are fine, aren’t we? At least, I am. And we still kept on going, dinners, sleepovers, sex, and all that... For a second, I’ve forgotten my friends, while we forgot how to act like a normal couple. I’m not even sure if we were one to begin with.”

Junghoon himself doesn't have an answer for her last sentiment. He can only hear his own heart beating faster.

“What am I to you, oppa?” she continues, her deepest, more hopeful yet desperate self craving words and phrases. Someone he wants to spend more time with. Someone he wants to fight for. Someone he wants to make up with. Someone he wants to love.

But he looks up to her, his eyes now radiating with guilt and sorrow. “I—I’m not sure…”

She feels a pang in her heart, hurting with every beat the longer she faces him. Voices in her think in various ways to cope with the inevitable, as facts and her speculations clash. Cheating would have been better. Maybe he is, we should keep going. It doesn't matter. He's leaving, anyway. But that doesn't mean we can't stay together! I hate this feeling, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like shit right now, even though I’m the one getting dumped after all. There’s no point in fighting him over this. She thought she’d felt something special with him. Now, she realizes… They’re not different from others.

Yet, with all the conflict going on in her mind and heart, she simply straightens her posture and looks up to him with a soft smile on her face. “Geurae… Let's end this.”

Her response confounds Junghoon, contrary to what he’s been bracing himself for. Her smile doesn’t match with her watery eyes, racking him up with more guilt as he pushes through, feeling that whatever he could’ve done better wouldn’t make much difference.

“I felt like I was using you, and I didn't keep up with you… I'm sorry for not being—”

“You weren’t,” she interrupts him. “I could argue the same thing with myself… I know you weren't my first, but you were still the first one who treated me like I was enough. Like I was worthy of being loved.”

His eyes widened at her confession, the impulsive region of his mind urging him to say that she’s worthy of love. But not the other way around, as it's something he can't give.

“Still, I understand what you mean,” she continues. “About us not spending too much time together. Our lives haven't been aligning with our plans, I get it. With whatever I wanted to see ourselves... With whatever we don’t… I think it’s better this way, oppa.”

They both knew whatever they had wasn’t love. But they’ll have to live with that truth. They rushed in, and they made a fool of themselves for not handling the consequences now that they’ve reached this point.

She offers his hand, much to his surprise. “It was nice knowing you, Geum Junghoon.” She has nothing left to gain if she keeps up this front, only what remains of her pride. Even though it's already been shattered by their cold and rough yet honest exchange.

Junghoon hesitantly takes her hand. Slowly, he gets up from his seat, his somber face remains as he looks down to face her. “Take care, Lynn-ah…”

Lynn gives him one final look, hiding through her smile. “You too, Junghoon-oppa...”

Without him around, Lynn slowly feels moisture building up on her vision while the beats on her chest slows down, becoming heavier—like an anchor plummeting on the seafloor, over and over again. She knows this feeling will pass; she knows there was no love between them, but she has already been overwhelmed by the silent yet tumultuous clashing of different emotions in her heart. Outside, Junghoon walks along the sidewalk as his tears drip down, yet his face remains stone cold. He knows he's broken someone's heart, and he can't take that back. Inside the restaurant, muffled whimpers grow louder.

The sun starts to sink on the horizon as the purple skies hover above a sleepless Seoul.

= = =

A couple of weeks later, Junghoon finally graduates with flying colors, accompanied by his closest friends and relatives with a humble smile. Lynn goes with her morning class with her friends, but not without catching his presence from afar. From the fourth floor of their building, she looks at the window, seeing the outdoor stage, still swarming with graduates yet somehow, her eyes catch Junghoon walking with joyful faces she can only recognize as Kotone, Honggi, Myungsoo, and Soomin, while the rest appear new to her. She barely knew any of them. Maybe in another life, that was the case. In a warmer, less rushed, and more balanced season, she’d probably get along well with him and his small social circle.

Such a wishful thought allows a soft smile to form on her face, trying to ease the pain that is now simmering through her still recovering heart.

“Lynn-chan!” She hears Sion’s high-pitched voice before turning around to see her and Hayeon standing next to the pair of doors, waiting for her while the remainder of their classmates flock outside. “It’s lunch break… You coming with us or not..? They have a new milk tea at the bakery. I don’t wanna miss out on their restacked soufflés either!”

But enough what ifs… Enough of him and his friends. She has her own.

She chuckles out of embarrassment, pushing herself to wrap up her bags in a rush and rush to their spot. “Mianhae, mianhae, girls… It’ll be my treat, arasseo? Both of you.”

“Daebak! You should know that’s one deal we definitely can’t say no to now, unnie,” Hayeon cheers on just as she rushes out through the open doors while wearing her brown, spiky-textured backpack. “Gaja!”

Sion can only give her friend a comforting and empathetic smile, rubbing her back. Lynn expresses her gratitude with a smile and her watery eyes, yet not a drop of tear has fallen out of them. “You doing okay?” she asks.

“I—uhhh—I don’t know,” she admits. “But… I am feeling better, I guess.”

“It will get better, Lynn-chan,” she reassures. “Don’t hesitate to tell us about it, okay?”

“Gomawo,” Lynn nods, pulling herself and wrapping her arms around her dear friend. “You know, I don't think I can get through this without having you two around, right?”

“Of course,” Sion murmurs, offering the warmth of her embrace in hopes that it will heal Lynn's broken heart. “We’re always gonna be here for you, Lynnie… Whether you meet some tolerable bad boy or another nice guy with baggage, we’re not letting you forget your worth.”

They chuckle at her remark, before taking a glance at the hallway to see Hayeon still walking fast, now a few meters away from them. “Come on,” Sion takes a step forward. “You better not let Hayeon wait for us in the lobby downstairs... Otherwise, she’s gonna try and double your treat.”

“Hayeon-ah!” Sion hollers as they both follow Hayeon’s steps through the hallway. “Yah, just wait up, you hungry hedgehog!”

“The deal's off once you've made it to the elevator!” Lynn chimes in with a wide smile, remembering Sion’s advice just then. “Maja!” Sion adds. “You heard that, Hayeon-ah?”

Within seconds, they see their friend rushing back to their direction, prompting the two to slow down their pace as they cackle at Hayeon’s instant change of movement. “Fine!” she whines with a pout. “But now that I'm here, no more backsies, arasseo?”

To others, their short-lived relationship might as well be simplified as a spring and summer fling, and they’re not entirely wrong. But, to themselves, it is one that would shape their futures. Their seasons of memories and mistakes would mold them with their decisions on how they would perceive love, how they would act on it. How they would learn from it and live with it, even if it may hurt them in the end. Perhaps it’s better to feel the thrills of lust, the pains of heartbreak, and the hardships of romance—even if it may not be “true love”—than to never feel those things at all.

= = =

This went longer than I originally intended. it may also feel rushed in some parts, but I just wanted to get it done, even if it may not have come out amazingly.

Although this fic has always been my plan, I'll also write a lynn fic that's more hopeful down the line. I know it's a fic, but I still kinda feel bad lol, though this is my attempt at an angst-slash-smut fic.

Still, my next one (about someone else) will def be less angsty than this. However, for now, thanks for reading, and have a nice day!

[aurorawritestoescape]

IN HIS ARMS || QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader || 5,2k

Summary: You meet a smuggler in the QZ and can't resist your attraction to him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, a bit of fluff, unspecified age gap, Fedra soldier!reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, mirror sex, degradation, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, reader really loves Joel’s arms (who doesn’t), manhandling, alcohol consumption, use of a morning after pill, mention of guns, mention of canon-typical violence. Reader has hair. Joel can pick her up. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no other specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is written for PPCU Body Worship writing challenge, created by talented, sweet and beautiful @joelmillerisapunk 💖 I got ‘Arms’ and immediately thought of meaty, beefy QZ Joel. Smooches to my lovely beta @milla-frenchy 😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Love y’all! Hope you will like the story!❤️

MASTERLIST

“Let’s go.”

“Sure you need me there? It’s your deal, Ronnie. And you know you’re armed, right? Why do I always have to hold your hand?” you complain, while your eyes are scanning the crowd at a public hanging for any sign of disturbance. It’s not your favorite task but Fedra sends enough soldiers here to keep things under control so it usually goes smoothly. That’s probably why your friend Ronnie arranged a deal right in the middle of your shift.

“I’m nervous, ok,” he admits, glancing at you, “The dude’s fucking scary. Never worked with him before. But I’ve heard stuff. You’re just gonna stand there, that’s all. Don’t need to talk.”

You’ve known Ronnie since you were teens in a Fedra camp. Now both officers, you are still inseparable, though at this moment you’d prefer to be as far away from him as you could because in case you two get caught, you both will be a spectacle of the next hanging. Ronnie’s pleading eyes always work on you and the little weasel knows it well so you curse and follow him to the place of the meetup.

As soon as you see the smuggler, standing in a secluded spot far away from the prying eye, your heart starts beating faster. And not because he scares you. Yes, he’s huge and looks very unfriendly, thanks to his furrowed brows and the closed off stance which actually happens to be the culprit of your unexpected reaction. His pose accentuates the beauty of his arms as he’s crossing them in front of his chest. It’s a threatening sight, same as his gaze, but like a moth to a flame, you’re pulled to the man immediately. All thoughts in your head are replaced with only one - he’s fucking hot.

Ronnie slowly comes up to the man, feigning confidence.

“Who the fuck is this?” the smuggler asks, nodding at you with his chin.

“Just a friend. Don’t worry, Joel.”

“I ain’t the one to worry here, kid,” he gruffs, uncrossing his arms as his fists clench in a threatening gesture and you can sense the waves of panic, coming from your friend. “I prefer to do these things one on one. Don’t need an audience. Ya got me?”

“Yeah, ‘k. Next time I’ll be alone.”

“Hope so.”

Joel looks you up and down and you suddenly feel too hot. Standing a step further from him than Ronnie and not saying anything, you’re ogling the man with hungry eyes. Joel seems to relax and the men finally exchange the goods— pills for your friend and ration cards for the smuggler. They’re talking about the product, scheduling the next deal, and you should be on the lookout, should be attentive to the surroundings, like you always are, but your mind, as well as other parts, is fully focused on the stranger.

Joel’s hairy forearms are thick and strong and every little move makes his muscles flex and bulge out of his rolled up sleeves of the denim shirt. His shoulders are broad and the fabric, containing them, is strained to the limit. You’ve never been a biter in bed but suddenly you want to sink your teeth into his arms, lick them all over, glide your hands over the vast expense of his skin, grab them and feel them tighten around your body, encompassing you fully, while his cock stretches…

“Hey!” Ronnie exclaims, interrupting your horny daydreams, pulling on your sleeve and you blink at him, trying to shake away the visions of the man, doing filthy things to you.

“Let’s go!” he says for what appears not the first time, and you smile awkwardly, noticing Joel’s smirk. His arms are crossed again, but now he’s looking at you with a twinkle of curiosity in his piercing eyes, his heavy gaze lightened up.

You take a step away, following your friend, but Joel stops you.

“Sweetheart, wait!”

The pet name hits you right in the pussy and you pause and turn back, confused by why he’s calling you.

“C’mere,” the man motions for you to return to him with a shake of his head, his bear hands shoved in the jeans pockets.

“We’re in a hurry, man,” Ronnie frowns, thinking he’s coming to your rescue, but you turn to him and say,

“It’s ok. Wait for me over there.”

You have no idea what Joel wants from you, but you’re eager to find out. Not hiding his anxiety, your friend takes a few steps away from you and stands at the gate, glancing in your direction from time to time while his hand is resting on his gun.

“Yes? Joel, right?” You ask, coming up to the smuggler and using every last drop of your will not to leer at his mighty arms again.

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

You reply with a little smile and see a smirk tug at his plush lips when he asks, “Like what you see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been starin' at me like at a piece of meat. No use denyin' it."

You avert your eyes, chewing on your lip. You probably should be embarrassed to be caught ogling the man, but life in this miserable world taught you to take what you want whenever you can. Especially if it's being handed to you.

"I'm not." You look back at Joel with defiance in your gaze. "I think you're hot."

Joel’s chest expands when he takes a deep breath, the shirt’s buttons hanging for dear life. His piercing eyes turn a shade darker as he asks,

"Wanna do somethin' about it?"

Your heart rate increases and the warmth of arousal between your thighs makes you shift on your feet.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Come over to my place tonight. Around 8. Ask your friend for the address. He knows."

You don't reply for a few seconds, making it seem like you're thinking about your answer, although your pussy has been aching since the moment you saw the smuggler so there's no way you're going to reject his invitation.

"'K", you reply, feigning nonchalance, while excitement is twisting your stomach.

“What?! Are you out of your mind? You're gonna see him?” Ronnie hisses at you, as you two are walking back to the square. “He’s dangerous! Do you realize that? He’s huge! Have you seen his arms?”

“Oh, I’ve seen his arms alright,” you reply with a dreamy smile, sensing butterflies in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re so stupid when you’re horny. If I find you tomorrow dead in a ditch, I’ll tell your lifeless face ‘I told you so!’”

“Jesus, man,” You giggle, playfully punching Ronnie’s shoulder. “I’ll be ok. I promise.”

The night can’t come soon enough. Still wearing your uniform, you rush to meet the man who's been occupying your mind all day. When Joel opens the door to you, you swallow loudly seeing him in the same denim shirt and dark blue jeans. You’ve been dreaming of his huge arms around your body, so your panties are completely soaked, and having had no time to change after your shift, you hope to slide them off as fast as possible.

“Hi,” you greet the man, stepping into his apartment.

“Howdy.”Joel closes the door and stands next to you, while his gaze is sliding up and down your body. You look around the apartment, getting a whiff of his scent— sweat with a subtle trace of whiskey.

“Are you from Texas originally?” You ask, glancing up at him, slightly intoxicated by his closeness.

“Yeah. Want a drink?”

He walks to the living area and you follow before leaving your guns at the door.

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey, vodka…water.”

“Vodka’s fine,” you reply, stepping up to a worn out couch and sitting down.

“Oh, are you a vodka girl?”

“I’m a ‘whatever burns’ girl, but vodka works faster on me,” you smile and Joel smirks, crossing his arms again. You swallow loudly, seeing his sexy tan forearms in the golden light of the setting sun. Fuck, you wanna touch them.

“Why d’ya need it to work fast? Doesn’t seem like you need any liquid courage.”

“Really?”

Joel goes to the kitchen and in a few seconds returns with a half empty Smirnoff bottle and two shot glasses. He plops next to you on the couch with a grunt and pours out the alcohol.

You drink yours in one go and Joel follows. The vodka burns and calms you down a little. Joel clears his throat before he speaks,

“This morning your friend was shaking like a leaf. And you… You were practically undressing me with your eyes, sweetheart.”

You smile and drop your gaze down to your lap.

“Well, Ronnie is a nervous guy and I’m …”

“A needy little slut?”

You shoot your eyes up at him and see a smug smile, tugging at his lips, as he awaits your reaction. You should probably feel offended or angry, but instead your core burns brighter at his degrading comment and your pussy flutters, as if proving him right.

He reads your reaction immediately.

“Oh you like that, huh?”

“What?”

“When I call you a slut.”

“I don’t mind,” you mumble while your mind is shutting down with every dirty word he throws at you.

“Yeah, you looked like a thirsty whore this morning. And I see that nothing’s changed.”

You’re barely breathing at this point, as waves of arousal ripple through your body, making you squirm in your seat.

“I…I just really like your arms.” Your gaze shamelessly slides over his body, so big and powerful.

“My arms?” Joel’s brows shoot up and he turns his head to look at his arm, resting on the back of the couch, as if trying to understand your attraction.

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, ogling the muscles straining his sleeve.

“Wanna touch ‘em, baby?”

“Yes, please”.

“So polite. Wanna call you a good girl but we already know that you prefer ‘a slut’.”

Joel chuckles and narrows his eyes, watching you for a few seconds, while you’re melting under his lustful gaze, sinking in the sticky pit of desire. Through the fog in your head you hear his voice, low but still powerful.

