#at the end of the day. This is hinted at with how many women say they dont want revenge they want equality like fuck no

[blackpilljesus]

Can we not just stop birthing men like... women have to stop giving life to men.

I'm doing my part ✌️ and I agree but collectively most women wouldn't. I remember when there was discourse over a radfem having & celebrating giving birth to a baby boy. I've seen radfems praise lesbian couples adopting baby boys.

Tbh a lot of women are sellouts, they sellout other women & even betray themselves for love or having a slightly higher social status in society. When forced to cohabit with predators that have more power & essentially want to reproduce a copy of themselves, women giving them that could elevate or secure their status in society - it's an incentive & many would go for it.

Another thing to consider is that many women birth maIes to spare their lives, there's been cases where maIes would kill their partners & daughters for the woman not having a son (even though the sperm determines the sex). Part of me considers maternal instincts of women not being able to kill their maIe offspring bc that's still their child but then I think of post partum psychosis & cultures where daughters are routinely killed when they're born. If these instincts applied to maIe & female children I dont think things would've gotten this bad. Also a lot of women treat their sons much better than their daughters.

In a patriarchial society, birthing sons lets boymoms live out their power fantasies through their sons. They 'borrow' power from their sons or use their sons as a proxy for power. Like toxic mother in-laws treating their daughter in-laws like shit bc it's through the association that this woman is married to their son, women that cover up their sons sex crimes, in some cultures; boymoms look for women who've undergone FGM for their sons.

Bear in mind so many women still have faith in maIes as a collective, they think they'll raise the "good ones". This notion is popular in feminist spaces, women think they'll magically train & raise maIe allies. There's a saying of how several boymoms have emotional incest with their sons, they see there aren't good maIes in society so they want to create their own one(s).

However I think the biggest issue is that women are never going to be sociopathic or apathetic enough to moids. It would take a high level of apathy to abort maIe fetuses & refuse to birth another xy solely on the basis of their sex, to get to this point you'd need to have this feeling towards maIes generally and most women dont have this. MaIe survival is contentigent on female subjugation, women dont need to subjugate maIes to survive, we carry life, we can also provide for ourselves & maIes know it which is why they've set up societies the way they are and they're brutal about it because they and their bloodlines would be dead anyways if they dont have a system forcing women to rely on them to survive. That said; In the end despite everything, many women still want to partner with maIes, many women still love & believe in maIes. Most women wont disassociate with maIes collectively, catherine mckinnon goes into this in her book "the second sex" where she speaks about how women are scattered everywhere & identify with the tribes maIes put them into as opposed to seeing themselves as a sovereign group.

I personally dont think birthing another oppressor is worth it but people are different. Of course this can (& does) backfire against women but by the time the damage is realised it's too late. Ultimately for a shift in gender ratio & for women to refuse to birth maIes at any cost, they need to think bigger than themselves individually. Think of womankind instead of maIe supremacy & its structures but this will never happen & I wont kid myself otherwise.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. thinking about true form!sukuna having a huge size kink (+ corruption kink).

word count. 2.6k

note. super self-indulgent. cant rlly blame me for creating this. also do you see those big ass hands in the header i used? yeah.. says enough (this sucks ass)

tags. dom heian era!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut. porn with plot. size kink / size difference (reader gets referred to as ‘short’ & ‘small’). p in v -> unprotected. degradation. corruption kink (reader gets referred to as ‘naive’, 'shy' & innocent’-looking). tummy bulging. loss of virginity mention. hymen breaking mention. cervix fucking, ouch. lots of teasing. tiny bit of choking. tiny mention of blood tasting ? idk. hint at anal / double penetration. dirty talk. sukuna has two of everything btw mehehe. reader get called ‘woman, brat, slut, little'.

sukuna is intrigued by you. he’s always been, since the moment he’s laid his eyes upon you. your loyalty and devotion to him are two aspects that the king of curses likes most about you. .

. . after your innocence.

it nearly irked him. every time he saw you hanging around the estate without a single care in the world. sukuna would attempt to intimidate you with serious threats. he’d loom over your short stature and look down at you with a malicious glint in his eyes. though, none of it seemed to work.

you'd only bow your head at him and apologise if you’ve caused him any possible inconveniences. it annoyed the sorcerer. you weren’t trembling in fear like all the others would — it was like there was nothing going on in that head of yours. especially when you smile at him. which no one actually dares to do.

sukuna could crush you. with no effort. one big hand would be enough to pick your entire body up, lift you in the air and throw you around like a ragdoll. you don’t seem to fear the possibility of that happening, even when being faced with a pissed off sukuna.

it’s truly intriguing and amusing. that’s why sukuna kept you around every day — as a form of entertainment, he called it. one thing led to the other and you eventually ended up as one of his concubines. the king of curses himself decided to grant you that promotion.

why? because not only does your fragile body, reserved and polite personality and innocence secretly fascinate him — it also makes him crave you. crave to shatter that naivety of yours. to take that small body of yours and make it feel what it means to be overpowered by a man twice your size.

sukuna does not regret his decision to make you his concubine. the first night you spent together was one of the best nights he had ever had. in all his many years of living. not a single woman had ever succeeded in blowing his mind when it came to sex.

it was usually boring and repetitive for the sorcerer. he felt nothing for those women he’s had in bed before — it was solely for the fact of satisfying himself. though, that changed on the day you had given him your virginity.

he remembers every detail; from your little noises of both pain and pleasure, your tight and untouched pussy that bled faintly when the fat tip of his lower cock pushed through, your nails that dug into his arms and back, your thighs that he held to your chest, his large hands that could easily wrap around the fat of them, your aching cunt that was left spasming around air as it tried to keep his sticky cum stored in place.

sukuna didn’t think your tears would affect him as much. when he took your virginity and you whimpered in pain — he did feel a twinge of guilt. it was strange; he hadn’t felt that emotion before. he had stopped and wiped your tears away. roughly whispered some words of encouragement too.

he had never done so before. never. he had never told anyone how ‘good’ they were for him. how he’d be ‘careful’ to not make it hurt any more. the king of curses recalls vividly how slow he started with you. slow sex. instead of rough like he’s used to.

sukuna wasn’t chasing after his own pleasure in that moment like he’d usually have. his main priority was to make sure the girl below him was comfortable enough to continue. you’re strange. the things you make him do, say and feel are strange. and yet. . .

it was an amazing night. the best. however sukuna was left behind with an insatiable hunger for you. more, more, more. he can’t grasp it yet; why he longs for you. for those feelings he’s suddenly capable of experiencing during intimate moments.

it’s why he calls for you every night. no other concubine was needed after you were made one. the king of curses couldn’t care less about those other women. they are boring to him.

unlike you. the one he’s sure that he won’t ever get bored of.

“you can take me so well now,” sukuna breathes out. one of his cocks was inches deep inside you, bulbous tip painfully hitting your cervix. over the past few weeks, your body had learnt to adjust to him, your pussy molded to fit the shape of his dick.

sukuna looks down at you and his cocks twitch with the urge to release already. his heavy balls clenching. your fucked out state is adorable. you seemed so.. vulnerable underneath the big man, “what a fragile little thing.”

it almost sounded condescending. degrading. especially with sukuna’s lips being curled up into a mean grin, his sharp canines showing. there was a puddle of your cum forming underneath your hips — staining the sheets that the poor servants have to clean by tomorrow morning.

“p-please, fngh, ‘s too big,” you sputter out. no matter how many times you took sukuna in, your smaller body couldn’t quite fully accommodate to the girth of him. every time he hits your deepest parts, you let out a painful whimper.

sukuna kisses his teeth, though slows his thrusts a bit. the wet sounds of his cum and yours getting pushed in and out of your cunt with each move was too addicting. what sukuna loves most is the view of the skin of your lower abdomen swelling and stretching each time he pushes forward.