“How about we skip the pleasantries then and get to the thing you came for.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna fuck you. And let you touch my arms.”

Your breath hitches and your body tingles all over. You can’t agree fast enough.

“Yeah, ok.”

“Do you always say ‘yes’ to everything, little slut?” he smirks, playing with you like a cat with a mouse.

You try to come up with a witty response but your mind is clouded with lust so you just shake your head with probably the dumbest look ever.

“Can I use your bathroom?” You mumble and when he points you in its direction, swiftly walk there.

You close the door in the little room and check your face in the mirror. It’s the same as every day except for your glossy eyes. You rinse your face, trying to come to your senses, look a little less horny but it’s all in vain. The desire overtook your body completely so you dry yourself and leave the room.

When you return to Joel, you find him on the couch in the same spot and in the same position. Only now he’s completely naked.

A shiver goes down your spine from a new surge of arousal, tightening your core.

You barely hear him, your mind is fully occupied by the image of this gorgeous, huge man, waiting to fuck you. Everything about him makes your pussy beat with the rhythm of your heart - his soft belly, his long, girthy, slightly curved semi hard cock, resting on his thick thigh, his broad hairy chest and muscular arms. Seeing them without the confines of the clothes completely shuts off your brain and you take a step towards him, mesmerized by his muscles, wishing to feel them already.

“Take your clothes off, baby.”

You hardly hear him, taking in every inch of his body.

“Girl! Undress. Fuckin’ hell,” Joel groans and you shake your head, waking up from a horny trance, and start discarding your clothes hastily, piece by piece while his dark gaze is set on you. You should be more graceful and seductive taking them off, but your aching pussy makes your movements rushed and determined. When you’re completely naked, except for your panties, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of the last piece of clothing, but Joel stops you.

He gets up and walks to you, his big cock in his veiny hand.

“Wanna do it myself,” he mumbles and stands next to you, at your side, so close that you feel his warm breath on your cheek and breasts, his naked chest brushing against your shoulder, his manhood poking your thigh.

“Pretty little thing,” he whispers, taking in your body, while his hand slides down your back, leaving chills in its wake. You raise your big eyes at him, your lips parted. “Pity you get so dumb though,” he chuckles and lightly squeezes your asscheek. His hand stays there while the other one cups your breast and grazes your nipple with his calloused thumb, making it stiff. You moan and he groans.

Joel’s palm on your ass moves lower, and reaches your pussy, covered by the wet panties. He slips his finger between your asscheeks and rubs your drippping hole over the gusset. You softly whimper and he plants a light kiss on your cheek, stroking your folds over the fabric.

“She’s been crying for me all day, huh?” he mumbles, placing his large warm hand on your belly, the other one still caressing your cunt. “Pussy so needy she shut down your whole little brain. Yeah, baby?”

All you can do is nod, your senses fully focused on the way his thick fingers are rubbing your aching cunt over the underwear.

“She must be cold, sweetheart, being in a pair of wet panties all day like that?” He coos at you.

“Yeah”, you reply, barely breathing, already feeling your orgasm build because of his light touches. “Didn’t have time to change. I have a sexy pair at home.”

Joel breathes out a chuckle, “I bet you do, little slut. Would love to see ‘em too one day.”

The only response you can give is a mewl.

He steps in front of you, his hand leaving your pussy, and you whine. Joel tsks at you and pinches your chin with his fingers to lift your face to his.

“Oh, my pretty bimbo, already cock drunk,” he laughs, locking eyes with you.

Joel’s so huge, you should probably be scared, but all you feel is a pathetic need to be completely destroyed by him.

“Lights are on but…fuck, you’re gone,” he mocks you, looking into your hazy blown out eyes.

“Listen to me,” he commands, as his fingers slightly shake your head, getting your attention. “How do you want it? Gentle or rough, sweetheart?”

“Rough,” you croak back without any hesitation.

“Good. Then do what I say and we gonna have a great time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good little slut.”

Your breaths are short and fast as you’re blinking, starting at him like a mindless fuck doll. Suddenly, you gasp when he grabs the back of your thighs with his massive hands and lifts you, throwing your legs around his waist. You grab onto his broad shoulders and he carries you away from the couch and to the bedroom.

He drops you on the bed, old and stiff, but you don’t care. You have no time or ability to think about anything, because as soon as you’re on your back, Joel pins you to the lumpy mattress with his heavy torso and kisses you. He’s not asking for a kiss, he’s taking it but you willingly open your mouth, welcoming his hot tongue. A happy moan escapes your mouth, when you finally glide your palms over his huge arms. He slides your panties off and cups your pussy with his huge warm palm.

“Messy whore,” he mumbles against your mouth.

Joel’s assertive, passionate and as horny as you are, and you smile against his lips, enjoying his desire for you.

He begins peppering kisses along your jaw, your neck, leaving hickeys on his way to your breasts.

You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple and gasp when he nips at it. He licks the pain away and starts sucking on it while his hands are roaming your heated body.

You grab onto his shoulders and shift your hips under his arm. Joel’s slurping and growling, caressing your breast with his lips and tongue, but you crave more so you start grinding your wet pulsating pussy against his arm. Your movements immediately send you to the precipice of your climax. His muscles flex as you rub your clit against them, smearing your slick over his tan skin, and Joel parts from your tit for a few seconds to watch you use his arm to get yourself off.

“Look at this sloppy little pussy. Gonna need a shower after this. Or…,” he smirks and gets back to suckling your other breast.

Each motion of his muscles is helping you to come as you’re dragging your pussy up and down his heavy limb. Soon you throw your head back, dipping it into the pillow when a hard climax hits you and your cunt contracts around nothing, as euphoria is coursing through your veins, taking away the last of your clear thinking.

“That’s it— take it, slut— come for me — jus’ like that,” Joel mumbles against your trembling chest but you hardly hear him, so deep in the ocean of desire, all sounds around you are muffled.

The next thing you feel is his hands grabbing your shoulders and lifting you. Joel makes you sit up and wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck.

“Look what you’ve done, messy girl.”

He nods at his arm, glistening with your cum and slick and then growls, “Lick it clean.”

With a hazy smile you sit on your heels, getting comfortable. Then you take his arm between your hands and reach for it. Your tongue slides over his hot wet skin and you flutter your eyes shut, reveling in the sensations of his firm muscles under your tongue and the earthy taste of your juices.

“Attagirl,” Joel praises you and slightly squeezes the back of your neck to make you move your head lower and lap up all the mess you’ve left on his skin.

When you finish, Joel lifts your head and sees you staring at his throbbing cock with empty but hungry eyes. It’s leaking precum generously and you almost drool looking at it. You should probably be nervous to take his huge length but all you feel is feral lust.

Placing his palm under your jaw, Joel tilts your head up and searches for your eyes.

“Damn, lookin’ so dumb right now. Lucky you remember how to breathe, little whore.”

He laughs at you and grabs your face, as his fingers dig into your cheeks, making your lips pout.

You whine and he pulls you into his chest. You hug him as if afraid to float away and he gives you a few moments of rest while you are panting, snuggling into his embrace after the shuddering orgasm.

Then he lifts your chin and locks eyes with you. Your breath hitches as you’re struck by his handsome face, which leans down and he kisses you again, gently and slowly, wrapping you tighter in his embrace. Then he asks,

“Why do you like my arms so much?”

You blink a few times, trying really hard to understand the question, drunk on his taste and the way he’s holding you, but when the meaning finally reaches your brain, you stumble over your words.

“I… they… jus’ so big. And … fuck, very hot.”

You feel his broad chest shake with a quiet laugh. “Ready for my cock, baby?” You nod your head with a soft mewl.

“Wanna watch my arms when I’m railing you?”

“Yeah, yes, please.”

Joel hums and gets up before manhandling you off the bed and leading you to a wardrobe. He’s holding you under your arms, noticing that your weak legs are barely able to move, still tingling after your orgasm. He places you like a fuck doll in front the wardrobe door with a mirror and stands behind you. He’s so big and broad that you can see his shoulders and arms perfectly in the reflection. Your gaze glides over your own naked body, and you notice a path of hickeys along your neck and breasts and your core ignites again at the sight of his passion. Then you look at Joel, his eyes are obsidian, the expression is carnal and hungry, and you moan, feeling his cock slap your lower back.

His gaze drops down before he pushes your legs aside with his knee, his thick fingers dig into your hips and he pulls your ass, making you stick it out. Trying to steady yourself, you brace your hands on the mirror in front of you, but he grumbles,

“Not the mirror, stupid. You’ll break it, cut yourself.”

You swiftly move your hands further apart onto the wooden surface.

“Sexy but so dumb,” he mumbles as his eyes return to your ass and his cock. You watch his face, serious and concentrated, and sense his tip prod your sopping hole.

“Fuck,” he curses and pushes his cock deeper, slightly bending his knees to insert it into your tight pussy easier.

You push your ass out more for him, already whimpering like a whore, as you feel your walls slowly part to accommodate his stiff cock. It stings but you welcome the sensation of his manhood spreading your pussy until he bottoms out and you both moan at the sensation.

“Ahh— she feels amazing, baby,” he grunts and you smile dumbly at his reflection in the mirror.

“Such a sloppy cunt,” he murmurs, starting to plunge his length in and out of you with a fast rhythm, “oh, yeah — yeah — yeah—.”

His fat cock is massaging your walls deliciously, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust and you mewl with pleasure and scratch the wooden surface of the wardrobe with your nails.

“Naughty kitten. Tess will kill you if you leave marks on her furniture,” Joel chuckles through heavy panting, squeezing your hips and watching your cunt swallow his glistening cock.

“Who’s Tess?” You ask, not really giving a fuck and he doesn’t reply.

Instead he grants you your biggest wish - he pulls you flush to his chest and wraps his arms around your torso from behind. Your hands immediately fly to grab onto his strong limbs. Joel’s right arm is under your breasts, slightly pushing them up. The other one is keeping you in place, pressed to your chest, between your tits, his giant hand on your throat. His thick fingers curl around your neck but he doesn’t squeeze it, just holds you close against his broad torso.

The sensation and the vision of his powerful muscular arms bonding you to him like that, make your pussy contract and Joel growls in your ear, his breath hot and wet,

“Squeezing me already? Fuck, you’re easy.”

You whine and Joel nibbles on your ear lobe and rasps,

“Hold tight, baby, it’s gonna be a wild ride.”

As soon as the words reach your ear, he begins rolling his hips and dragging his cock in and out of your tight pussy, hard and fast.

You grab onto his bulging muscles better, and as he’s increasing the pace, you’re scratching him with your nails, leaving white marks on his golden skin and whimpering.

“Yeah, take it, dumb little whore. Gonna fuck the last of your brain out of your pretty head.”

Your breasts bounce while he’s fucking you and you bite your puffy lips, trying to muffle your moans, but Joel commands against yout ear,

“Want you to be loud, baby. C’mon. Let them all hear how good im fuckin’ ya.”

You would do anything he told you this moment so your lips part and you let your pleasured noises out, as they mix with the sound of skin rhythmically slapping against skin and his animalistic groans.

Reveling in the sensation of Joel, pounding your crying cunt, you let your hands wander all over his forearms and shoulders, squeezing and scratching them slightly, wishing to memorize the feeling of their strength under your hungry touch. Your vision is shaking with every mighty thrust of his hips but you’re watching the reflection of you two closely, drowning in the image of this tall broad man using you like a mindless fuck doll, caging you in his powerful arms and tears well up in your eyes at how amazing it feels. Your mind and body are focused on this pleasure, suffering and worries of the reality are gone and the drops of pure happiness spill and fall on his arms.

Joel notices you crying and stops fucking you, swiftly pulling out and turning you around.

“What is it, baby? Did I hurt ya?”

His dark eyes, a second ago filled with carnal desire now worried and concerned, dart all over your face and body, searching for the reason of your tears.

You grab onto him and shake your head,

“No, no, i’m fine — feels so good - you feel so good, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he breathes out, pulling you into his bear hug and rubbing your back with his warm hands.

“Please keep fucking me,” you mumble against his hairy chest and he barks a laugh before throwing you back on the bed, making you squeal with excitement.

Joel lies down and manhandles you to straddle him.

“Sit on my cock, little slut,” he commands, eyes darting between yours, reading your reaction.

“Yes, yes,” you mumble, wrapping your hand around his hot hard cock and lifting your hips, hovering over it. You don’t make him wait and immediately sink down on his weeping manhood, as your mouth falls open and your head tilts back.

Joel’s hands are holding your hips when you start riding him, and then snake up to your breasts to knead them, pinch and twist your pebbled nipples.

You run your fingers over his forearms from the elbows to his wrists and grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. Not pausing your lustful dance on his cock, you gently kiss his palm, his hand, then your lips glide down, leaving open mouth kisses over his wrist, the underside of his forearm and his elbow, darting your tongue out and tasting his salty skin. You lean forward, your nipples brushing his chest, and kiss his biceps, using your tongue, and Joel moans, watching you practically make out with his arm.

“Fuck, you’re hot, baby,” he groans while you’re lapping at his skin with your eyes shut. You’re softly whimpering at the sensation of his body, big and strong under you, his cock caressing your walls, making your pussy flutter around it, pushing you closer and closer to your second climax.

“Shit,” Joel curses, pulls your head off his arm and kisses you, while hugging your torso with his python-like grip. He’s holding you tight and you whine, not being able to move your hips and chase your orgasm. Sensing your impatience, Joel plants his feet on the bed and begins jackhammering his fat cock into your slicked up pussy, giving it to you rough and fast, not sparing your little hole.

You’re moaning against his scruffy cheek, your body shaking with his feral thrusts but Joel’s iron hold is keeping you in place.

“Usin’ you like a fuck doll you’re, yeah? Brainless little slut. Made just to make my cock happy. Perfect for me.”

His filthy words, leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, are barely audible because of the loud slapping of his body against yours and the squeaking of the old bed.

“Joellll…,” you moan, and after a few more thrusts explode on his thumping cock, caged by his strong arms, sobbing with heavenly pleasure flooding every inch of your body.

“Hnggg—shit—can I come inside?” You hear a gruff roar in your ear and with Joel fucking your brains out right this moment, you breathe out, “yeah, oh, yeah.” You crave to be full of him, drip him for days after, getting turned on just from the memory of him. As soon as you agree, Joel starts spurting his hot cum into your pulsating cunt, filling you up, emptying his balls into you.

You’re lying still, nuzzling his neck and taking everything he’s giving you, milking his cock to the last drop with your contracting walls.

Gradually intense ecstasy morphs into a pleasant satisfaction and you both bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. You feel almost high on endorphins, not used to such an amount of happiness in your veins, in your life.

Joel softens his embrace but still holds you, letting you rest and you almost doze off, lulled by his warm chest rocking you up and down like a giant wave.

“Don’t sleep yet, ya need to take a pill,” he gently shakes you, sleep heavy in his own voice.

“Oh, yeah…fuck, you came inside,” you murmur, blinking at him, as your mind fog slowly clears up.

“I have a Plan B, don’t worry.”

He moves you off him and lays you down on the bed, then gets up, making the bed squeak.

You can’t move your limbs even if you tried to so you’re lying there, feeling his warmth between your legs, kisses of the afterglow all over your heated skin and smile lazily when he returns to the bed with a glass of water.

“Look at you, as cock dumb as they get, huh?”

He plops down next to you and hands you the pill.

You sit up with a tired smile, swallow the pill and chase it with a few sips of water.

“Good girl,” Joel takes the glass from you and shakes his head when you murmur that you need to go.

“No way. Sleep here. They'll hang your ass if they catch you out and about at this hour.”

You turn your head to the window, just noticing that it’s completely dark outside, only the street lamps illuminate the room with a yellow light.

“Aww, you care about me, Joel? Don’t fall in love,” you giggle but your heart flutters as you look up at the man, so handsome and huge, looming over you.

“I’ll try,” he deadpans and shakes his hand, motioning you to scooch.

You shift to the other side of the bed and he lies down on his back with a grunt. You’re still sitting up, shamelessly admiring his naked body.

“Quit starin’,” he mumbles with eyes closed and pulls you down onto his chest.

You’re lying on his shoulder for a few moments and then whisper,

“Can you big spoon me?”

“Jesus…,” he sighs but turns on his side, scooping you in his embrace and you smile, closing your eyes as your hands gravitate to his arms, heavy and secure around you. You press your back into his warm chest and fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💖🌸

Masterlist

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[greengoblinswifey]

Irresistible—Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— Nicholas can't keep his composure when he sees you in a stunning sparkly dress to attend a Hollywood party. His resolve crumbles as his need for you takes over and he steals you away, unable to resist showing you exactly how much you affect him.

warnings— praise kink, L bombs, ass grabbing, grinding, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— trying to feed you guys but I’ve been so busy💔hope you enjoy this <3

Nicholas couldn’t take his eyes off you from the moment you stepped out of the bedroom. The shimmering dress hugged every curve perfectly, the way the fabric caught the light made you look like a celestial vision. The matching heels accentuated your feet, and the sultry confidence you exuded left him breathless.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low as he approached you, his hands instinctively finding your waist. He pressed a kiss to your glossy lips, his gaze going down your body and back up, lingering.

“Behave, Nick,”you teased with a smirk, resting your palms on his chest to gently push him back. “We have to make an appearance tonight, and if you keep this up, neither of us is leaving this house.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand slipping to the small of your back as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fair point. But don’t think I’m letting this dress stay on you one minute longer than necessary when we get back.”

The drive to the party was a challenge in itself. Nicholas' hand rested firmly on your bare thigh, his fingers idly caressing the smooth skin where your dress ended. His thumb brushed dangerously close to the hem, inching higher to your thong.

“You’re driving me insane, baby,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Nicholas,” you warned, placing your hand over his to stop its slow ascent. “Behave. If the media catches wind of anything risqué, it’ll be all over tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, a grin tugging at his lips. “But I want you to know, this is torture.”

Arriving at the venue, you were met with the spectacle of a Hollywood red carpet, complete with flashing cameras and a Polaroid booth just inside. You walked hand in hand, Nicholas’ hand holding yours steady and possessive.

The cameras loved you two, and he couldn’t hide the way he looked at you, his expression full of admiration and barely veiled desire. In every picture, he was either watching you, his gaze soft but smoldering, or holding you close, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Once inside, you sipped on red wine while Nicholas stayed by your side, sober and attentive. The music played loudly, the energy of the crowd pushing you to make your way to the dance floor.

You swayed to the music, laughing and turning to face him as you moved. His hands naturally found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re teasing me,” he whispered, his voice husky as he dipped his head closer to yours, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’m not doing anything,” you countered with a grin, as your hands rested lightly on his shoulders.

“You in that dress has my dick so fucking hard,” he murmured, his lips trailing briefly along your neck and his hand grabbing your ass under the dress.

“Nick,” you hissed, your cheeks warming as you glanced around. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t care,” he said simply, tightening his grip on your ass as he pulled you closer. “Let them talk. I’m in love with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you forgot about the crowded room. You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing his cheek. “I love you too. But you still need to behave.”

“Noted,” he said with a grin, though the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear his thoughts hadn’t strayed far from the idea of getting you alone.

Nicholas held you close as you swayed to the music, your ass pressed against him. His hands roamed your sides, resting at the curve of your hips as you moved together. His breath was warm against your ear, and every once in a while, his lips brushed lightly against your temple.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to glance back at him. “You’re supposed to be behaving, remember?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “You’re making it impossible.”

As the music shifted into something slower, your movements became more intimate. You spun to face him, your hands sliding up to rest on the back of his neck. His eyes locked on yours, dark, and the way you looked at him seemed to break whatever resolve he had left.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he muttered, his voice low and rough with desire.

Before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours, a deep and fervent kiss that left you breathless. He pulled back only briefly, his hand slipping to your waist as he guided you through the crowded party.

“Nick—” you began, glancing around nervously.

“Trust me,” he said softly, looking back at you with a smirk that was equal parts reassuring and mischievous.

He led you up the stairs, his pace quick and determined, until he found an empty room. It was a small bedroom, intimate and dimly lit. He shut the door behind you with a soft click, turning the lock before leaning against it.

His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail of your glittering dress and warm cheeks. “Look at how beautiful you are,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Nick,” you warned gently, your tone unsure as you glanced at the door. “Someone could come in, or hear—”

“There’s no one here,” he cut you off, his voice firm. “And I need you.”

Before you could respond, he dropped to his knees in front of you. The suddenness of it made your breath hitch, and he looked up at you, his yet blazing and lust filled. His hands slid up your thighs, bunching the hem of your dress as he pushed it higher.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric of your thong before his lips curved into a smirk. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your heart raced as he leaned in, gripping the sides of your thong with his teeth and pulling it down in one smooth motion. You let out a soft gasp, and he looked up at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Nick,” you whispered, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands steadying you as he pressed you against the door. His lips moved lower, brushing against your brown skin. “And I’m going to show you just how much I mean that.”

As he kissed along your inner thighs, his praises filled the room, low and adoring. “You’re everything I could ever want. So beautiful, so perfect. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You melted under his touch, your fingers threading through his hair as his tongue found your pussy, his voice and actions a perfect blend of passion and devotion.

His hands gripped your ass, pulling you into him as he lapped at your juices with such ferocity, your knees buckled.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, sending shivers through you.

You gripped his hair even tighter, suddenly feeling two fingers slip inside you while his tongue focused on your clit. It was no use trying to contain your moans, he had you at his mercy, sucking on your swollen clit and curling his fingers inside you. As soon as his digits reached that sweet spot inside you, you cried out, feeling the impending orgasm.

“Now, you’re the one not behaving. So loud, princess,” he chuckled, looking up at you as his fingers thrusted.

You held back a moan, grabbing onto his hair as your back arched. “N-nick, I need to cum,” you said, softly.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me.”

His words, his tongue, his fingers and the way he looked up at you made you immediately come undone. Your pussy quivered and you squirted all over his mouth as he carried you through, his tongue slowly moving against you.

He stood up, holding you close as your knees gave out. “I need you, sweetheart. You look too fucking good,” he murmured.

You stared into his eyes, dazed. “We can’t. Someone will hear,” you whined.

“Well then, let them hear. Let them hear how good I fuck my girl.”

Nicholas turned you around, his hands firm as they ran along your sides, gathering the fabric of your dress again. He pushed the material higher, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re so fucking hot. I need you so bad,” he murmured, the need clear in his voice.

He pressed you against the cool surface of the door, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you. His lips brushed the sensitive curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his hand cupped the back of your head, keeping you close.

“You have no idea how stunning you look,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both restraint and urgency. His hands roamed down your back, pausing just above the curve of your hips. “This dress.” He let out a low, throaty chuckle. “I swear you wore it to torture me.”

Your fingers gripped his shoulders for balance as you let out a soft gasp, feeling his hard cock thrust into you without warning. “Nick,” you moaned, your voice uneven as you tried to hold back.

He kissed the side of your neck, the sensation lingering as his teeth grazed your skin gently. “Let them hear baby, don’t hold back,” he said. “I don’t care. Let them know I’m the one fucking you.”

You couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped your lips, and he pulled back to lock eyes with you, his gaze full of affection and pure desire. “You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every part of you, perfect.”

As he continued to hold you close, his cock slamming into you and hitting your g spot, his forehead rested against yours, and he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Are you close, baby?”

Your breath hitched as you nodded, unable to form words as your pussy clenched around his thick cock. His smile was soft as he coaxed, “Cum on my cock baby, I know you want to.”

Your heart raced as you finally relaxed and came, overwhelmed by the moment and the overwhelming connection between you. His hold tightened as he murmured soothing words into your ear, grounding you as your body shook from your release. You felt his cum fill you up right after, the sensation making you cry out and he moaned in your ear.

When your high ended, Nicholas pressed a lingering kiss to your temple as he helped adjust your dress. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really going to be the death of me. You’re such a bad influence.”

He grinned, his charm fully on display. “Then I guess we’re even.”

Hand in hand, you left the room giggling and your legs wobbly. As you walked, you could feel his cum seep through your thong and drip down your thighs.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @nicholaschavezslut69

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[natalievoncatte]

“Director Danvers, Lena Luthor is here.”

Alex stared at the speaker on her desk for a moment, feeling her anger rise. She didn’t need this now. Whatever stunt Lena was pulling, now was not the time. She had fires to put out and Supergirl was out of the fight.

Kara, a voice whispered. Kara, your sister.

Alex’s prime directive was take care of Kara. Yet here she was, again, dealing wit the aftermath of Kara being knocked down and beaten to a pulp in service of people she didn’t even know. Half of them hated and feared her now.

How had she let this happen? By small allowances. Step A led to Step B and then on to Step C. It started with looking the other way while Kara foiled robberies and rescued cats from trees and led to Kara defacto joining an organization whose mandate was, on paper, to imprison her or worse. She told herself that she was doing good, that between her and J’onn, they had become the wolves keeping the wolves from the door. Under the right leadership, an organization mandated to “control” aliens could help and protect them.

It gave her no comfort when Kara was lying in the sunroom unconscious, and the government was breathing down Alex’s neck while J’onn was off finding himself on some pacifist bullshit quest.

(Why did their fathers always leave them? Were the Danvers girls doomed to face everything alone?)

Now Lena was here. Luthor’s sister. Alex had let herself trust this woman and she wasn’t sure how that happened either.

Might have been because her kid sister, her precious dumbass kid sister, was over the moon for her Lena and didn’t even know it.

It was Luthor who did this to Kara, Luthor and his allies. Alex had enough of this. There would be no trial this time. No public spectacle. She didn’t care if it ended her career or even her freedom, she was going to kill him, because Kara couldn’t. Kara would always look for the other way, the perfect solution. She was beautiful and good, a hero who came from the heaven to set things right. A saint.

Alex was not and she never pretended she could be.

She drummed her fingers on the desk and stared at the speaker and said, “Keep her in the lobby.”

“No, Director, I mean she’s here, outside your door. We… she can be persuasive.”

Alex reached over wearily and hit the button to open the doors.

Lena marched in, and the sight of her took Alex aback. The boardroom predator with the razor sharp hairstyle, flawless makeup and fuck me pumps was gone, replaced by what Alex would think was Lena’s kid sister under other circumstances. She looked her age, for once, dressed in faded jeans and a threadbare MIT sweatshirt, carrying a battered messenger bag.

Alex had never seen Lena so bedraggled. Her hair was a chaos of unkempt curls pulled into a low ponytail and she was sans makeup, and for good reason. Her eyes were painfully red and the tracks of her tears were as livid as if they’d been left by claws. Her bottom lip was trembling and she fiddled with the strap of her bag.

“Close the door,” said Lena. “Can we talk here? Is this room secure?”

Alex pushed the button and closed the doors.

She had barely said “Yes”.

“Where’s Kara?”

“Not here. Why would she be at the-“

“Don’t fuck with me, Alex.”

Alex looked at her sharply. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here with this, after you started working with Lex again.”

Lena stormed forward and slammed her palms on the desk, rattling Alex’s possessions. She leaned forward and glared with Alex with a furious, teeth-baring demand.

“The clone almost killed her. Where is she?”

Alex swallowed hard. “I’m not sure what-“

Lena cut her off. “I know Kara is Supergirl, Alex. I need to see her. Please.”

Alex rocked back in her chair as if struck by a physical force. The words slam into her chest like a brick into her sternum.

She knows.

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve know for months. But you have to listen to me. Lex knew. He told me her identity, tried to throw it in my face so I’d turn on her. He knew her real name, he knew about you, he knew about your mother. You have to do something now.”

“Oh my God,” Alex said, standing. Mom.

“He wasn’t going to stop, Alex!” Lena blurted, almost hysterical. “He was never going to stop. He was going to kill her, he swore to me that she was going to die. I had to do it!”

“Do what?” Alex whispered.

“I had to kill him,” Lena wailed, balling her fists impotently as if she were trying to choke her own soul. “I had to!”

The reality of it slams into Alex and before she knows it she’s rushed around the desk to throw her arms around her friend, all thoughts of Luthors and loyalty and everything else going out the window as Lena sobs into her should.

“I killed my big brother.”

Lena’s voice so so small, so broken, that Alex can’t help but sob with her.

The fucking bastard just wouldn’t stop hurting them, even in death. Alex didn’t believe in hell but she wished she did for Lex Luthor.

Lena’s sobbing ebbed but did not fade entirely. There was only one cure for that.

“Come on, let’s go see our girl.”

Alex led Lena outside. First, she flagged down Brainy and gave quick, clipped orders: Get Eliza and get her here now, and find Nia and do the same. Then make a list of anyone Lex might have targeted and find them and get them secured.

Then she took Lena to the sunroom. They stopped outside and Alex handed her a pair of silly looking goggles.

“We can’t stay long, the light is too intense even with sunscreen, and you look like you burn.”

“Like a lobster,” Lena choked, pitifully.

Alex entered the code and opened the door.

Kara lay on the padded bed in a paper gown, bathed in sunlight. She was a mass of bruises and her right arm and left leg were in casts, a collar wound her neck. She’d been unconscious for three days now, possibly in the same kind of healing hibernation she’d fallen into after her first fight with Reign.

Lena rushed to Kara’s side and cupped her cheeks with her hands, brushing back sweat-dampened hair.

“Oh God,” Lena blurted, “oh please oh God Kara wake up.”

“She’s been out for days,” said Alex. “She’s stable, just not coming around. This has happened before. We think it’s part of how her body heals serious injuries. It just takes time. She’ll wake on her own when she’s ready.”

Lena didn’t even seem to hear her. She leaned down with an intensity and intimacy that shocked Alex to the core, and then shocked her further. Lena loosed three words in a language from a dead world that she has no business knowing.

“Zhao w rrip.”

Alex was thunderstruck. Lena knew Kryptonian?

“Lex had a translation dictionary,” said Lena. “I just hope I pronounced it right.”

“We need to go,” Alex said, glumly. “You can stay at the DEO. We could use your help and it’s safer for you here anyway.”

“Just let me stay another minute. Please.”

“If I do, your face will be peeling off tomorrow. We can visit again later. Come on.”

“I can’t,” Lena choked out. “I can’t leave her.”

Alex was an about to say something else when her mother fell open. Kara’s eyes fluttered open and she immediately turned to Lena, bleary-eyed.

“Did you mean that?”

“Yes, Kara, I meant it.”

“But zhao means-“

“I know what it means,” Lena insisted, so full of joy now. “I know what it means, darling. That’s how I meant it. I love you, Kara.”

Oh.

Alex swallowed hard. She didn’t want to interrupt but Lena, and not to mention Alex herself, would get very sick very fast if they didn’t leave this room.

Lena grasped Kara’s uninjured hand.

“You have to go. It’s not safe for humans in here.”

Lena swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.

“Before I… can I…?”

“Yes,” Kara whispered.

Lena darted down and gave Kara a quick, soft kiss on her lips, lingering for just a moment. Kara smiled at her and their hands slid apart as Alex half dragged Lena out of the room and closed the door, then ripped off her sun shades and stared.

“How long?” she breathed.

“I’ve been in love with her for at least for years now,” Lena said, her voice cracking a little. “I’ve wanted to tell her for so long.”

Lips trembling, Alex was besieged. She remembered every time that she told Kara to stay away, not to trust her, not to tell her. The weight of what she has done presses her down as firmly as the knowledge that Kara will be healed soon lifts her up. There’s only one thing she can do.

She swept Lena into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doubting you and pushing you apart. I’m sorry I didn’t see sooner.”

Lena, at last, fully broke down in Alex’s arms. Later, when Eliza arrived, she passed off Lena-hugging duties to her mother until Kara was fully awake and can leave the sunroom.

Then, Alex went and did what you do for family.