“i thought you said you’d take both of my cocks today, yet it seems like you can’t even handle one,” the king of curses sighs whilst belittling you. one set of hands is holding you down by your hips, the other set is fondling your stiff nipples and circling your sensitive clit, “what a pity. a real pity.”

you almost choke on your spit as all your sensitive spots were being fondled. sukuna’s thick fingers leave no place untouched as he increases the tempo again—his cock plunging in and out of your stretched hole. the upper one was twitching, rubbing against your clit and lower abdomen.

sukuna harshly grabs your jaw and makes you look up at him after he hears you apologise for making empty promises. he seems satisfied with you staying so polite. even when he’s practically rearranging your guts. the way you talk through your soft sobs and cries is endearing. makes him grin wickedly.

“i don’t want to break my favourite little concubine yet, you see,” sukuna continues. he lets out a grunt of pleasure when your pussy clenches around his thick cock. no matter how many times he fucks you dumb, you still remain as tight as the first time.

he takes in a deep breath. he’s trying his best not to pound you into the mattress. he’d fold you in half and probably break you like the fragile thing you are. he could snap you like a twig if he wasn’t careful, “. . .but you’re making it very difficult for me.”

you respond by apologising again. oh, how cute it was to see you babble and make up excuses. sukuna grits his teeth, jaw clenching as he resists the urge to go harder on you. you’re already squirming and moaning loudly just because he’s fucking you hard and deep—bruising your cervix and forcing your walls to open up to him.

“‘m sorry, wanna take both.” you hiccup and sniffle. tears ran down your cheeks from overstimulation. it felt so good yet so painful to be taken by the person you admire most. you didn’t want to displease him, so you uttered those hopeless yet needy sentences again.

sukuna stops his movements when you weakly ask him to use both of his cocks on you. he scoffs, not knowing where you gained the confidence from. he pulls out of your dripping cunt, leaving a trail of cum connecting both your genitalia.

“‘wanna take both,’ she says,” sukuna mocks you under his breath. it’s getting worse; he’s nearing the point of no return. especially with your desperate whines that were like music to his ears, “you’ll break, woman.”

two of his hands move to stroke along his lengths, smearing the mixture of body fluids all over them. his eyes glare down at your small form—already fucked out, yet aching to continue. needing the full experience for once.

you always turn from a shy girl to a complete slut whenever he has you in bed. sukuna loves it.

“i want to try at the very least,” you mutter. it’s true that you’re exhausted. you’re catching your breath now that you got the chance, tired eyes glancing up at sukuna’s enormous stature between your legs, his defined muscles and the tattoos on them glistening under the faint light of the oil lamp.

it got your pussy throbbing and clamping down around air. you felt a bit light headed and your head lolls back against the pillow, eyes glazed over as you try to seem determined. but your body was tired.

“yeah? how. . . cute,” sukuna grins. he knows you can’t. not today at least. he doesn’t mind if you aren’t capable of taking him fully since you’ve already pleased him well enough for now. though, he still can’t help but tease you—make it seem like he’s going to give you what you want, “all right. don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

your eyes widen and your fingers curl around the silky bedsheets beneath you in anticipation. your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch sukuna pump his two cocks a bit faster, squeezing the base a bit, leaking some pre.

it’s all just for show.

“i’m not stopping. even if you scream.” the king of curses warns you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. you gulp at the terrifying aura sukuna was emitting. one of his tips teases your entrance whilst the other probes and circles around your anus.

he threatens you again, testing if you’ll back down, “last chance. i’m not pulling out once i’m in, do y’hear me?”

you keep being stubborn until the very last second. sukuna’s deep voice that shook you to your core was not enough to make you change your mind. you were so desperate to fulfill his every need and make sure that he was satisfied. it made you the perfect woman in his eyes.

the king of curses is completely amused. he decides to take it up a notch. he pushes his lower cock against the tight ring of muscles, pressing and nearly allowing the tip to move in. the sudden increase in pressure is torturous. you surely wouldn’t be able to withstand the entire thing.

“w-wait!” you squeal in surprise and pain. the sting you felt made you snap back into reality. it’s when you realised that maybe you needed more time and experience to take both of sukuna’s dicks. you squirm your hips away, “can’t. i can’t.. hurts too much.”

sukuna nearly rolls his eyes once you finally give in. he shakes his head with a sigh, feigning disapproval and annoyance. he pulls his entire body away from yours—a ominous shadow casted over his eyes. it makes you think that he’s pissed off at you; for being unable to please him.

you panic a little. even if you are sure sukuna wouldn’t ever hurt you. you know he favours you over the other concubines. you don’t want to lose that position.

“i’m sorry.” you apologise before the sorcerer could say anything. he lets out a sharp breath, rough hands back on your body, kneading your flesh gently yet firmly. his eyes take in the view of you trembling.

it’s unreal. you are half his size—completely vulnerable underneath him. he’d normally call people like you weak and useless. wouldn’t feel a thing for them. but your naked body below his is a sight he wishes to see every night.

it turns sukuna on so much. the fact that you are helpless and don’t complain when you’re struggling to take one of his cocks gets him going each time.

“tsk. what’d i tell you?” sukuna grumbles. he slaps his lower cock firmly against your clit. your body responds by closing your thighs together, though the king of curses pries them apart again, “stop overestimating yourself, brat.”

he isn’t actually mad. it was expected—of course you couldn’t take both at once. he didn’t even prep your other hole enough. plus you are clearly still exhausted from the previous rounds. sukuna just likes to. . . test and take advantage of your devotion to him. your obedience and desires to please him.

it’s fascinating to see you squirm and apologise in that whiny voice of yours. it makes him grin from ear to ear. and it keeps things fun.

before you could mutter excuses again, sukuna stops you by leaning in. just when you thought you’d finally get to kiss him, he goes to bite down on your bottom lip. a moan slips out of your mouth which only spurs him on to bite down harder.

you could feel the devilish smirk on sukuna against your lip. his wet tongue cleans up the tiny drop of blood that escaped the wound. he lets out a low hum in approval at the taste. delicious as always.

“now, how should i punish my little concubine for being unable to keep her word?” sukuna whispers in a serious tone. it sends shivers down your spine, his hot breath traveling from your jaw to your right ear. he slowly licks your earlobe, “what do you say? any ideas?”

the tension in the room was palpable. your heart was stammering in your throat from the proximity between the two of you. you gather the courage to answer as sukuna’s fingers curl around your neck, squeezing your throat as if forcing the answer out of you.

“i-i’ll do anything, sir.” you reply through a shaky breath. the king of curses pulls back after he’s got a response from you. your eyes meet his and that’s when you know that you’ve either greatly pleased him or have given him the chance to go all out on you.

it’s probably both.

“anything, you say?” sukuna repeats slowly. without a warning, he effortlessly flips you over on your stomach, a set of hands pulling your ass up by your hips whilst the other set holds your upper body down on the mattress.

a harsh grip on the back of your head results into you whimpering. your face was mushed into a pillow, almost leaving no place to breathe. your back is placed in the perfect arch with your plump ass facing up. it’s one of sukuna’s favourite positions to do with you — especially because it makes you seem smaller than you already are.

“heh. i’ll make you regret saying that.” sukuna chuckles. a low, evil and wicked chuckle. that’s enough to make you realise that he was not going easy on you. your submission had greatly impressed the king of curses and he's taking advantage of it. again.

what would come next could be a reward for that said submission. he’s going to fuck your brains out and make you forget about everything else except for his dick. a night you won’t ever forget as long as you live—that’s a possibility.

or perhaps you’re going to be crying and begging him to go easy on you. a punishment for not being able to keep your promise. that could also happen.

anyway, you’re about to find out which one it is.

[girlsoutlate]

the lead up to price sharing his birdie with his men, and badly hidden curiousity on their behalf

i tried just writing the meeting but i found it difficult so i wrote this as a little inbetween piece, enjoy

fem reader described as having hair that can be tied up, slight age gap (older price) THE BOYS ARE NOSYYY

the 141 can be considered nosy by nature, but have the excuse of it being their job. some are more open than others about their home life. ghost seemed to live quite a solitary life whereas gaz and soap had shared family pictures. nevertheless, there was some idea of each others lives outside of the military. but one person stayed an enigma: captain john price. maybe because it felt strange to know so much about their superior as well as role model. price had never shown an aversion to talking about his life, but the 141 had never asked- shocking to say the least. they all had their own theories. gaz thought he used to be married but it ended in a disastrous divorce- yet there was no trace of any mrs price. soap guessed he liked the company of pretty women, if you catch his drift. but never heard any boasting from his captain. ghost concluded he was similar to him, perhaps with a few more friends and a family, there was no reason to think otherwise. yet none of them guessed there was gorgeous thing like you john was all to eager to return home to each night, until now.

the 141 had been seeing signs of a woman close to their captain for about a month now. it started with a faint hint of fruity perfume under his cigar musk and aftershave, that was out of place on such a man. gaz pointed it out, making the rest of the 141 laugh. however it was forgotten about by the next hour, no one thought anymore of it. then the next day a hairband around prices wrist. he must have forgotten to take it off after you taught him how to plait your hair the night before. it was a work in progress. the simple black band was noticed by ghost while exchanging paperwork. he brushed it off despite finding it a little odd. the first piece of solid evidence they find of the captains mystery woman was his lockscreen.

they were in their common room, taking a break from the never ending pile of paperwork. squashed on the small couches they were joking about the new recruits, which was one of their many favourite topics to complain about. the hum of fluorescent lights was drowned out by their banter. mugs with dregs of coffee in them and a half empty pack of fags sat on the table. while talking, prices phone lit up with a notification. soap, the nosy shite, immediately noticed his lockscreen. a picture of a woman with her back to the camera: gossamer hair and skin that glowed in the sunny view she was admiring. with an eyebrow quirked, soap turned to his captain and asked too casually "whose tha'?". without missing a beat price replied smugly "the missus". for once soap shut up, and looked at the others with his mouth slightly agape, checking if they heard the same thing. ghost let out a grunt which they now knew to be a laugh. gaz's eyes were growing wider by the second. price seemed done and returned to whatever the previous subject was, which had quickly become forgotten. at that point gaz, soap and ghost were a pack of dogs with a bone. who was prices pretty birdie?

over the next month or so the boys had heightened interest on their captains home life. of course they cared about the details of the captains weekend plans, did he fancy going to that quite pricey restaurant that had opened up? it was necessary for them to ask the source of his dinner that evening, did he know the recipe? the competitive streak in them was made apparent sooner rather than later, all fighting to get more important information than the others. even though, if anything was discovered it was immediately shared. one day gaz stumbled upon gold.

he was in prices office, relatively spacious with a small couch in the corner and a bookcase in another. whilst chatting about an upcoming meeting, a buzz emanated from prices phone. before gaz could read the caller id price snatched it up and grumbled "won't be a minute". thinking it was a work call, gaz was surprised to hear his captains voice suddenly becoming as soft as it could. turning to face the window johns small smile wasn't missed as he murmured "hi love, how are ya?". staying still and quiet as to not get kicked out, gaz listened to the chirpy voice that could be faintly heard through the tinny phone. with a content sigh john replied "steak for dinner? tha's perfect". a wide grin crept on to gaz's face. a giggle and another sentence could be heard before price replied "of course i'll pick tha' up for dessert" both of you let out a small laugh when john continued "are ya tryna kill me?". just when gaz thought this couldn't get any better, price fondly said to you "i'll see ya at home sweet'eart". as he hung up and turned back around the sergeant found it near impossible to dampen his grin.

john had told you of his boys' detective work, which he considered shoddy at best. as you were flitting around the kitchen that evening, you were bemused at your boyfriends recount of the day. when he described his sergeants face after the phonecall you let out a loud laugh, bouncing off the tiles of your cosy kitchen. john sat by the table watching you busy yourself by the counter, as he nursed his beer he couldn't help but take in your appearance. tendrils of loose hair curled around your ears, escaping from your loose ponytail. although hidden by one of his tops and comfy jogging bottoms, he could make out the slopes and peaks of your body that he was all too familiar with. as you turned to face him, he was drawn closer to the twinkling reflection of light in your eyes. before he realised it he was towering over you, eyes raking over your form with the beer abandoned on the table. you looked up at him, hand on your hip. "john are you even listening to me?" you asked, face comically blank. "sorry doll, what was that?" he huskily replied, slightly dazed. "pass me a can. please?" you asked, adding a awfully fake cheesy smile at the end.

pressing a kiss to your lips as an apology, he was about to pull away before you deepened it. pulling his barrel of a body against yours, his mouth slightly opened. the bitter taste of beer and cigars mingled with sweet cider from yours. pulling back, slightly breathless, johns blown pupils met yours. "yer so gorgeous, don't know wha' i did to deserve ya" he muttered, the closeness of his voice making you slightly weak. as his calloused thumb brushed over your warm cheek you coyly commented "what would your men think if they saw you like this?". for a moment john faltered, thinking about how they would feel if they saw him being intimate with someone like you- let alone how he would feel. his flushed cheeks were the subject of your teasing for the rest of that night.

while eating your dinner you brought up the 141 since you were already talking about them. you knew your boyfriend felt a responsibility to look after his girl, despite you being more than capable. whenever his deployment was brought up it was usually by him. telling you where he went and anything that he thought might interest you, from an aspect of their culture to a cute cat he saw. sometimes he brought trinkets back. but never about what he had done, or what he had ordered to be done. so the members of the 141 were more characters in your head than real people. you knew their names and basic personality but that was all. so when you asked "how much do they know about me?" it was rather tentative. john paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, thinking. shaking his head he replied decidedly "not much, besides y' mine. they're nosy fuckers, practically begged me to show them a proper picture of you". you hummed in response, finishing your mouthful of food. quietly you muttered "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they knew more". letting the question hang in the air, you picked up the last forkful of food which went down your throat in a lump. john was silent, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

he considered your proposal, if his girl was concerned then it was worth thinking about. plainly he asked "why?", trusting you to be open. "well, you spend a lot of time with them- i'm not jealous. its just that.. you trust these men with your life, i don't even know what they look like." pausing for a second you continued "its more for my sake than theirs. if i knew them past their names it would make it, well, easier to be apart from you for so long. i know you can look after yourself, but i- i'm always gonna worry about you." with that said, the air in the kitchen grew heavier. you kept your eyes glued on to your plate as johns gaze from across the table burned in to you.

the captain realised that you wanted to know more, for your wellbeing rather than the 141's. now, he realised it was quite a simple conclusion. he imagined his girl cold and alone in an empty house, no idea where he was or who he was with, for weeks at a time. five minute phone calls spent trying to find better service than speaking to each other. no idea who john was fighting or how difficult it was. no clue about who he was trusting his life with in your absence. how on earth could he not expect you to have an issue with it? he kicked himself, he made his sweetheart worry. he could have prevented it and he didn't, too focused on a successful mission than the only thing he wanted to return home for. price knew this had to change, or risk isolating you even more than he does because of his job.

john stood up, chair screeching on the kitchen tiles while he sighed "fuckin 'ell i'm an idiot". gathering both plates and putting them on the counter, he ran a hand across his face and turned to you. just as you took a breath to take it all back, john interrupted you: "you should meet 'em". you cocked your head to the side, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "whats changed your mind?" you enquired, curious about the sudden change. replying half-heartedly, still deep in thought "just thinkin' about you here on your own, worryin'". taking a deep breath he stated "i'll talk to them about it. you". walking up to him with a small smile on your face you leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, beard tickling your chin. "thankyou john" you whispered. reaching up to get the plates the rumble of his voice deep in his chest saying "anythin' for you doll" reverberated against your back.

as he turned to get the dessert out of the fridge the most pressing question yet entered his mind: how would he ask the 141 to meet his birdie- without them going mad?

thankyou for reading :))) each like, comment and reblog is greatly appreciated. this is more for context to the main meeting that has been stuck in my head for ages. if you liked this keep an eyes out!!!

heyyy guys long time no see. had a crazy two weeks, found out my boyfriend was practically cheating on me for the last month of our relationship and he already has a new girlfriend after two weeks. apart from that im grand. sorry it took so long for me to post properly again, thankyou for being patient

[ladadiida]

𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth. or, you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i swear i cannot escape a brainrot whenever i watch a new show. this automatically wrote itself, i don't even remember how i came up with this idea. anyway, i'm surprised there aren't many sanji fics that involves the unrequited love trope, seeing that it suits him. or maybe that's just me. this is only a SNEAK PEEK though.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 full version now published here!