She got rid of the body.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + thirty six

authors note: see at end of chapter.

cw/tw: angst, graphic violence, gore, torture, attempted and real violence against women and children, scenes depicting sexual assault.

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

***gif credit goes to @romanreigns ***

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 16k 

The minute the call with Domingo Lopez ends, the shock of the unexpected alliance and support weighs only for a couple minutes among the group. And, then it's gone. They can process that shit later. Roman can process that shit later. Right now, it’s time to plan and strategize.

And, they do, Steve eventually coming back in the room, only to remind them that whatever weapons, whatever guns, whatever they need from his massive collection, is theirs for the taking.

It’s deeply appreciated.

And, the assistance doesn’t stop there. 

Because as the group begins to gather around the table, the front door is opened, an almost deep yet feminine voice sounding from the foyer. “Dad, why the fuck are there—”

Roman takes in the sight of a young woman, tall in stature, defined muscles evident in the all black, gothic outfit she wears. Short black hair frames a pale face that’s covered in dark makeup. She looks skeptical of the group until she sets her gaze on Dwayne, of all people, smiling almost immediately. “Uncle Dwayne.”

At that, Roman scowls. 

Uncle Dwayne?

What the fuck?

Dwayne chuckles, stepping forward offering a hug to the witch looking kid. “Rhea.” He pulls back, shooting her a wink. “You brutalize anyone lately?”

“Among other things,” she smirks, gesturing to the group. “What’s all this?”

Putting two and two together, Roman would gather that this Rhea woman is Steve’s daughter. How, given she has a thick ass British or Australian sounding accent, and Steve is a country boy from Texas through and through, Roman hasn’t the slightest clue. 

Nor does he really care enough to try to figure shit out. 

“I’m in.”

Rhea’s statement directs his attention back to the scene at hand. He looks over at Dwayne. “What?”

“Women and children have been taken, right?” She asks, looking directly at Roman, not an ounce of fear or trepidation in sight. If not for the nature of his current situation, Roman might be a little impressed. Elvira's long lost daughter has got some balls. Rhea scowls. “Men already piss me the fuck off, but men who go after the innocent deserve a special place in hell.”

She looks between Dwayne and Roman, vowing, “you need an extra killer. You got one.”

Roman’s reluctance is clearly evident, as his older cousin gives him a slow, knowing nod. She’s good.

Once more, Roman finds himself having to lower his defenses, accepting and allowing help from the least expected sources.

“Fine.”

Not even twenty minutes later, the group, including Rhea, sans Austin, hover around the dining room table, planning and strategizing. “Alright,” Dwayne starts, iPad in hand showing a dated map and layout of the plant. The same layout that’s on the screen of both laptops on the table, providing all with a view. “Looks like there’s a couple entrances in and out of this place, but this one right here…..” He points to the largest space that provides a direct line to the biggest building on the property. “That’ll be our best way in. The core group.”

Santos is in deep thought, offering a valid question. “You don’t think we should utilize the the other entrances.” All eyes settle on him as he clarifies, “feels too obvious to use the front door. We’d be stepping right into heavy fire.”

“No, we won’t,” Roman supplies. It’s the first thing he’s said in a good ten minutes. “He wouldn’t risk killing me on the spot. He wants to make a spectacle of it.”

No one needs to ask who the he is. 

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” Cody speaks up, and Roman makes zero effort in hiding his displeasure. “Bron and Solo want an audience. Killing us the minute we step foot there would deprive them of that.”

Dwayne nods, continuing to strategize. “Main team uses the front door. Several other teams will use the alternative entrances, work their way in to take out as many men as possible.”

“We’ll need snipers,” Matteo speaks up, arms crossed as he too carefully studies the map. “Solo might be stupid to underestimate Roman, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll have snipers in place.”

Roman says nothing, silently agreeing. 

The Bloodline has some of the best goddamn snipers around. If Solo was too dumb to think they’d be useful, he can almost bet Rikishi talked him into it.

“That won’t be a problem,” Santos speaks up, gesturing to the two men who arrived with him. “Angel and Berto are some of the best long range shooters you could ever come across. They don’t miss.”

“Neither do I,” Afia chimes, a knowing, telling, almost graceful smirk on her face as she looks over at Rhea. “How’s your aim?”

Rhea smirks, answering without a beat and with all the confidence that seems to match. She just looks like a person who can back up anything and everything she says. “You give me a target. I’ll get you a hit.”

Afia nods, saying nothing but believing it fully. The young woman reminds her a lot of herself in her youth. Ravenous and blood thirsty.

She’ll be a great asset for the mission.

“Looks like we got that sorted,” Matteo chuckles darkly, though not surprised at his wife’s proposal. As much as Afia enjoys motherhood and her retirement, he can’t imagine her spending as much time as she did out in the field and not missing some aspect of it. Not to mention, this is personal. He knows how close his wife has gotten to Solana, and she would be torn up if something happened to her.

But, even more, she’s livid that Solana was taken in the first place and wants her pound of flesh.

A shared sentiment.

“We still need to figure out our teams,” Dwayne announces, keeping everyone on track. A necessity, as the reinforcements should be arriving in a little under an hour. “Obviously, myself, Roman, and Matteo—Afia, you and Rhea can join us when you’re done lighting up the bastards from the sky.”

The two women share a smirk and fist bump, the younger of the two acknowledging, “with pleasure.”

Dwayne shakes his head, keeping his comment to himself as he continues to plan, “Rhodes, you’ll also be with us—”

“The fuck he will.” Roman shuts that shit down immediately, all sets of eyes on him as she practically growls, “he’s not fucking coming with us.”

“The fuck I’m not,” Cody is quick with the rebuttal, not allowing anyone else time to intercede and defuse. “Bron has my wife and daughter!”

Words that go in one ear and out the other, the true Tribal Chief acridly dismissing, “you think I give a fuck about that?” There’s a level of complete disinterest Roman has in anything regarding Rhodes and the Rhodes family right about now. His one and only concern is Solana, and he reiterates as such. “They could fucking die for all I care. This is about rescuing my wife. Not your family.”

And without skipping or missing a beat, Cody’s dark, chilly retort is delivered without any hesitation. “The same way you rescued your family that night?”

It’s nothing short of a miracle the way Dwayne is able to intercede, blocking Roman from flipping over the table and using Rhodes as target practice for what he plans to do to Solo.

Matteo extends an arm across Cody, who stupidly seems unaffected or bothered by Roman’s full intent to murder him right here on the spot.

“That’s enough,” Afia’s voice cuts through the chaos of Roman working to break free from his older cousin and wipe that smug smirk off Rhodes fucking face.

Or just blow his head off altogether.

Either option is equally acceptable.

She says something in a language he can’t understand but can guess by the scowl on her face is nothing nice. “You’re acting like children. Now, there’s clearly a story here, but I don’t give two fucks about that story. Do you want to know why?” She points to the table where the laptops remain open. “Because three innocent lives are at stake. Your families have been taken. The women you love.” Her gaze softens a bit. “Children.”

It’s that last single word that has Roman’s full attention. It could easily be a reference to Cody’s daughter. A general statement, but Roman knows better.

Afia knows Solana is pregnant.

Knows that Roman stands to not only lose his wife but his unborn daughters.

It’s a brutal but necessary reminder of what’s at stake and the importance of the situation.

“She’s right,” Matteo speaks up, taking over for his wife, lowering his arm at the same time Dwayne releases Roman. “You two can hate each other until kingdom come after all of this is over, but until then, shut the fuck up, swallow your fucking pride, and let’s get back to business.”

There’s something about Matteo’s tone, final and almost parental, that reels in the divergence from the main goal at hand.

He’s right. Roman knows as such.

He will forever hold a special, unhealthy amount of hatred in his heart toward the man across from him, but that’s not important right now.

He can’t allow that unforgiving, unrelenting, pulsing hatred to distract him from what’s most important. And, what’s most important is bringing Solana back home, safe and sound. 

Alive.

Bringing her back alive.

Dwayne continues to spearhead in a sense, with occasional suggestions and ideas from the group, with Roman only chiming in when someone mentions Solo.

“He’s mine.”

A command that no one dares to defy. No one questions, and no one objects. Universal recognition that the only one who will spill Solo’s blood and be the one to cause him to take his final breath is the man most harmed in all of this.

Roman.

This is Roman’s kill to make.

A life for his to take.

In every brutal, gruesome way he can imagine.

Other than Roman’s one interjection, occasional head nods of agreement or acknowledgment, he’s silent and remains that way as he slips away while Steve offers the group their selection of whatever firearms and weapons they feel appropriate from his sizable armory. A separate building on the property.

But, Roman remains in the main house, finding his way outside as he sits on the steps and looks at his phone for the first time. 

A phone that’s been lit up with unaddressed notifications all day. Primarily from two people.

Jimmy and Naomi.

Calls, texts, voicemail messages. Several, multiple, outreach attempts, a brief perusing of some of the texts revealing intense and urgent concern. From the messages alone, it would appear that they have no idea what’s happened.

The betrayal that’s occurred.

A part of Roman believes it. A part of him can’t. He can’t because Roman knows how close that family is. They’ve always been close-knit. Primarily Rikishi and his sons. Thus, Roman can’t conceptualize how Jimmy could truly be in the dark, even Naomi. 

He wonders if it’s a ruse of sorts but can’t figure out why and for what reason. Solo knows Roman is coming. He wants Roman to come, so what reason would there be for him to have his brother play dumb, borderline harassing Roman with question after question about what’s just going on.

It’s confusing as shit, and while he hates to admit it, it bothers him.

It shouldn’t, but it does, and Roman knows that he needs answers. He needs answers to melt away the cloudy haze that sidetracks his vision. 

He has to know if the betrayal truly was full circle. If everyone he once thought he could trust is now forever stamped with the bleeding, red letters that spell out traitor.

Roman navigates to Jimmy’s contact, hitting dial without second thought.

Time is not on his side, and he needs to get this done. He needs to get it done now.

Two rings later and a flustered, panicked sounding Jimmy. “Roman?” 

The Tribal Chief hesitates, eventually offering a simple, “it’s me.”

Jimmy curses on the other end, immediately shouting for Naomi before returning his focus. “Man, I been trying to reach you all damn day. What the hell is going on?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, anxiously listing off all the things. “ I went to your office, and all they could tell me is you left this morning and ain’t nobody seen or heard from you since. We saw there was an attack at the library where Solana works, and we tried to go over there, but wasn’t nothing but bodies. Solana ain’t answering the phone, and Naomi is worried sick. I can’t get in contact with—”

“Did you know?”

Simple. Straight to the point. Necessary.

Jimmy pauses on the other end. “Know what?”

Roman runs his hands over his face, switching to speaker so he can rest it on the step next to him as he tries his best to compose himself. A difficult task, to say the least.

“It’s a coup,” he supplies. Roman isn’t exactly sure why he’s telling Jimmy from the start what’s occurred. What’s happening. In a more perfect world, he’d wait it out, see if his cousin would inadvertently reveal his own hand. But, this is far from a perfect world, and mentally, Roman is all over the damn place.

He doesn’t have the fortitude to navigate that shit right now.

He just wants to know.

He wants an answer.

“Rikishi, Solo, Jey, and what feels like the entire fucking Bloodline are trying to overthrow me. They’ve all turned on me and have kidnapped Solana in order to draw me out.” Roman leaves out the part where they’ve formed an alliance with the Nightmare Factory, wanting to keep some things to himself, to not reveal everything that he knows. “And, I need to know if you fucking knew about this shit. If you’ve betrayed me, too.”

Because that’s what this whole phone call is about. It’s not necessarily about scoping out information or alleviating concerns, it’s about finding out the truth, once and for all.

Jimmy scoffs, as if in disbelief. “What?” 

And then a more frantic voice, feminine and familiar. Naomi. “What do you mean they’ve kidnapped her?” Roman says nothing, providing no additional information as Naomi continues to pry for information. Maybe from genuine concern. Maybe from and for an entirely different reason.

Because, he hasn’t forgotten about the argument she’d had with Solana while on the girls trip. An argument that resulted in Solana asking her to leave.

And now, Solana has been kidnapped. 

“Oh my God, is she hurt? Why would they take her?” Naomi continues to shoot out question after question, her voice cracking. “We—we have to get her back!”

“We will,” Jimmy assures, clearly trying to console her on the other end. “Roman, where are you? What’s the pla—”

“Answer the question, Jimmy,” is Roman’s harsh, cold interruption. A reminder of his initial statement. “Did you know?”

“Wait a minute…” Jimmy trails off, voice shifting to something close to anger. “You think I had something to do with this?”

Roman doesn’t skip a beat with his reply. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Roman…” Naomi sounds hurt almost. Not that he cares. Her feelings are of no concern to him. “You know us. You know Jimmy. How could you even think—”

“I don’t know anything anymore!” Roman snaps, the tight grip he had on his emotions for this conversation starting to loosen. “All I know is that my wife has been taken, my fucking family has betrayed me, and the people who were supposed to be on my side have turned on me!” He closes his eyes, head tilted back as he rolls his neck and regains his composure. “I’m only going to ask one more time….did you know?”

Roman isn’t quite sure what kind of answer he expected from his cousin. He just knows he wants an answer. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter at this point.

The truth is all that matters.

“I knew….I knew they were thinking it was time you stepped down.” Jimmy finally answers after a good minute of silence. “Mostly Solo and my pops. They thought you’d become too distracted and wanted to meet with the Elders about stripping you of the ula fala.” Roman closes his eyes, doing his best to not allow the blow of Jimmy’s answer to extract from him another blow-up. “They wanted me and Jey to come with them, to go along with them, but I said hell no. I said—”

“So, you knew.” Because, that’s all Roman is hearing right now. He’s hearing that Jimmy knew tensions were high enough to where his dad and brothers wanted to see Roman dethroned, and he said nothing.

“I ain’t know they were planning this shit!” Jimmy defends, clearly emotional and frustrated.

It’s going around.

“Roman, we would never do anything to hurt you or Solana—”

“You should have told me. You should have fucking said something.” Roman completely dismisses Naomi. This isn’t even about her. This is about Roman and the man he thought he could trust. 

The family he thought he could trust.

“Roman, I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. I had no idea they were planning to do this.” To be fair, Jimmy sounds as genuine as he probably looks right now, but if there’s anything this experience has taught Roman, it’s that it’s sometimes the people closest to you who can say exactly what they know you want to need and hear. 

All while stabbing you in the back.

Jimmy had continued talking, while Roman sort of tuned him out in a sense, only to latch onto one attention-grabbing sentence. “....I thought my pops let this go years ago….”

Now, Roman is the one pausing. “What?” Silence. “What are you talking about?”

A heavy sigh followed by a clearly reluctant answer. “When we was younger, my dad used to talk to us about how it would be an honor if one of his sons could be Tribal Chief. He thought…he thought we should have challenged you for the ula fala.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, his chest a tight cage for all things heavy and uncomfortable. 

The shit just gets worse minute by minute.

“Is that why Jey did?” Roman asks, though something tells him he already knows the answer. 

“Yes.” Fuck. “My dad put a lot of pressure on him, encouraged him that he could do it, but when he lost, I thought pops had moved on from that. I had no idea—”

Whatever Jimmy planned to say next will never be known. It’ll never be known because Roman hits the end button.

And, he sits there. Alone. Thinking. Dwelling. Ruminating. All cognitive roads leading to one damning answer.

Traitors.

They’re all traitors.

For years, seeds and discussions of dissension have occurred, plans to dethrone him made and disregarded until one finally came to fruition. 

And, no one said a damn thing. 

Dead. 

They’re all dead to him. 

—------

Thinking is a difficult, arduous task when every path one conceives could lead to an untimely demise.

It’s a heavy realization Solana is slowly coming to as she sits propped up against the wall, gently stroking Brandi's hair as she sleeps on her lap. An unexpected position and situation that few would expect the women to be in. But, it was in Brandi waking up and screaming, clearly reliving her recent trauma, that Solana moved to console and comfort her.

She’s been there. 

She knows exactly what Brandi is experiencing, thus Solana working to soothe her back to sleep.