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite dessert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

again, this is only a sneak peek of the actual fic, i'm currently halfway in completing it. please let me know if you want to read it, because i might publish it next week. if not, i'll just drown in sorrow and self-pity.

[k1mbe3rly]

HII!! i'm not a very active tumblr user but i discovered your account a day or two ago and the things you write are so impressive and beautiful!! ⭐ and if you don't mind i have a request for you i know it will sound really stupid but i'm just curious. can you write something about thanos and y/n having dated since high school and after playing mingle in the squid game y/n and thanos went to the bathroom to do something at night🤗 and y/n told thanos that she was 2 or 3 months (i don't know how long it took to figure it out😭) pregnant and since she found out she's been using pills to abort the baby (it's not her first time, and the reason is because she doesn't trust her own motherhood since she grew up with deficiencies)?? i said a lot, i'm sorry💗💗(i know it sounds so weird😔 and if there are any spelling mistakes sorry it's not my native language) Tysm in advance🎀🎀

yess sorry it took so longggg im going from the bottom of my request💔

Sorry for not telling you

warnings: just making out, pregnancy, mentions of abortions

You and thanos have been dating since high school, honestly you yourself is surprised how you even managed to last this long with him, he just seemed like the type to cheat and treat you wrong but he actualt never did which was surprising to you

He was a very sweet man and boyfriend, always treating you well and didn’t really talk to any women, so that was a good head start but sadlyyy yall both got into debt, so in the middle of random station a man came up to you guys, played a game, got slapped, almost fought the guy but held him back.

He gave us a card and we decided to call it as we both got picked up and suddenly fell asleep with this random gas they put.

The moment you woke up you immediately went to find Thanos as he placed his hands on your forearm and you placed your hands on his arms “Oh my gee! Your here oh my god i was worried!” he said quickly hugging you as you hugged him back, “Where the hell are we?” the first thing you said as he looked at you

“No idea, looks like shit tho, all these beds in the way..many for us eh?” he said smirking and raising an eyebrow jokingly obviously.

You nervously chuckled and looked away, you haven’t been completely honest with him.

For the past 2 months you’ve been throwing up like crazy, avoiding every moment of intimacy, before you called that card, you bought a pregnancy and came out positive, you’ve also tried taking abortion pills thinking it would even work yet it didn’t so you kinda panicked and to make it worse you haven’t told him yet and still feel you shouldn’t especially if we’re here.

So we did end up going into the games and to find out they were death games, you felt so stressed out during red light green light, you even clinged onto thanos since you started feeling a little sick.

Ever since that game he’s been watching over you, sure he noticed your behavior was a bit different but he brushed it off thinking it was just because of the games.

Time skip

The second game came, and you were lowkey even more stressing out but thankfully thanos was clinging onto you the whole game and even kicked out someone of the group just for you, you felt so bad for the person who got killed and even looked back at him but you know your life or his life.

“2 players” you heard a familiar ai women like voice say, It didn’t take long for thanos to literally yank you and run.

He pushed by people and even grabbed a girls hair pulling her back as you gasped, he pushed you into the room first and quickly went in panting, “Holy shit that was intense..” he said putting a hand to his chest, his chest rising up and down rapidly, “Are you okay?” he asked as you nodded.

You started too feel a bit sick as you put a hand on your stomach making a small face, “what’s wrong? your stomach hurt?” he asked again “N-no i just feel really nauseous..” you said hoping he gets a hint as he nodded, “Well the game is over, i’m sure it’s all the blood..” he said

They took us back to the beds as you still felt nauseous but just brushed it off, they gave us dinner which was only like 5 rolls..and a fork? like?

Not that long after dinner Thanos lead you to the bathroom, he smirked at you as he closed the door, “What are you doing..?” you asked as he grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him “i’ve missed feeling your body against mine you know” he said looking down at you as you just chuckled.

He kissed you and you kissed him back, everything was all good, the kiss was great, but eventually one kiss turned into a heated makeout as he kissed you a bit more aggressively

his hands traveled to your waist to the waistband of the sweatpants and slowly tried pulling them down but you quickly grabbed his hands, you pulled back from the kiss and looked at him, “What? what’s wrong? why don’t you wanna like..have sex anymore?” he asked in a bit of confusion, “Thanos..i have to uhh tell you something” you told him softly

“What, what is it?” he asked his hands going back to your waist, “I-i know i’m telling you this so late but for the past 2 months i’ve been feelings really..sick”

“Sick? sick like how? are you dying baby?” he asked “What? no..? i’ve just been throwing up every morning and feeling nauseous, and like..i’ve just been feeling weird so before we came here i bought a test..” you told him

He looked at you densely and just blinking awkwardly “test? like a covid test? oh my god are you positive?” he asked his mouth slightly parted

You got annoyed and rolled your eyes “No thanos! i don’t have covid!” you said

“Than what? what test! come on tell me already!” he said slightly inpatient

“I’m pregnant!” you yelled out

He stared at you, his eyes widen and he stayed quiet, he slowly backed up rubbing his forehead

“I’m sorry i know i should’ve told you sooner! i’ve been taking abortion pills but there literally a scam! i understand if you don’t wanna stay with me-.” you begin explaining as you felt emotional

“Wait what? your taking abortion pills!? y/n your hurting OUR BABY!” he said quickly getting on the floor and sliding to your waist touching your belly (sorryy i found this funny thinking he would do that like that usher meme😭)

You stared down at him blankly as he puts his head to your stomach “Oh my gosh you’re crazy.. don’t take those anymore! i’m ready to become a father. We’re gonna make it out of here! and have this baby together” he said looking up at you

You smiled at him touching his hair, “I hope so..”

“But can we just do one more game baby? please..” he said pleading up at you, you quickly frowned and rolled your eyes “C’mon please baby, the more money the best for the baby”

“Fine..just one more.” you said quietly as he yelped up and hugged you and kissed your cheek, you smiled, he took you back to the beds and voting started, obviously picking ‘O’ for him

A couple minutes after the voting it was a tie, His name Nam-su? Nam-gyu? motioned him to the bathroom after he saw someone go in, player 333, thanos glared for a moment and looked at you “I’ll be back okay baby? i need to take a wiz real quick..” he said getting up and giving you one last kiss as you nodded.

Who knows? maybe that’s the last time you will ever see him, maybe you will never see him come out that bathroom again, maybe that would be the last kiss he gave you. Nobody knows where they might end up.

[konpeitonom]

jimmy nsfw alphabet PLEASEE and maybe curly too

jimmy nsfw alphabet.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader — cw for jimmy overall.. manipulation/dubcon. this might be a little heavy to some so if you’re extremely sensitive to anything i’d just skip this one. he is misogynistic to hell. hints of bi jimmy :^

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; using every guy i’ve ever known as inspo for writing this. don’t like? don’t read. block button is right there. i never write jimmy in a positive light and never will! curlys is already posted!

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

a — aftercare, (what they’re like after sex)

— i mean. if you ask for water or food he’ll give it to you (begrudgingly..), but it’s not something he’ll actively do. you know? he knows he can be rough at times but it’s not really a priority to him. besides, he kinda likes the sight of you all used up.

b — body part (their favorite body part, and their partners)

— for himself, his arms/shoulders. since he lifts i think he is quite lean..

— for you? probably your chest! he likes to grab at your boobs and squeeze at them, laughing at how you yelp or whatever.

c — cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

— i think his favorite would be on your face, like it gets in your hair and it’s all gross and stuff. that or would force it down your throat. wouldn’t let you go until you’ve swallowed it full. he’s scummy!