Solana doesn’t mind, because while she sympathizes with the trauma from the assault, she can’t imagine how devastated Brandi must be at being separated from her daughter. Not knowing where she is.

What’s being done to her.

It’s awful.

And, it’s why Solana is currently wracking her brain, trying to come up with a plan, preferably one that helps them get to Emma. 

To Solana, that’s the most important thing. Protecting the children.

It just unfortunately happens to be the hardest thing as well.

To the best of her abilities, Solana tried to observe and memorize the halls and make of the building. Tried to commit them to memory, but with each possible path to a rescue and escape, she was met with guards.

Armed guards.

And, with a pocket knife being her only available weapon, Solana knows it won’t get her far. She needs one as well. A gun, at the very least. 

Both herself and Brandi. If they’re going to escape this, and they will escape this, they have to be armed, too.

It’s just the how of it all that keeps stumping her.

Solana jumps and is immediately alert and cautious when the door turns, and though unsure, she's unwilling to show any fear at whoever it is entering. 

Especially if it’s Solo or Rikishi.

It’s not.

But, it's still that same level of anger and resentment she holds and feels staring at the person who remains in the doorway, tray of food in hand, guilty, almost contrite expression on his face.

Jey says nothing at first, closing the door behind him as he walks in. “Ya’ll should be hungry.”

Solana remains quiet, offering no reply as he moves closer, and she holds onto Brandi. Protectively.

Jey sighs, walking over to the desk, carefully placing the tray down. “You should probably eat—”

“How could you do this?” Jey’s nonverbal expression is an immediate, immense amount of guilt. And, that only pisses Solana off even more, makes her fist form at her side. “How could you betray Roman like this?”

Because as much as she hates this for herself, she hates it for her husband more. 

Hates that someone he viewed as a brother could do this to him. Could betray him like this. 

“Solana, you gotta believe that I had no idea they were planning to do all this,” Jey tries to explain, running his hands through his short hair, gesturing to a still sleeping Brandi. Solana hopes she remains asleep for the whole conversation. She needs the rest. So does Solana, but she needs to know the why more than she needs sleep. “Kidnapping innocent women and kids? That’s not me.”

“Isn’t it?” Solana challenges, jutting to the tray. “Because instead of bringing us food, you should be trying to help us out of here. That’s the Jey I know. Not some henchman bitch for his evil dad and brother.”

He’s initially quiet, Solana knowing she hit below the belt, but it’s hard to care in this situation. It’s hard to care anything about the man before her.

And then, a reply. “They got Nicki.”

Solana pauses. “What?”

She hates to admit it, hates to acknowledge it, but she can see it. Can see the distress that marks his features. Can hear how distraught he is. “Apparently, they had a feeling I would “turn” on them, so they took Nicki to make sure I “don’t forget” which side I chose.”

It’s a lot to take in. The last thing Solana expected to hear was that another innocent woman has been dragged into this nightmare, let alone Jey’s wife. But, while her heart goes out to Nicki, Solana has a hard time not focusing on Jey’s words.

“Exactly.” She finally speaks, voice low, heavy with exhaustion. Mental and physical. “You chose your side.” She lifts her chin, her tone leveled and solemn. “Now, you have to live with the consequences.”

Solana is well aware that Jey is able to read in between the lines of her response. As much as she feels for Nicki, she can’t think about that. Can’t be concerned when she already has so much on her plate. 

Jey did this. Now, he has to deal with it.

A grave realization that clearly overcomes the man as he leaves out without another word.

—------

 Roman has never feared death.

Not really.

Come close to it a handful of times in his almost 40 years on this earth, but the closest and maybe the only time he was ever really scared was the night his family was murdered. 

After that, fear became an emotion he had to bury when it comes to the end of life.

It’s not even something he’s really thought about, even in those moments where a brush with death was putting it lightly. He’s just never really cared. It’s also so systematic for him.

You’re born, you live, and you die. That’s just the order of things, and as a pragmatic person, he accepts that. It makes sense to him.

But, for the first time, in a long time, there’s a thought, a feeling, about finally meeting his maker—or not—that feels a lot more of a reality than it’s ever been.

Feels like it could very well be a possibility. An outcome.

And, it’s something he’s accepted.

He’s accepted it, because he’s also accepted that there’s nothing he won’t do to make sure Solana makes it out of this alive. 

That’s what’s most important to him. That’s the goal he has to have and keep in mind. 

Nothing else matters. 

He can’t and won’t be concerned with himself. That’s secondary. His wife and unborn daughters are his only concern, because he can’t conceptualize or even allow himself to think about any alternative.

He just can’t.

After grabbing an extra magazine and loading it into his vest, Roman’s heavy footsteps carry him from one room to another. And, the door is barely opened when Dulce lifts her head from where she lays on the bed. Tail wagging, her ears flop down when he moves over to the end of said bed. 

Roman chuckles, seeing the way her eyes close after he walks over to her, and she licks his hand, settling and laying back down. “You ended up being not so bad, after all, you know that?” Dulce shifts, rolling onto her back, exposing her stomach, her way of requesting a belly rub. 

He obliges.

One last time.

“You’ve always looked out for her…” He trails off, incapable of thinking back to how this tiny little creature potentially saved Solana’s life in more ways than one realizes. “Don’t ever stop that, alright?”

Dulce, innocent and oblivious, just continues to enjoy the belly rubs until they stop. Roman stands up and goes to walk away, only to hear her tiny bark. He turns around to see her jump off the bed, walking in his direction. “No. Stay.”

Instantly, her ears are back down as she whimpers, laying down, watery eyes never leaving his.

Roman swallows, offering a quiet, “bye, Dulce” before shutting the door.

Moving down the hall and over to the stairs, another familiar face waits for him at the bottom.

Ava waits until he’s right across from her to speak. “I should be going with you.”

Maybe. Roman can’t deny she’d be a valuable asset, but it was ultimately decided she would stay here with the children, them feeling significantly more comfortable with her and Austin versus just a strange man they don’t even know.

“You’re needed here,” is the only reply Roman offers as he adjusts his vest, rolling his shoulders.

Ava watches him. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Roman.” He looks at her. She offers a small smile.  “Okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does reciprocate the hug she offers. Squeezes her a little tighter than usual.

When they pull apart, she hits him on his arm, half joking, half serious. “Go fuck em’ up, big ears.”

He chuckles, appreciative of her. Of all their times together. “Still not as big as that big ass forehead.”

Ava’s response is to flip him off as he walks out the house and onto the porch where Dwayne stands, also in full tactical gear, watching as Matteo, Rhodes, and Santos work together to instruct the recently arrived reinforcements on the game plan.

In the distance, Rhea, Angel, Berto, and Afia converse, also ironing out their strategy.

Roman says nothing at first, eventually swallowing, voice heavy. “Dwayne.” When nothing is said in response, Roman moves right into it. “I need you to promise me some—”

“No.”

An unexpected, blunt single word response. Not entirely unsurprising. Roman closes his eyes. “Dwayne.”

“I already know what you’re going to say. What you want to ask me.” Dwayne crosses his arms, turning toward Roman. “You want me to promise you that once we get Solana, we leave, even if that means leaving you.” The silence is all the answer needed. “And, I’m telling you no, because I can tell you that wife of yours would rather see us all dead before she lets us leave you behind.” He takes a step forward, comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. “We go in together. We leave together. Aiga.”

Roman’s jaw clenches.

Family.

Aiga means family in Samoan.

The only problem is that Roman just isn’t quite sure just what family means to him anymore.

Not with all the betrayal.

Nevertheless, he can’t think of that right now.

He needs to be focused.

Matteo soon walks over, one foot on the step, the other on the ground. He directs his statement between the two men. “We’re ready.”

Two words.

One meaning.

Roman rolls his shoulders, walking down and forward, a man on a deadly brutal mission.

“Let’s go.”

—--------

Solana is startled awake when the heavy door across from her is sprung open with an unfamiliar level of aggression. She’s partially expecting Jey or even Rikishi only to be met with the cold blue eyes of the Caucasian man seen earlier in the day.

Brandi sits up, also startled, scooting back against the wall. “What do you—”

“Not you,” he dismisses. It’s only then as he moves toward the two women that Solana notices he walks with a sort of limp.

But, that’s farthest from her mind when he leans over and yanks Solana up by her arm. 

Goosebumps sprout up all over her, Brandi beating her with the question. “Where are you taking her?”

“Mind your business,” he grunts, Solana looking back at Brandi, partially trying to tug out of his grasp, only to fail epically. Her tug is no match for his brute strength.

Solana sees Brandi’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t hurt her!”

The door slams shut too soon for Solana to try to console her, let her know that it’s going to be okay, even if Solana feels the complete opposite. 

She knows something is wrong. Can detect, even feel, as such while being led down the hall. She does her best to distract her tingling spidey senses by examining the space. Still no cameras. None that she can spot, anyway. Expected given the obvious age of the building. 

That could help a ton.

For what exactly, she doesn’t quite know. But, it’s one less thing for her to worry about when she does finally formulate a good, solid plan. And, she needs to do so sooner rather than later.

Stopping outside a door, Solana hesitates when he opens it and motions for her to go in. She doesn't, which clearly upsets him, as he shoves her in there. Improved balance prevents her from falling, Solana looking around the room to see it’s not much unlike the one she was just snatched from, including the cot in the corner that’s a bit neater than the one in her cell.

Like someone had prepped it a bit.

The sound of the door closing redirects Solana’s attention as she turns around and realizes he’s staring at her.

And, it’s unnerving as hell, to say the least.

Naturally, she does her best to put as much distance between them as possible, slowly backing away.

He makes a sound and whistles. “Ya know, Bron kept going on and on about Rhodes girl, and she’s pretty alright, but me?” An unexpected country voice is tinged with something borderline malicious and eerie. He gives her an uncomfortable one-over. “I always liked me a girl with some meat on the bones.”

And, it’s in that one sentence, Solana realizes her spidey senses weren’t just tingling just to tingle. 

They were a warning sign.

Her heart is beating through her chest as she somehow manages a shaky, “what are you doing?”

He says nothing at first, just steps forward, continuing to undress her with his eyes. Solana’s anxiety goes from bad to catastrophic when her back collides with the old, gritty wall. 

She has nowhere else to go.

Disgust fills her when he spits off in the corner. “That husband of yours fucked up and ruined my life, ya know.” There’s something about that statement along with his country accent and big build that reminds Solana of something. A conversation. A conversation with Roman she had not too long ago. 

Brock.

This man has to be the Brock they’d talked about in bed that day. 

She gasps loudly, realizing he’s directly in front of her. “Seems only right I fuck and ruin his pretty little wife as payback, don’t you think?”

No.

Solana’s first instinct is the one she works on. Foolishly, she attempts to dart past him, screaming out when he grabs her and picks her up.

“NO! LET ME GO!” Fighting and thrashing against him, Solana is a mess of nerves, terror, and determination. “HELP!” 

Her screams feel like they fall to the void, and she winces loudly when thrown onto the ground. 

On the cot.

Solana briefly shuts her eyes, having to ignore the pain in the back of her head. But, she’s forced to return to the terrifying scene unfolding before her when Brock straddles her.

“A feisty thing, ain’t you?” Words that send chills down her spine and travel her back to an earlier time in life. Easily, one of the darkest days of her life.

The day she was raped.

His statement is eerily similar to the same thing her rapist said to her as he started ripping off her clothes, while the other one held her down.

Something that forever changed her life in all of the worst ways.

Something that she swore would never happen to her again.

Solana promised herself that she would never let another man hurt her, and she meant that shit.

It’s a promise she can’t break.

Borck’s disgusting, meaty hands groping at her breast through her sweater, Solana knows she has to think fast, think smart, and without even realizing it, she’s stammering. “I’m—I’m on my period!”

It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and she’s immediately regretting it, because no way will he believe that.

She needs something else.

Solana has never felt as much disgust when she forces herself to offer, “but, I—I can—I can give you head.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle that she doesn’t throw up on the spot. A desire that grows exponentially seeing him smirk and his eyes light up at the offer of her doing something she hasn’t even done with her own husband. 

But, it’s the only thing that comes to mind that will get them to switch positions, that will allow Solana to be on top.

Because she knows what she has to do to keep that promise. 

To save herself. 

Wordlessly, Brock climbs off her, relieving the weight Solana didn’t realize was settling on her chest. She scrambles to her knees, again praying with everything in her that she can continue to hold back the vomit begging to be released as he moves in front of her, his crotch uncomfortably close to her face. His musty scent does nothing to help that nausea, Solana shutting her eyes and blinking the tears back. 

This is the only way. 

Disgust isn’t the right word, but it’s an accurate one nonetheless. Solana wills herself to place her hand on the buckle of his jeans, her eyes darting up to see him looking down at her with excitement and anticipation. 

It’s revolting. 

But, the moment he tilts his head back, rolling his neck, as if preparing for the pleasure that will consume him by defiling her, Solana takes it.

She takes the opportunity.

With impressive speed, she slides the pocket knife secretly tucked in the back pocket of her jeans out, unsheathes it and hesitates not one second to drive it into his crotch. 

His roar of pain is music to her ears as she yanks the knife out, quickly remembering the, now, most important part of the conversation she had with her husband. 

The unknowingly key part he’d shared.

“.....I speared him, he went down badly on his right leg, the dominant one, and fucked it up real good…..”

That same right leg she drives the knife into. Close to his knee, carefully avoiding bone but effectively severing muscle. More cries of agony as blood seeps out of both the orifices, and Solana retracts her knife, quickly jumping back to her feet. 

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!” He shouts, going to grab for her, only to fall down when she moves out the way, paving the way for said fall. 

Somehow, someway, Brock rolls over to his back, revealing the blood that stains his pants, continuing to pour out of him at an abnormal pace. A pulsing blood flow.

Good.

A sense of joy fills Solana as she realizes she was effective in her aim. His artery. She went for his femoral artery. A major blood vessel. 

A critical one. 

The same way she once again doesn’t hesitate as she hovers over him, lifts her knife once more and rams it into the side of his neck, not stopping until it reaches the hilt. She watches his eyes bulge from his head and expertly dodges the spurt of blood that shoots out of his gaping wound when she removes said knife.

Panting, heart racing, Solana stumbles backward, watching how his mouth opens, as if he’s trying to issue one last threatening, hateful message before bulging eyes shift into nothingness followed by a stillness of his body.

Solana waits a good minute, ensuring he’s clearly dead before reaching and snatching the gun off his holster. Moving back once more, bloody knife in one hand, gun in the other, the reality of what’s just happened smashes into her with all the weight of finality.

She killed him.

Solana killed this man.

And though her eyes fill with tears, and that weight on her chest returns, it’s not exactly what she expected to experience after taking a life.

He was going to hurt her.

He was going to rape her. 

She had no choice. 

She did what she had to do to protect herself. 

To protect her babies.

There’s pain and trauma but also relief at carrying through on her promise. 

No man will ever hurt her again. She said that shit, and she meant it.

She stood on it. 

She stood on business.

Solana nearly jumps out of her bones when the door is suddenly open, prompting her to aim the gun in one hand and lift the knife in the other up, as if ready to attack the person who enters.

And someone does. A man of a stocky build, with a complexion similar to that of her husband and his family members. Red and black locs that hang freely, blocking some of his face, but it’s the way he immediately lifts his hand, as if defensively that has her intrigued.

“Hey, look, I’m not here to hurt you,” he starts off, gaze falling to Brock’s bloodied, dead body. He scoffs. “Good. I was gon’ make sure his ass ain’t make it out here alive anyway.”

A statement that both shocks and confuses Solana, but she doesn’t show it. Neither does she lower either of her weapons, all the while keeping the gun specifically aimed for the middle of his head.