— i’ve mentioned it once before but he’s not the kind to just. not pleasure you. he has to make sex worthwhile for you to wanna do it- without much work on trying to convince you on his end. he’ll make sure you cum eventually.

d — dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

— man where would i even start..

— i’ll keep it a bit light for now, maybe. he’s jerked off to you, on you, as you sleep. it’s into stuff like that. you just look so sexy laid there. sometimes he cleans it and sometimes he doesn’t.

— he always tells you the next day, however.

e — experience (how experienced are they?)

— he’s like the opposite of curly. very little committed relationships, many, many one night stands. he thinks if girls are willing to give their bodies up like that after one night, there’s no reason to be in any sort of committed relationship.

f — favorite position (self explanatory)

— you bent over some sort of table, or wall sex. whatever constrains you where he doesn’t have to do much work to do so. he also loves to pull on your hair so positions where he’s able to do that he’s into.

g — goofy (are they more serious in the moment?)

— he doesn’t think about it. like mood and tension? as long as he gets off. might make a few jokes here or there but doesn’t think much of it.

h — hair (how well groomed are they?)

— he trims if it gets too much, but it’s not really anything he cares about. doesn’t care if you’re bothered by it.

i — intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic wise?)

— he’s not the most romantic. maybe on special occasions like your first time together, or your birthday, anniversary.. he’ll say ‘i love you’, just maybe. but in the long run he really only does it so you’ll stay.

j — jack off (masturbation headcanon)

— he jerks off whenever possible. maybe a bit of an exaggeration. the type to just jerk off while scrolling on his phone, ‘just cause’- he doesn’t think much of it and doesn’t really have one to one sessions. if he’s alone and bored he’s jerking off.

k — kink (one of their kinks)

— as a community of jimmy fuckers (i am not apart of said community, but i see you) i appreciate how we all agree he is into ddlg. he’s gross. and honestly for kinks, i’d be better to write off things he isn’t into. he’d watch women get tortured to get off, there really isn’t much he wouldn’t do.

— i won’t elaborate much on the ddlg thing because it’s personally not something i’d want to write about. but he’s into it, 100%.

— things like slapping, air restriction, tying his partner up, free use, water sports, somnophilia, corruption.. fuck- anything. really anything. just ask and he’s probably willing to do it.

l — location (favorite places to do it)

— likes bathroom stalls in gas stations because he thinks they are especially degrading and gross. even more so when you’re on your knees and pleasuring him. semi-public settings just turn him on.

m — motivation (what turns them on)

— this man gets horny to the smallest things..

— tease him even a little- show him skin on purpose and he’s fucking you straight. doesn’t take much for him to get hard.

n — no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

— blank

— okay but anything that feels as if he’s not in full control. he likes tying you up, but he would not want to be. no way.

o — oral (preference in giving, receiving)

— he prefers receiving. eating pussy is not something he really likes to do. what pleasure could he derive from that, even? if you asked then maybe, if it’s something you really wanted.

p — pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

— fast and rough. maybe slow and rough if he’s tired. he thinks rougher is better, and maybe to him but maybenot for you..

q — quickie (their opinion on quickies, how often)

— he’s into them. his goal with sex is to just get off, doesn’t care if it’s quick or ‘intimate’ as people would say. if you like them then that’s great! he’d rather do quickies than bother with actual, actual sex.

r — risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)

— he’s willing to risk a lot.. nothing that would ruin his public image, but like.. fucking in a park late at night, where someone might catch you. yeah, he’d do that. he thinks it’s hotter if you’re all exposed, and he’s masked and shit.

s — stamina (self explanatory)

— uh. like 2 rounds? anything more than that would just tire him out i think.

t — toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on themselves or their partner?)

— owns a fair share of toys, i won’t lie.. yes he owns a dildo and yes it’s for himself. he has toys for his partner as well he likes to use them often, multiple forms of stimulation- and seeing your reaction to that is extremely sexy..

u — unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

— a lot, he teases a lot.. he likes orgasm delay and stuff like that- sometimes he wouldn’t let you cum at all. he’d say such mean things in bed to, to mock you and such. shaming you for letting him do this to you. all round horrible guy.

v — volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

— he likes your noises over his. is that a surprise? thinks it’s one of the prettiest things about you. so he likes to keep it down. he’d say some stupid shit like.. making noises is a ‘girl thing’.

w — wild card (a random headcanon)

— occasionally he likes to overstimulate you, making you cum over and over. makes him feel as if he could control you if he could please you like that. no other man could, right?

x — x-ray (what’s going on underneath?)

— his penis is extremely mediocre and regular. he’s seen curlys and is extremely jealous of him. it’s funny sorry. not every guy can have a good dick, and jimmy is apart of that percentage.

y — yearning (how high is their sex drive?

— pretty high. if you’re open to fucking 1-2 times a day he is open and willing. but if that’s too much, maybe once every other day.

z — zzz.. (how quickly they fall asleep)

— falls asleep quick, but only needs like- a 10 minute nap or so. not the type to sleep, sleep- even if it’s late at night.

[meazalykov]

play for the crowd

lauren james x english!influencer!reader : social media + fic

summary: a fake relationship never ends well.. or does it?

warnings: angst, very long chapter

for @pinkyqily + @jackiesunshines

“welcome back to ‘call her daddy,’ babes,” alex starts with her signature grin, leaning closer to the mic. 

“today, we’ve got the it-girl of england sitting across from me. she’s hilarious, she’s fashionable, she’s friends with basically everyone worth knowing—please give it up for y/n!!”

you laugh softly, adjusting your seating in the red fancy chair.

“oh, stop it. you’re hyping me up too much.”

“listen, i only speak the truth on this podcast,” alex replies dramatically, hands gesturing like she’s addressing an audience of thousands. 

“so, let’s just jump right in. your fashion—people are obsessed. i mean, half the girls listening are probably taking notes on your outfit right now as we speak.”

you smile, settling into your seat. 

“i feel like my style is a bit all over the place, to be honest. one day i’ll be in baggy streetwear, the next i’m in a full-on luxury brand look, then i’m in some scandi-inspired minimalism, and before you know it, i’m frolicking in a meadow in a cottagecore dress. i just wear whatever’s cute.”

“so, you’re telling me your closet must look insane.” alex leans forward, clearly intrigued.

“oh, it’s a disaster,” you admit with a laugh. 

“you know when people say, ‘if you can’t see it, you won’t wear it’? yeah, my clothes are in piles. i try to organize, but then i get new stuff, and it’s chaos all over again.”

“and yet you always look put together. how does that even work?”

“magic,” you joke, adjusting your oversized blazer. 

“or maybe just panic dressing.”

alex grins. 

“fair enough. okay, now—this is a call her daddy episode where i am the nosey host, so we have to get into your social life. you’ve got so many famous friends. who’s in your circle? who’s in the inner circle?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“you’re really trying to get the tea, huh?”

“always,” alex says without hesitation. 

“give us something.”

you smirk. 

“well, i’ve got a mix of people, you know? like, models, footballers, actors... it’s a weird little melting pot. i vibe with people who are chill and don’t take life too seriously.”

“what about jude bellingham?” alex’s grin widens, mischief sparkling in her eyes. 

“you’ve been seen with him quite a bit. are we finally getting confirmation here?”

your laugh is immediate, and you shake your head as you roll your eyes playfully. 

“oh my god, no no no absolutely not. jude is not my type at all.”

alex gasps theatrically. 

“wait, hold on. you’re telling me jude bellingham, literal dreamboat that maybe has a million edits of himself, is not your type? do you know how many women would kill for that chance?”

“i’m sure they would,” you reply, still laughing. 

“but, yeah, jude and i are just friends. strictly platonic. in fact, he’s hilarious.”

alex’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion. 

“so, what is your type, then?”

you pause for a moment, knowing the question is loaded. you take a breath, then grin. 

“well, just know that i don’t swing jude’s way.”

alex’s face lights up. 

“ohhh, so you’re into women?” her excitement is palpable.

“yeah,” you say, nodding firmly. 

“i mean, people have speculated for years, so… there you go. confirmed. i like women.”

“iconic,” alex replies, clapping her hands. 

“this is huge!!!! so, do you have a partner? because i feel like everyone’s going to be dying to know now.”

a weight sinks in your chest, but you plaster on a smile. you hate lying, but this is part of the game. 

“i do,” you say carefully, keeping your voice light. 

“but i’m not spilling anything just yet.”

“oh, come on,” alex pleads. 

“not even a little hint?”

you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“nope. but trust me, everyone will know who she is eventually.”

alex groans in mock defeat, throwing her head back. 

“you’re killing me, y/n. absolutely killing me.”

“i gotta keep some mystery, alex,” you tease. 

“otherwise, what’s the fun?”

y/n.l/n

{tagged: yourbsf}

liked by lj10, samanthakerr20, and 101,927 others

y/n.l/n hello 2025

view comments

y/nl/nluvr5 SO CUTE

yourbsf ily

ashley_lawrence10 pretty! 🤩

wosofan2719 why are all of the chelsea girls in her likes?? 🫣

user6282 I thought I was the only one who peeped

random12938 after her podcast with alex on friday, I am convinced y/n's girlfriend is known to the public already. you might be onto something since she is already close with english footballers

madelineargy 😍

~view all 2,039 comments~

you’re sitting cross-legged on your plush beige couch, the soft hum of a charli xcx playlist filling the quiet of your london apartment. 

a steaming mug of tea sits on the coffee table, untouched, as you absently scroll through your phone. your eyes flick to the clock—just past noon. you’re waiting on lauren to send over the ticket details for tonight’s chelsea vs. arsenal match, the anticipated london derby.

your stomach twists slightly at the thought. not because of the game—you actually enjoy football. it’s the situation you’ve been thrown into that makes you uneasy. 

a fake relationship. a pr stunt. your team’s bright idea to boost both your profiles. it’s not like you haven’t heard the horror stories: influencer friends venting about staged dates, awkward photoshoots, and scripted chemistry with people they couldn’t stand and hated. 

you swore you’d never do something so fake, yet here you are.

your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. it’s a message from lauren.

lauren: hey, just sent your name to the list—tickets will be at will call under 'guest of lj.' fancy title, right?

you smile faintly, typing back.

you: wow, i feel so important. 

you joke. a reply comes almost instantly.

lauren: absolutely. “fake girlfriend to chelsea star.” major clout.

you laugh under your breath, appreciating her humor despite the absurdity of the situation.

you: i can’t lie.. this is all so ridiculous. have you done this kind of thing before?

lauren: nope. first time for me too. i feel like i should apologize in advance if i make this awkward.

you: i was just about to say the same to you. we’ll both be awkward… it’ll balance out.

lauren’s next text takes a second longer to come through.

lauren: for what it’s worth, i know this isn’t ideal. but i promise i’m not a complete nightmare in person like the media can paint me out to be. 

you pause, rereading her message. there’s something about her tone—genuine, almost reassuring. however, you frown at the last part of her message. you have seen the tweets and post that have villainized her about certain situations that have happened between her and other players. you don’t play football, but you understand how intense things can be.

lauren’s genuine personality makes you think that this won’t be as terrible as you’ve been building it up to be.

you: well, if you’re not a nightmare, i guess i can survive one football match. or how ever many as i will need to go to for us. as long as i don’t get smacked with a football in front of your everyone or something.

lauren: if you do, we’ll just blame it on the opposing team.

you laugh again softly, shaking your head. her dry wit feels disarming, and you find yourself a little more curious about meeting her in person. maybe, just maybe, lauren will surprise you.

the cool london air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, pulling your brown puffer coat tighter around yourself. the excitement hums through the blue and red crowds gathered outside the chelsea stadium. 

you glance up at the familiar facade, the blue and white banners waving proudly in the breeze. you’ve been here before, more times than you can count, but tonight feels… different.

you make your way through the gates, clutching the ticket lauren organized for you. your name’s on the guest list, which feels oddly official, even though you know it’s all just for show. navigating the stadium is second nature by now—you’ve been here for england matches, screaming alongside the fans, but you’ve never been here for chelsea. 

the thought feels strange, almost disloyal, considering most of your friends are manchester (city and united) fans through and through.

their reactions flash through your mind, the way they nearly lost it when you casually mentioned you were going on a "date" with a chelsea player.

"you’re joking, right? chelsea? you can’t be serious," one had said, barely hiding their disbelief.

"wait, who is it?" another pressed, practically bouncing in their seat. 

"don’t tell me it’s lucy bronze—no, wait, she just transferred here so i don’t think it's her."

you’d shrugged them off, offering nothing but a sly smile. “you’ll find out soon enough,” you’d teased, leaving them to spiral into speculation. you didn’t have the heart—or the nerve—to explain the truth yet. 

not until you’d met lauren in person, not until you knew how this whole fake relationship would pan out.

as you approach the friends and family section, a subtle wave of nervousness rolls over you. this is it—the start of whatever chaotic media circus your teams have orchestrated. you take a deep breath, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on your coat, and step inside.

you wonder if people will question your presence in that section, why you were here by yourself with none of your friends to accompany you. however, you decide to take the next 90 minutes to collect your thoughts while lauren plays her match.

taking your seat, directly where you can see the middle of the pitch, the noise of the crowd fills your ears as you settle. your focus is razor-sharp. your eyes stay locked on lauren as she moves across the pitch with ease, weaving through arsenal's defense like it’s second nature. 

the game already started three minutes ago.. and she’s good…really good. you knew that already, of course, seeing her play live is something else entirely.

you shift in your seat, trying to keep your expression neutral. the plan is simple: be here, watch the match, and appear supportive. it’s harder than you thought to ignore the weight of the cameras that occasionally pan away from the game and land on you instead. 

you know what the headlines will say. you can already picture the tweets that are posting on twitter as your eye move along lauren’s body.

the speculation is what you’re here for. you tap your fingers against the armrest of your seat, trying to drown out the chatter in your head. this is all part of the plan, you remind yourself. 

still, the questions buzzing online are ones you’re not ready to answer. not yet. this isn’t even real after all.

your eyes dart back to lauren. she’s on the ball again, making a sharp run from a sharp pass from lucy that sets up a near-perfect chance. the crowd erupts, and you find yourself caught between genuine admiration for her skill and the uncomfortable reality of why you’re here. with the cameras on you, though, you know better than to let anything too much slip. 

you lean forward slightly, keeping your attention locked on lauren, as though she’s the only thing that matters in the moment.

the game ends with a 2-1 win for chelsea. you stand awkwardly by the fruit stand in the lounge room area, pretending to be invested in the arrangement of grapes and orange slices. the truth is, you feel out of place. 

this isn’t your scene, and it shows. the other friends and family members seem at ease, chatting and laughing like they belong here. you, however, can’t shake the anxiety in your chest. of course, people recognize you—this is england, after all. your face is plastered on magazine covers and social media feeds. here, in this context, you feel more exposed than ever.

you shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing at the clock on the wall. lauren’s team has just wrapped up their post-match debrief, and any minute now, she’ll walk in. the thought doesn’t help your nerves; if anything, it makes them worse. 

you haven’t even met her in person before, yet the entire world will soon think that she’s your girlfriend. the absurdity of it all threatens to make you laugh, but the knot in your stomach keeps you grounded.

you’re about to reach for a piece of pineapple when you feel a light touch on your shoulder. the sensation startles you, and you turn around quickly, almost dropping the toothpick you’re holding.

“i didn’t know you could be so shy, y/n,” lauren says, her tone teasing but warm. she’s standing there, freshly showered, her hair damp and swept back. the post-match attitude has faded, leaving her looking relaxed, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she takes you in.

you smile nervously, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your blazer. 

“well, i’m usually not,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended. 

“but this is… a little out of my comfort zone.”

lauren’s brows raise slightly, and she steps closer, her presence somehow steadying. 