“Look….” Gaze back on her, this unknown man continues to speak, sounding almost desperate. “I know you probably not gon’ believe me, and I don’t blame you. But, I had no idea none of this shit was gon’ happen. Tribal Chief had me shadowing and working with Jey the past few months, and he just told me to come along with him, cause Solo had some shit to share with us. But, I had no idea—” He stops, looking off into the corner. “Roman gave me another chance to prove myself after I fucked up a few years ago. None of this shit is right. Solo ain’t no damn Tribal Chief. Roman is the Tribal Chief, and to team up with the Nightmare Factory after what Rhodes did to our family?” Anger fills his eyes and voice. “To go after women and kids? We don’t do that shit. I got 5 daughters. I would lose my shit if someone did something like this to them.”

Words. They’re a bunch of words stringed together that Solana is following but not fully comprehending. Not sure what to believe, if any of it. Eventually, she finds herself asking, never lowering her only forms of defense. “Why….why are you telling me this?”

He maintains his repentant expression. “Cause, it’s not the whole Bloodline in on this shit. Just the weak-minded motherfuckers who ain’t got no spine. It’s a group of us that ain’t with this shit, cause ain’t no way Roman not about to come up in here and rain fire.” The first sentence to leave his mouth that makes her feel something. A sense of pride. A lot of fear. A level of hope. He vows, placing his fist over his heart. “We loyal to the only Tribal Chief, and that’s Roman Reigns.” He juts his chin in her direction, adding on almost proudly, “And that includes the Faletua.”

It only takes Solana a minute to realize why the term, though not in a language she’s fluent in, is a word she knows.

She remembers Dwayne referring to her as such before.

The wife of the Tribal Chief.

“Our job is to protect you, so that’s what we gon’ do.” He rolls his shoulders, nodding to himself.  “That’s what I’m gon’ do.”

Solana isn’t sure just why or how, but at some point in his explanation, the suspicion settled into relief. The doubt at his words was chewed out and tipped away by belief. She doesn’t know how or why, but she believes him.

Believes that he truly means her no harm.

And, that’s a relieving feeling to have when surrounded by the complete opposite. 

Finally lowering the gun and knife, she asks, probing. “And Jey?”

Regret fills his face. He looks and sounds a bit torn with his answer. “Jey seem like he ain’t know it was gon be all this, but he knew it was gon’ be something.” Solana doesn’t say it or show it, but she feels the same way. Maybe he didn’t know the full plan of this coup, but he knew something was being concocted. And, he did nothing to stop it.

That makes him just as complicit in her book.

The man whose name she still doesn’t know continues, adding almost regretfully. “Regardless, I don’t think we can trust Jey to be on our side, cause Solo got his wife.” 

Solana’s stomach drops. A part of her wondered if Jey was just saying that as a manipulation ploy. But, obviously, that wasn’t the case. “Nicki really is here?”

He nods. “I guess Solo had a feeling Jey might be on some shit, cause he got her locked up somewhere. Jey been trying to find her.”

Solana nods. She understands. It makes sense Jey would want to find and free his wife from this nightmare.

The thought urges her to make something clear. “Brandi and Emma need to get out of here.”

As somewhat expected, he looks at her with obvious disagreement. “All due respect, ma’am, you’re the pri—”

“I’m the Faletua, right?” He nods. “Well, Roman isn’t here right now. I am. So that means you answer to me, and I say the priority is getting that little girl and her mother the hell out of here.” And, she means that. 

Solana knows she also needs to find a way out, but her heart aches with knowing Brandi has been violated and traumatized in the worst way possible while simultaneously being separated from her only child. It’s a bit of maternal instinct and empathy that has her prioritizing the mother/daughter duo over herself.

They have to get out.

“Aight’,” he finally agrees. Solana is slightly confused when he steps out the door only to return with something black in hand. “You gon need this.” He steps forward, Solana handing him the gun—she keeps the knife—in exchange for what she realizes is a vest. 

A bulletproof vest.

“You know how to shoot?” He suddenly asks, turning around and allotting her the privacy to change. She’s appreciative, lifting her sweatshirt off to put on the vest. Over her sweater would work, but something about it being concealed seems to make more sense.

“Well enough,” is her answer. She takes a second to feel her belly, eyes briefly closing as she once again reminds herself why.

Why she has to fight. 

Finished changing, vest secure, sweater on again, it’s only then she asks, telling him he can turn around, “what’s your name?”

“Jacob,” he answers. Jacob. She commits it to memory, because when they make it out of this, and they will make it out of this, she owes him.

She owes him her life. 

—------

By the time the groups arrive, it’s nighttime, the dark of night aiding in the arrival of heavily armored trucks and equally armed men. Soldiers ready for battle, for a war that they have full intentions on winning. For Roman, it’s less a war, and more of an extermination. 

The map found online serves as an accurate, helpful guide, allowing the carefully cultivated plan, tactical and methodical, to proceed just as planned. The plant, as predicted, is heavily guarded and secured. The perimeter swarmed by both Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men. It all makes no difference to the groups. 

Targets.

They’re all nothing but intended targets.

It’s why they send in a number of men, elite Cartel assassins to sweep the outside perimeter, the use of silencers aiding in their silent takedown. Bodies dropping, aiding in the undetected entrance of the group of snipers to aid in taking down men from above, while the rest make their way through on the ground.

Ready and hungry for blood, Bayley rolls her shoulders, looking over at the group, questioning, “everyone knows what the plan is, right?”

A number of various types of acknowledgment, Santos speaking in Spanish to Angel and Berto before looking amongst the group of them, specifically the faction of snipers. “It’ll only be a matter of time before the pendejos make their way up to you.”

Afia’s eyes burn with the bloodlust. “I’m counting on it.”

Matteo chuckles. It truly is a tossup as to who will leave tonight with the highest kill count. His wife or his brother. Something tells him Afia might tip the scale in her favor.

Not only did the bastards enter her home, but they’ve gone after someone who she fully considers to be family. A sister.

A dire, lethal mistake.

Cody speaks up, Roman intentionally drowning him out, still deeply disliking the fact that he’s even present. Avoidance is the best and only way, however, to deal with that.  “We need to be prepared for….injuries.”

A general statement that needs no elaboration. He’s talking about Solana, Brandi, and Emma. It’s truly a hope for the best, prepare for the worst when it comes to that. Especially given they all witnessed how Solo had zero hesitation in order Solana to be waterboarded.

To be tortured.

“I have that handled.” Santos supplies, offering nothing more, a shared look and nod between himself and Dwayne and Matteo.

That much Roman notices, but he says nothing, because he needs to make something clear.

Something he’s not willing to compromise on.

“If any of you get to Solana before I do, you all take her and you get the hell out of here.”

It’s a bold, demanding statement that draws several looks of skepticism. 

Bayley is the first to speak, or to try, at least. “What about yo—”

“You heard what I said.”

Another valorous, brazen reiteration, the fierce, dark look in his eyes—and voice—indicating there is no room for objection or argument. And Roman confirms as such, directing his next statement solely to Matteo and Dwayne, “that’s an order.”

It’s a final statement. 

A last decree.

Still an order that’s met with reluctant acceptance, none of which can be moved beyond disagreement because Santos presses a finger to the comm in his ear, earpieces they all have to aid in communication. He nods, expression spoiling his next statement. “It’s clear.”

Afia nods, sharing a look with Rhea as the women fist bump. “Let’s go.” She shoots her husband one last look, an unspoken be careful, before the group moves out, disappearing into the night, each already knowing which building they intend to enter and climb, moving to the top to settle into position.

Restlessness is felt and slightly visible for everyone except for Roman and Cody. An irritating similarity but one Roman can’t deny nor can he entirely not understand.

They’re both men on missions, determined to rescue and right the egregious wrongs that have been done between them. 

Vengeance. 

And, minutes later, when a single sniper shot enters the night, the restlessness slips into something of dangerous silence.

Go time.

It’s a slow, steady thing as the remaining men, led by Roman, Dwayne, and Matteo guide the core group and fleet of soldiers by foot. The Tribal Chief is the one to issue the first shot, to see the body plop to the ground. Several more follow as gunshots rain from the sky, aiming and hitting Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men alike. 

And when the numbers even off just enough, Roman ditches the gun, opting for something more brutal. 

Something that fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, that eases into the bloodlust that consumes him. 

With brutal and gory efficiency, Roman advances through the men, knife slicing deep, hitting bone in some instances. Blood squirts from his expert cuts, the sick sound of them choking on their own blood silenced by the stomp of his boot on their neck, a sickening crunch sound deafened under the hail of gunshots and mayhem surrounding him.

Roman is all machine and no human, as he brutally disarms and murders man after man, soldier after soldier, uncaring and unwilling to give a single fuck whether they wear the Bloodline or Nightmare insignia. It doesn’t matter.

They’re all fucking traitors, no matter what way one looks at it. 

They all deserve to fucking burn.

Around him, the brutality he extends to his comrades, is reflected in those fighting alongside him. Out the corner of his eyes, he sees Bayley yank a man backwards as she puts the gun to his head, pulling the trigger, brain splatter flying across, landing on other men who continue to drop, falling against the onslaught of the elite killers.

It’s a bloodbath.

At some point the gunfire from the top ceases, indicating Afia and company have been reached, and it’s confirmed as such when a body comes flying from the sky, landing grotesquely, limbs distorted, face grotesque from being blown off. 

Another of many victims the night still has yet to claim.

Roman can even spot Rhodes, deranged look on his face as he yanks a bloodied knife out of someone’s eye socket only to lodge it in the throat of a man honing in on him. Dwayne and Matteo work almost in synch, covering each other, gunning down man after man, resorting to lethal combat when necessary.

A loud battle cry of sorts is all Roman overhears as he turns just in time to seeing Afia use a hunched over, injured soldier as a makeshift spring board as she contorts hers body, legs wrapped around another man, flipping him over onto his back. She slices a large hunting knife across his throat, blood spurting out, flying wildly at the same time she uses the gun in her other hand to take down three other men. 

Not even seconds later, she’s back on her feet, brutally murdering another set of several men in under a single minute. 

The Opo has truly arrived.

Similarly, Rhea clears an almost path of sorts, expertly gunning down bastards, the dagger in her other hand suddenly being thrown across the way, somehow perfectly landing in throat of yet another dead fucker.

She smiles in sick satisfaction.

The same satisfaction that's seen on Santos face as he yanks a knife out of one dead man only to lodge it into yet another, now, dead man.

It’s obvious everyone is on the page.

Extermination.

This is a fucking extermination.

—-----

For Solana, the first order of business is getting to Emma, making sure she’s safe. Once she has Emma, they can retrieve Brandi and proceed with whatever plan Jacob has for trying to get them the hell out of dodge. She’s skeptical but somewhat eased by the other Bloodline guards who seem to have loyalty still to her husband, given their going along with Jacob using the excuse of Solo wanting to see the abductees.

Solana is slightly surprised at how he’s believed, but she doesn’t question it. 

What other option does she have?

Her heart is beating through her chest when they arrive at a door, Jacob dapping up and speaking in Samoan to the two guards who shoot her nasty looks. Solana diverts her gaze to the ground, recognizing her glare or look of indifference could potentially set them off or attract the wrong kind of attention. 

She has to continue to play the role of the scared, taken woman. And to be fair, it’s not entirely an act. She is scared. This is unfamiliar territory. Truly life or death.

It’s just that Solana has decided to give death the middle finger.

She’s not ready to die.

Not tonight.

Not anytime soon. 

Especially not like this.

The door opens, and she has to stop herself from pushing past Jacob to go in and gently coax Emma out. But, she can’t. Again, if this is going to work, she has to play her role, and it has to work.

But, the minute Jacob comes out with a crying, sniffling Emma, Solana can’t help herself. She instantly reaches for and pulls Emma into her chest, eyes shutting when she the little girl hold onto her.

“I want my mommy and daddy,” she cries, and Solana has to force back the tears.

“I know, sweetie. It’s gonna be okay.” She strokes the top of Emma’s head, vowing. “I promise.”

Because not only is she not dying tonight, Solana refuses to let anything happen to the little girl in her arms. 

No matter what.

“Let’s go,” Jacob barks, forcing the two apart. Solana can see the unspoken apology in his eyes as he guides them down the hall in a different direction from where they came. Solana holds Emma’s hand, whispering words of comfort, doing her best to offer any type of solace she has to give. 

However, the more they walk, the more audible sound becomes. Muffled, clearer with each step they take. An altercation, a brawl of some sort, but then it becomes evident it’s a lot more than just a brawl.

Gunshots. 

Solana hears gunshots.

Naturally, she moves to duck, covering Emma with her body as the men around her begin to shout, most speaking in Samoan until an English voice calls out with all the panic.

“Roman is here!”

And just like that, Solana’s stomach drops.

He’s here.

Roman is here.

She doesn’t have much time to think or process this piece of information, because Jacob is shouting at her, telling her to follow him. She does so, never once letting go of Emma’s hand as he leads them to a place unknown.

But, they’re stopped, two guards questioning Jacob about where he’s taking her and Emma, and he gives the same answer he gave before. Except this time, it’s not believed. Solana can tell the moment the man looks at her, neutral expression morphing into a glare. 

And then she's suddenly being shoved out of the way, almost knocking Emma onto the ground. Seconds later, a gunshot.

But, it’s not in the distance. It’s right before her.

“Get Brandi and get them out of here!” Jacob yells, gun in hand, walking over the body, two men flanking him as he shouts, shooting down and effectively dodging the onslaught of bullets.

Still, Solana is in fight or flight mode as three Bloodline guards keep a sort of circle around herself and Emma, leading them away from the shooting, away from the violence. Emma’s cries of terror absolutely gut Solana, and she’d give anything to try to comfort her right now, but that’s not the priority. They have to get out of here first.

Led down a staircase, the door is kicked open, and a left is made, leading to a large space filled with rusted equipment and other dated, deteriorated machines and items. Solana is about to pick Emma up, her little legs unable to keep up at a proper pace, when more gunshots ring out. 

Solana shouts and moves to tug Emma near her when she’s suddenly thrown shoved down, something, someone ramming into her. Solana’s head bounces off the ground, an instant, sharp pain slicing the back of her head.

Cut.

She’s been cut on something. Unsurprising given this space seems full and filled with potential hazards. 

“Got you now, you little bitch,” Eyes shut, Solana trying to ignore the pain, she doesn’t need to use her vision the person to know who it is. “I’ve been waiting for this day a long ass time,” Samantha hisses, Solana finally willing her eyes open to see the woman standing over her, gun in her hand. She smirks, looking up and walking away, “but first, I kill the kid.”

Seconds. It takes only seconds for Solana to register what’s happening. What’s about to happen.

In the distance, guards continue to spar, allies versus traitors, too consumed in their own battle to help her.

She’s on her own. 

With a sudden, burning rage, Solana moves up off the ground and runs behind Samantha, grabbing her by her hair and slamming her face into a nearby pillar.

Samanath cries out in pain, falling to the floor, the gun also tumbling out of her hand. Solana is quick to kick it to the side, chest heaving, fist forming, rage boiling.

Marching over to her, Solana sneers, eyes burning with unbridled determination. “You should have killed me when you had the chance, hoe.” Jumping on top of her, one hand takes a fist full of Samantha’s hair to hold her still, the other rains a direct punch onto her face, aiming for her nose.

Samantha continues to cry out, to try to push Solana off as she rains hit after hit onto her, grabbing her by her face and slamming her head repeatedly into the ground. The anger, the rage, the hurt, the everything Solana has felt in the past twenty-four hours racing through her veins, serving as fuel. 

The desire to survive. 

The desire to protect.

The desire to live.

Samantha manages to move her arm just enough, grabbing some inanimate object and bashing Solana over the head with it.  

Solana gasps, eyes clenching shut from the pain. It’s not sharp like the cut was, but it’s dull and heavy and forces her to roll off the other woman onto her side, as she grips her head.

Samantha stumbles off the ground, landing a kick into Solana’s back. "You took everything from me!" Naturally, Solana moves into a fetal position, protecting herself. "Now, it's your turn to suffer."

A nearsighted Samantha opts for a more final method of assault, turning away, wide, crazed eyes searching for the gun. Blood drips down from scalp, onto the cotton of her shirt. Her lip is busted open, also bleeding, the evidence of the brutal assault visible for all to see.