“really? you, out of your comfort zone? that’s hard to believe.”

you glance down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. 

“it’s different when it’s not my crowd. football people, you know? i’m more used to influencer events or fashion shows, not… this.”

lauren chuckles softly. 

“well, for what it’s worth, you look like you fit right in. maybe too well. people are already whispering about you.”

“great,” you mutter, trying to keep the sarcasm light but unable to mask your discomfort. 

“exactly what i wanted.”

she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. 

“it’ll die down eventually,” she says, her tone more serious now. 

“but i get it. it’s weird, isn’t it? pretending like this? its going to be worse once we have to tell the media.”

you let out a small laugh, more out of relief that she said it than anything else. 

“weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you admit. 

“i mean, we haven’t even met before today, and now the world will think that we’re madly in love. it’s ridiculous.”

lauren nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“yeah, it is. but hey, we’re in this together, right?.”

you meet her gaze. she’s genuine, at least, and that’s something. “you’re right,” you say softly, your smile more genuine now. 

“i guess we’ll figure it out.”

she grins, and the moment feels strangely natural despite the layers of pretense surrounding it. then she gestures toward the lounge area where the other players’ families are gathered. 

“come on. let’s get you out of the corner. they’re going to think i’m a terrible girlfriend if i leave you standing here alone.”

you laugh, following her lead, the tension still present but slightly eased by her presence. it’s strange, walking beside her, knowing that the world will see something entirely different from what you feel inside. 

for now, you push that thought aside and focus on surviving the night.

lj10

{tagged: y/n.l/n}

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random28383 IS THAT WHO I THINK IT ISSS??????

y/nl8vr MY BABY ON THE THIRD SLIDE

chelseafcwfan7 I KNEW IT WAS LAUREN THAT WAS DATING Y/N

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y/n.l/n 😘😘

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user91010 @/meazalykov i did not expect lauren and y/n no shade..

meazalykov well too bad..

lucybronze hard launch era

catarina_macario 😍😍

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the days throughout the next few weeks blur together in a haze of carefully curated social media posts and staged interactions. every picture, every story, every comment feels like a chess move, calculated for the public eye. 

by now, the world has accepted the narrative—lauren james and y/n l/n, england’s newest power couple.

behind the scenes, it’s a different story entirely. you and lauren barely talk, only exchanging the occasional text when coordinating your next “public moment.” it’s efficient, professional even, but cold. 

you can’t help but feel the growing weight of the disconnect between the facade you show the world and the reality of your relationship. or lack thereof.

yet, something about lauren lingers in your mind. she’s kind in the brief moments you’ve interacted—genuine, with a subtle humor that catches you off guard. you’ve noticed how her quiet demeanor shifts when she’s irritated, her sharp gaze and tense shoulders mirroring your own tells when you’re frustrated. 

it’s a trait that feels too familiar, like looking into a mirror.

sitting on your couch late one evening, your phone in hand, you scroll mindlessly through instagram. you pause looking at the instagram story you posted with lauren, staring at the image, at the way lauren’s hand rests casually on your back in the mirror picture. you’d both laughed during that shoot. the memory stirs something in your chest—a quiet ache you can’t quite place.

she’s fascinating in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not just her talent on the pitch or her rising fame; it’s the little things. the way her smile softens when she’s genuinely amused. the thoughtful pauses she takes before she speaks. the way she seems to carry a quiet confidence, even in the chaos of the public’s attention. 

you shake your head, exhaling sharply. this is ridiculous, you tell yourself. the truth is, you want to know her… the real her, not the polished version you’ve pieced together through brief interactions and online impressions. 

you open your messages, your thumb hovering over her name. for a moment, you consider texting her something—anything—to start a conversation. however, the thought of overstepping, of complicating an already convoluted situation, keeps you frozen. 

with a sigh, you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you.

whatever this is, whatever it could be, will have to wait. for now, you’ll stick to the plan, no matter how much your thoughts keep drifting back to lauren.

y/n.l/n

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the bar is calming, music thrumming in the background as laughter and chatter fill the air. the dim lighting casts a warm glow over the group, everyone mingling and sipping on their drinks. 

you’re perched on a stool near the bar, glancing occasionally at lauren, who’s leaning against the counter, chatting easily with one of her teammates, millie. she looks relaxed, her posture casual, but there’s something about the way her eyes flick to you every so often that has your stomach in knots.

“another drink?” her voice cuts through the noise, her tone light but carrying just enough warmth to catch your attention.

you look up at her, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

“are you trying to get me drunk, lauren?”

she smirks, handing you the glass. 

“maybe. or maybe i just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

you take a sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol mixed with something sweeter—the way she’s looking at you. 

“thanks,” you murmur. 

“but i can return the favor. what are you drinking?”

“water,” she says simply, holding up her glass. 

“staying hydrated.”

you tilt your head, studying her. 

“water? not even one drink? you’re playing it too safe.”

she shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. 

“someone has to keep an eye on you.”

you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. 

“oh, so now you’re my babysitter?”

“if that’s what you need,” she fires back smoothly, her grin widening.

there’s a moment, a charged pause, where the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background. lauren’s gaze lingers on you, and you feel your cheeks heat under the intensity of it. 

you lean in slightly, emboldened by the drinks and the energy between you.

“careful,” you tease, your voice dropping just enough to match the tension. 

“someone might think you actually care.”

“and what if i do?” she counters, her tone light but her eyes unreadable.

you blink, caught off guard. the banter feels easy, natural, but there’s something underneath it that feels heavier—real. you search her face for a clue, but she keeps her expression steady, a flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

“then i’d say you’re doing a great job convincing everyone here,” you say finally, trying to match her confidence, even as your heart races.

her lips curve into a smirk. 

“convincing you, too?”

your breath catches, and for a split second, you don’t know what to say. she watches you, her expression calm but undeniably smug, as though she knows exactly the effect she’s having on you.

“maybe,” you admit, keeping your voice steady despite the way your pulse thunders in your ears.

she chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and it leaves you feeling both flustered and unmoored. then, as if sensing the moment tipping into something too real, she pulls back slightly, raising her glass of water in a mock toast.

“to good acting,��� she says, her voice light but her eyes holding yours a beat too long.

you clink your glass against hers, your stomach twisting as you try to discern whether she’s teasing or deflecting. 

as the night wears on, you can’t shake the way her words, her gaze, her presence—all of it—lingers in the back of your mind. was it an act? or was there something more beneath the surface? you don’t know, and the uncertainty gets at you in a way you didn’t expect.

your drink—something sweet and forgettable—sits untouched in front of you, the condensation pooling around the glass on the counter. the room feels alive as you watch your surroundings again, as lauren’s teammates and your friends fill the dance floor, laughing, swaying to the music, completely at ease. 

you, however, feel like a misplaced puzzle piece.

you’re here for a purpose, after all—not to let loose, but to be seen. you and lauren were both instructed to attend, to sit in proximity long enough for someone to notice, snap a photo, and post it online. the public needed to see the happy “couple” out and about, living their seemingly charmed lives. 

that was the plan. it always is. however, something about tonight feels off.. or maybe it’s you that feels off. 

your eyes drift to lauren, who’s sitting a few stools away at this point, talking to sjoeke. lauren’s body language is relaxed, her posture casual, and she exudes that effortless charm you’ve come to associate with her. her laugh carries over the music, soft but genuine, and it’s disarming. 

you’ve seen her in a dozen different settings by now—on the pitch, in interviews, even in those staged photoshoots your teams made you do together—but she always carries the same quiet confidence. 

“why do i care so much about her flirting earlier?” the thought hits you suddenly, and you blink, startled by your own realization. you know you shouldn’t care. it’s not like there’s anything real between you two. this is business, nothing more. 

you’re about to take a sip of your drink when movement catches your eye. a brunette woman, her steps uneven and her smile a little too wide, weaves her way through the crowd and makes a beeline for lauren. 

she stops next to her, leaning on the counter for balance before sliding onto the stool beside her. 

at first, you think nothing of it. people approach lauren all the time; it comes with the territory of her being a footballer.. then you notice the way the woman leans in, her body language screaming flirtation. 

even over the music, you catch snippets of her words. 