Solana, however, rolls onto her back, sitting up and seeing Samantha. Seeing her trajectory. Solana also sees the location of the gun, and she times it. It’s all done so quickly, too quickly for most people, but she’s a woman determined. And with that determination, lip curled, a loud roar of sorts leaves her mouth as she moves to her feet, charging for the other woman. Samantha is barely able to turn around when she's knocked to the ground from the impact of Solana’s spear. 

Quickly, Solana rolls off of Sam, grabbing for the gun that’s now in her hands. And the minute Sam tries to scramble to her feet, Solana aims, shoots, and lodges three bullets into her. 

One in the shoulder.

One in the chest.

And one in the head.

Samantha’s dead body crumples to the ground, still and unmoving.

Solana closes her eyes, placing her free hand over her chest, taking a deep breath. The pain of the fight, the throbbing in her cheek something she has to set aside as she throws the gun to the side, needing to find Emma. Opening her eyes and moving back to her feet, she sees all of the guards previously fighting all laying dead, too.

She swallows.

It’s just her and Emma now.

Solana’s anxiety spikes a bit as she prays Emma didn’t wander off too far. She starts walking in the direction she saw the little girl run.

“Emma!” She shouts, hoping the violence she displayed didn’t cause the girl to fear her as well. That’s the last thing needed right now, but it could very well be the case for such a young child. “Emma, it’s ok–”

Solana is both interrupted and silenced when someone grabs her from behind and slams her up against a nearby pillar. She tries to scream, but a hand is wrapped around her throat and something else is pressed against her stomach.

Eyes open, she’s met with vicious, burning glare and snarl of a man she immediately recognizes as the person who intended to waterboard her. On Solo’s orders, but still. 

Her fingers attempt to pry at his grip as he cuts off her oxygen, but true fear fills her when she drops her eyes to see what’s pressed against her.

A gun.

He has a gun pressed against her stomach.

“I just watched my brother get his brains blown out because of you,” he hisses, warm breath fanning her face. “All of this chaos for an ugly scarred bitch like you?” Solana closes her eyes, feeling the most helpless she’s felt all day.

Please. Her brain cries out for mercy what cannot leave her mouth. Her heart aches for Emma, aches for herself, aches for her husband, aches for her dog, aches for her daughters.

It can’t end like this. 

It can’t.

“You—” He stops, snarling and shouting. “Take any step closer, and she’s a dead bitch!”

Confused at why he’s shouting, the confusion is short-lived when she’s instantly spun around, his grip on her throat releasing, his forearm covering her neck as the gun is lifted from her stomach and pressed into her temple.

She would cry out if not for the fact that she’s now face to face with none other than Matteo. His gun is aimed toward her, but his eyes speak what he cannot verbalize.

You’re safe.

“Easy,” he cautions, and Solana clenches her eyes shut, needing to calm her nervous system from her anxiety that’s all over the place at this point. “I’m not here to kill you.” He pauses. “Just to distract you.”

At that, her eyes shoot open at the same time a loud gunshot sounds out. One that’s closer than anything she’s ever experienced. Naturally, she drops to the ground, covering hands over her ears as she coughs violently, gasping for the air that was previously deprived. 

And suddenly, hands are on her, prompting Solana to scream, fists beating at and trying to pull away from whoever is trying to pull her close. A natural, normal response. Something she continues to do until the ringing in her ears settles, and she can hear it. Can make out not only that something is being said but what is being said.

“Look at me.” 

It’s not a threat of unspeakable violence, it’s not a violent declaration or a promise of pain. It’s a plead, almost pained plea, of the most simplest nature.

So, she obliges and nearly falls apart.

It’s not void, dark eyes intent on murder. It’s warmth. 

It’s home.

She can barely breathe, her voice hoarse and battered from hours of screaming and crying. “Roman?”

He doesn’t move, just continues to stare at her, stroking the top of her head, willing her to calm down. “You’re safe.” Her eyes shut. “I’ve got you.”

It’s that last statement that nearly strikes up a panic attack, the emotions of the day tumbling over as she throws her arms around him, holding him, cradling him by the back of his head. 

“It’s okay,” he continues to reassure her, kissing her cheek, holding her. It’s a type of relief and comfort that she could never describe. Not accurately.

Her face pressed into his chest, hands grabbing at shirt. "You're here," she cries. "You came." He’s holding her, tightly, and she makes no effort to move away.

To let go.

Never. 

Never again.

He’s saying something, gently, but she can’t make it out. Not with her current emotional state. 

Eventually, he’s able to stand them up, separating them just to brush her tears away. A deep scowl falls on his face, as he assesses her, one hand feeling the back of her head where she’s still bleeding. His other hand goes to her stomach where he lifts her sweater just enough to see the bulletproof best. 

“You’re hurt.” He frowns, anger and regret dancing in his eyes. “Listen to me.” His eyes are now scanning over her, surveying her injuries no doubt. Solana can see his rage amplifying. “You’re gonna go with Matteo—”

She’s instantly protesting, shaking her head, “N-no–” It’s then Solana realizes and remembers, breaking away, only to call out, “Emma!” She can feel Roman and Matteo close behind her, not allowing too much distance be created between them. “Emma, it’s okay—it’s—it’s safe!” She points to Roman, “this is my husband. He’s—he’s here to save us, sweetie.”

It’s then quiet footsteps and sniffling can be heard, Emma’s little body emerging from the shadows.

“Oh honey,” Solana walks over, leaning down hugging her. “It’s okay.” 

Emma cries into her as Solana lifts her up, walking her back over to where Matteo and Roman, each wearing different expressions. Matteo seems sympathetic. Roman seems torn. He's not looking at a little girl.

He's just looking at a Rhodes, and while she can understand why, it causes her to ask him a simple but powerful question.

“What if it was one of our daughters?”

Roman closes his eyes, nodding, acknowledging the uncomfortable truth. With reluctance acceptance, he turns, speaking to Matteo. “Get them both out of here.”

But, it's his lack of self-inclusion that has Solana frowning and shaking her head. “You’re coming with us.”

He walks over, his hand goes to the back of her neck, caressing her skin. “I have to finish this, Solana.”

Solo.

He’s talking about Solo.

He has to kill him.

All of this she understands, except for the fact that it makes Solana literally sick to think about walking out of this place without her husband. Her eyes start watering all over again as Emma continues to cry quietly into her shoulder. “Roman….”

He steps forward, kissing her temple, “I’ll be fine.” She wants to believe that. She wants more than anything to believe that, but there’s a niggling feeling in the pit of her belly that she can’t shake. “I’ll meet you all in a bit.” He looks over at Matteo, the two sharing some kind of unspoken exchange.

Her voice cracks. “Roman—”

“I love you.”

His hand lingers on her cheek, his eyes burning into hers once more all of his adoration and devotion. And then, he’s gone, turning on his heel, seeking to end this once and for all. 

Solana has a hard time looking away, has an even harder time walking away, even at Matteo’s gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her to follow him. She does, never once letting Emma down, but her mind remains focused on Roman.

She can’t shake the thought that a dire mistake is being made in letting him go alone. She knows he’s just as capable as any when it comes to fighting, but this day has been unlike any other. While she knows she’ll have her fair share of trauma to process from the experience, something tells her his hasn’t been any easier. 

As Matteo leads them into turning a corner, Solana is met with yet another unexpected sight.

A group of people.

There’s too many of them to focus in on just one. Dwayne. Afia. Bayley. Santos.

Cody Rhodes?

And, it’s the latter of which who is the first to speak, his previously fierce gaze softening when he sees his daughter. “Emma…”

Emma’s head lifts up, as she turns around, her crying intensifying all over again. “Daddy!”

Solana offers no protest when the little girl starts wiggling in her arms, wanting to get down. The minute her feet hit the ground, she’s rushing over to her father who takes her, picking her up, eyes shut as he cradles the back of her head. “Emma.”

It’s a heartwarming sight for sure, Solana seconds later being pulled into a hug by Bayley.

Solana sniffles, shaking her head, assuring, “I’m okay.”

“Hell yeah, you are,” Bayley squeezes a little tighter before Afia tackles her with a hug, pulling back a bit sooner than anticipated.

She brings her hand to Solana’s face. “I told you that you were a fighter.”

A powerful little reminder. But, not just her. The people surrounding her by now all came together to help her, to help Roman. 

Family. 

This is her family.

And, family sticks together.

Matteo nods, taking the lead. “We need to get go—”

“We’re going back,” Solana announces, drawing all sets of eyes on her. Her focus though, is primarily on Matteo and Dwayne. “We’re not leaving Roman.”

There’s something close to agreement that flashes in Matteo’s eyes, but his words contrast that. “Solana, Roman made his wishes clear. Once we got you—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Solana dismisses. Because, she doesn’t. Roman’s priority, she’s almost certain, was rescuing her. And now that he’s done that with obvious help, he thinks he has to handle the rest of it on his own. But, he doesn’t. And, he won’t.

Chin raised, Solana motions to herself. “He’s not here right now, but I am.” A look of pride comes over Afia and Bayley, even Santos who looks almost impressed by her display of assertiveness. Of authority. “I am the the Faletua. I make the call, and I said we’re going back.” A beat. “That’s an order.”

It’s not familiar territory for Solana, speaking so boldly and authoritatively to such a set of people. Of some of the best, trained killers in the world. But, for her husband, she’ll do it. 

She’ll do anything for the man she loves.

Because not only does she have no plans to die tonight, she has no plans on him dying either.

Dwayne suddenly makes a sound, rolling his shoulders, rallying the group. “You all heard her. The Faletua has spoken.”

Solana smiles, grateful for the nods of approval and agreement. She then turns to Cody, voice softening as Emma continues to cry into his shoulder now. 

Her heart breaks for the years it will take for her to heal from this trauma.

She swallows, directing almost sympathetically. “Get Brandi and get out of here.” A bit of emotion fills her as she offers a small, sad smile. “Take them home.”

Shock flashes in his eyes, as well as something else she can’t place her hand on. But, he nods, swallowing deeply.  “Thank you.”

Solana says nothing, simply walking closer to gently stroke Emma’s cheek. “You are one brave little girl.”

Emma doesn’t say anything, but Solana doesn’t expect her to. She just needs her to know that. To know that in all of this, she possessed strength and courage.

That she survived.

As Cody walks away, Solana looks around at the faces of those staying and remaining, willing to stand with and by her. 

Friends.

Family. 

She nods, determination and adrenaline racing through her blood while accepting the knife from Afia extends to her. 

“Let’s go.”

—--------

Not an iota of shock fills Roman when he finds Solo in a large open space in the building similar to where he found Solana.

No, he knew Solo would be waiting for him the second his younger cousin realized that not only had he come, but he came with an army. An army that’s almost entirely decimated the traitorous bastards who chose to stand against Roman.

A fatal decision, clearly.

“Gotta hand it you,” Solo starts, standing up from the chair where he sits. “Well played.”

Roman says nothing. He simply starts removing his vest, ridding himself of what is not needed.

No weapons are required for this. This is deeper than two enemies coming to face off in a final round.

For all intents and purposes, this is tribal combat, and the only things needed for that are anger, motivation, and determination.

All of which Roman has an abundance of. 

Solo stands up and also starts to remove his tactical gear as well as the red ula fala around his neck. Both men rid of the necessities, there’s a sort of predatory dance that occurs between them. Solo chuckles. “You know it’s not too late.” He has the fucking audacity to raise his chin, a sense of faux supremacy lacing his voice. “Acknowledge me, and I might spare your ass.” 

If not for the rage that almost feels too much for Roman to function properly, he might laugh. This fucker is straight up delusional. 

The hell would he ever acknowledge this son of a bitch.

It’s difficult for Roman to not lunge first, his fist burning at his side to break every bone in Solo’s body. He will, he most definitely will, but it’s always worked best for Roman to allow his opponents to get the first hit. To make them think they have the upper hand by landing the first blow.

And, Solo is no different. 

He charges at Roman, the older, taller man allowing him a punch to the face.

And nothing more.

Roman returns the blow, Solo’s body nearly jerking back to the floor from the single hit that’s effectively broken his nose. It doesn’t stop there, because Solo’s second of delay, that moment where he’s frazzled from such a powerful punch, is all the in that Roman needs.

Spearing him down to the floor, Roman channels all of his emotions—heavy, light, somewhere in between—into the onslaught of violence being directed toward the man he once considered family. 

Roman’s expertise and experience is blatantly obvious. He moves methodically, predatory, and borderline animalistic. He uses anything in the vicinity to slam Solo’s body into, enjoying the cuts and blood that starts to mar his cousin. His blows are brutal, Roman’s blood boiling with every crunch and crack sound that echoes throughout the space.

He’s every bit focused on maximizing the pain and prolonging the torture, knowing he can’t make this son of a bitch suffer as much as he deserves, but with the time he does have, he’ll use every bit of it.

One hand wrapped around his neck, Roman slams Solo down into a nearby, deteriorating wood table, Solo’s shout of pain from the splinters that enter his body from the collapse of the desk under his weight are music to Roman’s ears. He could bottle that shit up and play it for all eternity, because no amount of physical pain could ever equate to the pain that son of a bitch has caused him.

Roman’s big body heaves as he notices a slab of wood with nails and other sharp objects. His next source of torture that he stalks toward, fully intending to break it off into Solo’s fat ass.

“It was me, you know.” A new voice, familiar but not present. Not previously, at least. Roman spins around to see none other than a smirking Rikishi. Roman starts stalking toward him, instantly adding him next to the chop block list. “I helped Dusty plan the hit on your family.”

It takes a lot to pull Roman from his focus, to deter him from his mission, to get him off his game. 

And that….that is most definitely one of the things. 

“What?” He takes another step, confusion mixing with anger. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Rikishi smiles. “Might as well have said I killed them. Killed them all. Well, everyone except you and that bitch, Fetu.” Each word that leaves his mouth is like a dagger to Roman’s chest. He doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t want to believe him. But, it makes sense.

Rikishi’s hatred has to be beyond the incident with Solana. It’s deeper than that. It has to be.

But, if what he’s saying is true, if he was a part of the plan that killed Roman’s family, that almost killed him, there’s a certain hurt and pain with that that cuts almost deeper than any of this.

A sort of evil Roman can’t truly comprehend in this moment.

“Your father was a weak man who didn’t deserve to be Tribal Chief. Just like you don’t.” Riksihi laughs, salt on an open wound, drawing Roman’s attention back to him. “Tell me, is it true you could hear your sisters screaming for help as they burned alive?”

Roman moves to lunge forward when something sudden, sharp, and piercing stops him. He grunts, pain shooting through his body when he looks down to see Solo holding the knife that he just stabbed into Roman’s side. A knife he jerks out, prompting Roman to fall to his hands and knees, face turned up in pain.

Pain that intensifies as Solo kicks him on his side, forcing him onto his back. Solo lands a blow onto Roman, but that adrenaline fuels the older man as he gains the upper hand, fighting through his pain and landing a blow on top of Solo when a loud sound and another type of pain hits him.

Gunshot. He’s been shot through the shoulder. A loud curse tumbles out of his mouth as he moves his hand over the area where he was shot only months earlier.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees a smirking Rikishi, gun in hand, but it’s a temporary focus point, because seconds later, there’s something pressed against the back of his head. 

Another gun.

“Don’t make me do this, uce.” 

The situation drastically shifts, taking yet another turn and twist that Roman could have never anticipated. 

Jey’s voice drips with regret, but he remains unmoved, standing with a gun to the back of Roman’s head.

His cousin.

His supposed brother.

“You son of a bitch,” Roman grits, groaning from the pain of both sets of injuries, feeling the blood from where he was stabbed soaking his shirt. 

“Pull the trigger, Jey,” Solo goads, coughing up blood from where Roman remains straddled on top of him, pinning him down. “Blow—blow his fucking head off.”

“You embarrassed me once, Jey,” Rikishi scolds from behind, voice cold and uncaring. “Don’t do it again.”

At that, Roman’s eyes shut, they shut from a lot of things. From the information told, from the information learned, from all that’s happened. But, they shut mostly because of one person. 

Solana. 

Her face is the only thing he sees. The only thing he thinks about in such a moment when maybe his focus should be elsewhere, like how to get out of this situation. But, it’s nearly impossible. He’s hurt. Badly. And, he’s cornered.

This realization, this forced acceptance of some sort leaves him one desire and one desire only. His wife. He thinks of his wife. She’s safe. His daughters are safe. And for Roman, that’s all that matters.

He fulfilled his goal, upheld his promise. 

His wife and children will live. 

So, if this is truly it, if this is truly the moment where he meets his end, he can die content. 

He can die happy.

“What the fuck are you waiting on, Jey?” Rikishi scolds, frustration brewing. “Fucking ki–” His demand is cut off, the sound of the gun clanking to the floor accompanied by his head tilted and forced back due to the knife pressed dangerously close to his throat.

“One fucking move, and I can cut your jugular vein, leaving you dead in minutes,” Solana hisses, pressing the knife she has aimed into his back further in, cutting through the material of his suit jacket. “Or, I can sever your artery of Adamkiewicz, which could also leave you dead in minutes. Plain and simple? You move as much as an inch, and I’ll gut you like a fish.” She swears, pushing the knife just a little deeper, mouth near his ear, voice mocking, “how’s that for an uneducated, stupid bitch?”

Roman tenses, floored but mostly confused at his wife’s presence. She shouldn’t be here. He told them to get her the hell out of here. Out of harms way. 

Now, she stands directly in the line of fucking fire. His stomach drops, physical pain dulled by a newfound sense of concern. “Solana—”

“You drop that gun from my husband’s head right now, Jey, or I swear to God, I’ll kill him.” She threatens, completely ignoring Roman, entirely focused on Jey and maintaining the deadly corner she has Rikishi in. “Drop the fucking gun, Jey!” 

One look at Jey, and torn isn’t the right word to describe what’s written all over his face. Nevertheless, he doesn’t drop the gun. “Solana—”

She screams, her shout echoing throughout the room, slamming and bouncing off the walls. “DROP IT!”

Rikishi suddenly chuckles, voice haughty and mocking. “You don’t have the guts—” He winces loud enough to gather the attention of both sons as Solana presses the knife at his back just enough to draw blood. 

“You have no idea what I'd do, the lengths I'd go to, to protect that man,” she vows, never once stuttering or wavering as she gives Jey one final warning. “I’m not gonna fucking say it again, drop—”

This time, Solana is the one whose silenced, dread filling Roman as he sees Nia appear behind her, gun in hand.

The same gun she has pressed against the back of his wife’s head. 

And, she’s not alone, several sets of Bloodline guards, traitors, hone in, guns drawn on both the true Tribal Chief and his wife.

“You should have stayed your ass outside, Princess.” She sneers, smile evil and malicious. “Coming in here alone? What kind of stupid are you?”

Roman can’t look away, can’t bring himself to do so, even as he feels his body weakening on him.  And, it’s because he can’t look away, he sees the almost smirk on Solana’s face as she asks in the calmest voice, “who said I was alone?”

Not even seconds later, Nia is jerked back, her big body falling to the floor from the emergence of Afia. Afia, who is suddenly on top of her, large knife in hand that she slashes across Nia’s throat. Nia is barely able to process what’s just happened when Afia pulls out her gun and shoots her directly in the middle of the head, killing her instantly. 

It’s not the only death that occurs. Bayley, Santos, Matteo and Dwayne, all appear, taking down the guards by both bullets, knives, and the sickening sound of a neck snapping. Courtesy of Bayley.

Rikishi's forehead is glazed with sweat, as is Solo’s, revealing strong indicators of growing nerves. Of the reality of the situation setting in. 

And yet, Jey still hasn’t dropped the gun.

Hence why Dwayne has his aimed directly at his cousin. “You don’t want to do this, Jey.” He’s slowly stepping forward. “Put the gun down, son.”

Jey’s expression is one of pure indecision, his voice frazzled sounding as he informs, “they got Nicki, Roman.” He informs, as if this makes it right. As if it gives him a reason for his betrayal. “My kids can’t lose their mother, uce.”

“We can find her, Jey,” Bayley pleads, knife in hand as she moves close to Solana, same as Afia, both women serving as buffers. “This isn’t the way.”

Jey’s bottom lip trembles, the weight of this moment weighing on him. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, man!”

“It doesn’t have to be, Jey,” Matteo’s voice is dangerously calm as he zeroes in on Jey from another angle. “Just put the gun down, and we can—”

It all happens so fast. Rikishi attempts to reach for the gun on the floor near his feet, an arrogant, fatal mistake, because it’s a mere matter of seconds that pass in between the time he’s reaching and when he’s gasping for breath, one hand over his now cut throat as blood streams out. In two areas, because there’s also a large wound in his back where Solana ran the knife through, making good on her threat.

“Dad!” 

Jey shouts, finally lowering the gun and moving towards Solana and Rikishi, whose big body drops onto the floor as he continues to look wide eyed, unable to speak nor process what’s just occurred. He seems entirely focused on his father, on his father who now lies dying in his arms.  

But, it’s a risk no one is willing to take. 

Not with the move he just pulled.

A shot rings out and Jey jerks back, cursing loudly, falling to the floor, holding onto his shoulder where he’s been hit.

Hit by Dwayne. 

Non-fatal, but grounding.

And with both his dad and brother now down, one with mortal wounds, Solo is also distracted long enough, aiding the true Tribal Chief with exactly what he needs. 

Roman easily grabs the knife out Solo’s hand and juts it into his shoulder, intentionally avoiding a fatal spot, joy filling him at the howl released. 

Jey grunts, holding onto his bleeding shoulder, sitting near his gasping for breath father. “Roman, please—”

But, it’s the Tribal Chief, not Roman, who methodically, lowers and lifts the knife over and over into Solo’s face and body, severing off his nose, practically sawing off his lips, cutting off his ears, Solo’s agonizing sounds of pain only silenced when Roman lands the knife directly into Solo’s heart.

His body jerks, a sound, a gasp is made, and then nothing.

Just the stillness of death.

Only then does Roman drop the knife and roll over onto his back, exhaustion from his injuries catching up to him.

“Roman!”

Solana shouts, running over to him. On her knees, she pulls him up, face paling with a devastating realization. “No….”

She’s not certain, can’t be sure, but by the amount of blood he's losing, he was stabbed close to an artery.

If not in an artery.

Her eyes water, as she caresses his face. “You’re gonna be okay, mi amor.” 

Solana moves quickly, pulling off her sweater, leaving just the bullet proof vest covering her thin blood stained tank top. She uses it to apply pressure to stop or hold off as much of the bleeding as possible from the stab wound. Gaze lifted to Dwayne and Matteo, she pleads, “help me get him up.” An unnecessary request as they were already moving to do so, helping a weakened Roman stand. 

As she goes to walk behind them, staying close to Roman, she overhears Jey’s loud curses at Afia, Bayley, and Santos who only try to help him up. He swats them away, denying their assistance, remaining with his now deceased father and brother. 

Alone.

—-------

Getting Roman outside the building and loaded into a truck takes much longer than Solana likes. It all takes too long. Dwayne and Matteo opting to go with her, the former driving as Matteo sits in the front seat after they help Roman into the back where he leans into Solana. The time it takes for her shaking hands to remove her bulletproof vest, wanting to feel her husband against her, body to body. 

Even the rushed goodbyes as the others load into different SUVs heading elsewhere or maybe following them. Solana isn’t sure. She just knows it all takes too long when time is not on their side. 

She holds him, his large, heavy body leaning into her, his breathing haggard, both his shirt and her own soaked and drenched with blood, the same as her sweater that she keeps pressed against his wound, doing her best to buy them as much time.

She doesn’t ask how far they are away from the hospital.

She won’t.

Roman’s voice is pained and weakened almost. “Solana—”

“No.” The most perfect combination of emotional and stern. A single word that’s the equivalent of someone standing in front of a door that’s threatening to burst at the seams, completely overwhelmed to the point of explosion. And, the explosion would be Solana’s calm, her sanity, because she cannot fathom nor will she even entertain what he might be trying to tell her. “Just–just rest.”

Trembling hands move up and down his shoulders. “Don’t talk. Just—just listen.” A quiet, still stern command that’s both for his physical wellbeing and her mental stability. And, while his silence might be the worst thing ever for most people, for her, it’s calming in a sense. 

Solana moves her hands to his head, stroking his hair, loose and wild. She keeps it out of the way, makes sure none of the blood that seeps through his shirt and onto her own clothing makes its way onto his silky mane. “It’s tonight,” her voice cracks, as she reminds him, “I–I told you I would tell you tonight.”

A night unlike any she’s ever experienced, she won’t let it pass without making good on her promise.

She doesn’t care about the presence of the other two men, doesn’t care what they overhear, what they learn.

It doesn’t matter. 

The only thing that matters is keeping Roman awake.

He can’t lose consciousness.

“I—I wanna use the money to create a foundation,” she starts off, having to revisit the many exciting realizations she’d stumbled across while on her trip. A trip that seems so long ago now. “I want to open up domestic violence shelters for women and children. One here and one in Mexico.” Solana holds him a little tighter, does her best to make him as comfortable as one can be in this situation. She knows the friction of the truck speeding through uneven terrain doesn’t help, but she hopes her words and information can allot him some type of solace. “And, I—I wanna name the foundation after my mother.”

That last part was something that took her a minute to settle on, the confusing, unresolved feelings of hurt, anger, and resentment towards the woman who loved and cared for her for the first ten years of her life, partially clouding her judgment. Solana had almost forgotten why that was an area she’s so passionate about.

Because while her mother wasn’t perfect and didn’t make all the right decisions, she was still a victim, too. She, like so many other women, lost her life in trying to make a better life for her daughter. For Solana. Alma didn’t do everything right, but in the end, she made the ultimate sacrifice.

And, Solana knows countless other women like her mother are out there, and she wants to use the time she has left on this earth to make it so that the number of women trapped in domestic violent relationships, along with their kids, have the help and resources Alma didn’t.

“I’m gonna double major in nursing and business, so I have that business knowledge, too.” She strokes his lightly bruised cheek, adding in a light voice. “You might have to help me sometimes with homework and stuff.”

Roman’s quiet chuckle is hard to appreciate with the grimace that follows it. He’s in pain. She knows it, and she hates it. Hates that she can’t miraculously heal him from his injuries. Can’t make the truck go any faster than it’s already going. All she can do is continue to try to soothe him with her words, distracting and informative. 

Another wave of emotion hits as Solana transitions to the more sentimental realizations. “Cataleya….I want…I want her middle name to be Alma, after….after my mother.” Scenes and flashes from the dreams of the quieter of their girls, her soft smile and warm eyes. “Because she…she has my mother’s gentle, pure aura about her.” Solana shifts just enough, moving in sync with Roman who groans quietly. “Catalina…” Solana is the one to chuckle this time, sharing, “her middle name will be Fetu.” Solana can feel it, she doesn’t know how or why, but she can feel the way he tenses almost in her arms. A tension that melts into something close to calm. “Because she has that fire in her like her daddy and her great aunt.” Flashes of their brave, strong little girl with nothing but determination and resilience.

Just like her daddy.

“And our son.” Her voice cracking reveals the toll of the situation that’s finally making its impact on her known, but Solana shoves it away. Forces it back. Not right now. “I want to name our son after you.” Solana angles her head to look at him as she gently caresses his cheek. “I wanna name him Tamasa.”

Roman’s eyes are shut, a small almost solemn smile on his face. "Yeah?"

She nods, eyes watering once more. "Yeah."

Because, she can't think of a better, stronger, kinder man than to name their firstborn son after.

It would be an honor. Truly.

Something settles in Roman's gaze, something distant and somber. His eyes close, his voice low and exhausted. “I love you.”

For the first in her life, those are the three words she doesn’t enjoy hearing. Not from him. 

Because she knows exactly what he’s saying.

He’s saying goodbye.

“No.” Solana can’t breathe. She can only shake her head, moving her hands to his face, slapping him lightly. “Roman, stay with me.” She’s only slightly relieved to see his eyes fluttering, a sign that he’s still fighting, still breathing. “You can’t leave me, okay?” He says nothing, just continues to look at her with that sad, solemn grin on his handsome face. “We have to build our house, remember? We—we have to have our big family.” Lips trembling, she presses against his temple, murmuring and crying against him, “you’re going to be okay.” 

A promise to him. A promise for herself.

For their daughters in her stomach and the children they’ll have after.

Because, Solana refuses to accept anything else.

She’s been through hell.

Roman has been through hell.

Their story won’t end this way. She won’t let it.

But, then the truck stops. Stops moving altogether, and she nearly loses it.

“What are you doing?” Solana sounds every bit as frantic as she feels. “Drive! He’s losing too much blood, we have to—we have to get him to the hospital!" Speaking aloud the uncomfortable truth and reality is a crushing, cumbersome thing. Because the reality is that while her words soothed him in some ways, it didn’t stop nor slow down the blood that continues to soak him, her, and the seat of the car.

A devastating reminder that time is most definitely not on their side. Every fucking second is precious, and she won’t stand for any of it being wasted.

“Drive!” She screams once more, nearly hyperventilating when both Matteo and Dwayne hop out of the truck. A nervous breakdown is right around the corner until the side door is ripped open, and a blinding light forces Solana to look away, protectively cradling her husband. 

But, it’s not just the light, there’s sound. It’s loud. Familiar. Chipped, intermittent. Deafening in some ways. 

The light is eclipsed by two bulky figures, Matteo and Dwayne. 

Solana realizes they’re pulling Roman away from her.

And, the panic sets in.

“No!”

“Solana, look!” Matteo’s voice is urgent and pressing, one hand restricting her, which only exacerbates her anxiety and anger.

But, she does look, and when she does, it’s an instant switch. 

The panic that filled and threatened to overwhelm her is melted into an abundance of relief as she takes in the scene before her, nothing short of a miracle.

A helicopter with the same color patterns as the local hospital, the star of life, blades moving rapidly, as if ready to take off at any moment. Bright lights on and doors opened, two medical professionals rush out to meet Dwayne who’s helping Roman remain upright and on his feet.

“We knew someone would be needing medical attention,” Matteo informs, as she looks over at him wide eyed and bursting with appreciation. "So, we prepared ahead of time." He gestures to where Dwayne can be seen talking to the paramedic, likely explaining the nature of Roman’s injuries.

If not for the situation, Solana would 1000% express to Matteo her immense gratitude. For everything. For it all.

But, in this moment, her only concern, the only thing she can think about, is being with her husband.

Solana is once again a frantic mess as she moves to climb out the truck, her legs carrying her over just in time as she tells, not asks, the flight paramedic, “I’m going with him.”

She’s met with zero protests despite the tight space, Roman’s big body taking up more space than the average person. Of that, she’s sure.

But, none of that matters. 

There’s a bit of a blur around her, as they work to get an IV into Roman, talks of tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, blood transfusions, while they work to get him as stable as possible as the helicopter lifts off, carrying them to the hospital where he’ll get the medical treatment he needs.

The treatment that will save his life. 

And, that’s what matters to Solana. That’s what has her finally sobbing, her hand in his, both caked in old and fresh blood, the same blood that stains her clothing and body, some splatters on her face. It’s all irrelevant. All immaterial.

They’re safe.

Roman is safe. 

He’s going to be alright.

He’s going to live.

She’s safe. 

She’s going to be alright.

And most importantly, their babies are safe.

The girls are going to be alright.

It’s a welcomed, cherished, moving thing and scene that contrasts the backdrop of a sudden loud boom, a painting of orange and yellow hues that paint the night sky miles behind and under. An explosion at the same plant where they just were.

Where some still remain.

--------

a/n: these two have been through enough. to kill off either of them would be trauma porn. not to mention, neither would ever really, truly recover if they lost one another. it would make all their progress null and void.