“i’ve been watching you all night,” the brunette says, her voice slurred but still clear enough to make your chest tighten. 

you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the condensation trailing down your glass. but your attention snaps back when you hear lauren laugh—a soft, polite chuckle that quickly morphs into something warmer. she’s flirting back. 

it’s subtle, nothing overt, but it’s enough to make your stomach churn.

you grip the edge of your stool, willing yourself to stay calm. this doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. this isn’t real. lauren is a footballer—a brilliant, talented, and undeniably attractive one. of course people are drawn to her. of course she’s going to flirt back.

you remind yourself that you’re just the one her pr team picked for this charade. nothing more. 

the tightness in your chest refuses to go away. watching lauren lean in closer to the brunette, her smile softening, feels like a punch to the gut and worse, it makes you question things you don’t want to question. 

like why you even care in the first place.

the noise of the bar feels suffocating, and before you know it, you’re sliding off the stool and heading toward the bathroom. the music dulls as you push through the door, and the quieter space is a welcome reprieve.

then, your eyes land on zion and amber. 

your two friends are tucked into a corner of the bathroom, lost in their own world. amber’s hands are tangled in zion’s hair, and zion’s lips are pressed firmly against amber’s. they don’t even notice you until the door clicks shut behind you. 

zion pulls back first, her face flushed. “y/n?” she asks, stepping forward. 

“you okay?”

you hesitate, the weight of the night pressing heavily on your chest. you don’t want to talk about it, but the lump in your throat makes it clear that you need to. 

“not really,” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended.

amber straightens, exchanging a quick glance with zion before walking over to you. 

“what’s going on?” she asks, concern evident in her tone.

just like that, everything comes pouring out. the fake relationship, the constant public scrutiny, the pressure to perform for an audience you didn’t ask for. you tell them about the brunette at the bar, how lauren flirted back, and how much it hurt even though it shouldn’t have. when you’re done, you feel a little lighter, but the knot in your chest remains.

zion crosses her arms, her brow furrowed in thought. 

“y/n,” she says carefully, “are you… catching feelings for lauren?”

the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. your first instinct is to deny it, to brush it off as ridiculous. but the truth gnaws at you, undeniable and unrelenting. you don’t say anything, which is answer enough.

amber steps closer, placing a hand on your arm. “look,” she says gently, “you need to figure this out. either you tell her how you feel and end this whole fake thing, or you set some serious boundaries before you get hurt.”

you nod slowly, the reality of her words settling over you like a weight. “yeah,” you murmur. 

“you’re right.”

as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the question lingers in your mind. 

how did i even let this happen?

the days pass in a haze of avoidance and overthinking. 

you bury yourself in work, content for tiktok, and anything else that keeps you busy enough to ignore the fluttering in your chest every time you think of lauren. it’s not hard to avoid her; after all, your only real interactions have been the orchestrated ones... lunches, coffee dates, the occasional walk in the park, all designed to feed the narrative. 

without the need for those, you manage to keep your distance.

your phone buzzes occasionally with texts from lauren. nothing accusatory or probing, just polite questions about when your next outing is or casual jokes about how your pr teams must be getting impatient about when the next outing will be. 

each message makes your stomach twist, the guilt poking at you. she doesn’t deserve to be avoided, but you can’t bring yourself to face her right now.

the bathroom conversation at the bar replays in your head on a loop. amber’s words, “set boundaries or tell her how you feel,” echo louder with each passing day. it feels like you’ve done neither, stuck somewhere in limbo, unsure of what to do. 

all you know is that seeing lauren flirt with someone else hurt more than it should have. and now, it’s painfully clear why.

you caught feelings. 

the realization had hit you like a train that night, leaving you panicked. you’ve spent years building walls around yourself, keeping relationships at arm’s length, unwilling to let anyone in after your last heartbreak. yet here you are, feelings growing for someone who isn’t even truly yours. 

lauren’s face lingers in your mind far more often than you’d like. the chelsea player’s quiet humor, her thoughtfulness, the way her smile lights up when she’s genuinely happy.. it’s all etched into your brain, no matter how much you try to push it away. 

the worst part? you know this is going nowhere. fake relationships don’t magically become real, and even if they did, there’s no guarantee lauren feels the same.

you sit on your couch, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. the notifications pile up—comments on your latest post, messages from friends, an email from your team about your next public appearance. 

you can’t bring yourself to focus on any of it. all you can think about is how scared you are that you’ve made a mistake, one that’s far too late to undo.

hours later.. around midnight.. you’re curled up on your couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs as you dig into a bowl of rice and chicken. the dim glow of the tv lights up the room, the suspenseful soundtrack of squid game filling the air. 

it’s the perfect distraction, engrossing enough to keep your thoughts at bay, even if just for a little while.

then, a faint knock interrupts the quiet. at first, you assume it’s coming from the show, but when it happens again, you freeze. your eyes flick to the door. you weren’t expecting anyone, and frankly, you’ve been avoiding everyone for the last few days. 

the knocking persists, steady and deliberate, until you reluctantly pause the show and get up.

your heart races as you peek through the peephole. the sight of lauren standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, sends your mind spiraling. 

what is she doing here? how did she get my address?

you open the door slowly, your confusion evident. 

“lauren?” you ask, your voice wary. 

“what are you doing here? how did you even know where i live?”

she offers a small smile, almost sheepish. 

“hey. i asked madeline. hope that’s okay.”

you step aside, letting her in despite your confusion at why she would go so far to ask your mutual friend what your address was. lauren looks around, her eyes landing on the paused screen of squid game. 

“season two?” she asks, nodding toward the tv. 

“is it any good? haven’t had the chance to watch it yet because of training.”

“so far, yeah,” you reply, your tone cautious. 

“like the first season. but… why are you here?”

she turns to face you, her expression soft but serious. 

“i came to talk to you. you’ve been avoiding everyone.. me included.. and it’s not like you. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you try to brush it off, waving a hand dismissively. 

“i’m fine. just needed some space, that’s all.”

lauren doesn’t budge. she crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. 

“come on, y/n. i know something’s wrong. you can’t just disappear like that and expect no one to notice.”

you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. 

“what does it matter? you probably have a real date to get to or something.”

she frowns, her brows knitting together. 

“what are you talking about? i don’t have a real date. why would you say that?”

your heart pounds in your chest, but you push forward, your voice tinged with frustration. 

“do you have a real partner, lauren? someone you’re seeing while we’re doing this… this fake thing?”

lauren’s confusion deepens. 

“what? no. where is this even coming from?”

the tension boils over, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out. 

“because it’s driving me insane, lauren! this whole fake relationship thing.. it’s messing with my head. i can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s not just for the cameras or the public or whatever. i caught feelings, okay? within these few months of pretending to be your girlfriend, i somehow…. god, i don’t even know. i like you and i know that’s not part of the plan, so if this makes things too complicated, we can stop. i get it.”

the room goes quiet, your words hanging heavily in the air. lauren’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you brace yourself for rejection. but then her expression shifts… softening into something that looks like relief.

“wait,” she says, stepping closer. 

“are you serious?”

you nod, your heart in your throat. 

“yeah. and if that’s too much, just say the word, and we can call this off. i’ll tell the pr team about the situation myself.”

lauren shakes her head quickly. “no, no. you’re not calling anything off.” her voice is steady, her gaze locked onto yours. 

“if we’re going to stop the fake relationship, it’s only because we’re starting a real one.”

your brows knit together, confusion washing over you. 

“what are you saying?”

she takes a breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. 

“i’m saying that i’ve caught feelings too. you’re kind, funny, and beautiful.. completely yourself no matter the situation. you’re the kind of person who i love spending my time with, even for something as ridiculous as a fake relationship, this has been the best part of my year.”

you stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up. 

“you… like me?”

“yeah,” she says, her smile widening. 

“i like you, y/n. for real, nothing fake.”

the tension in your chest finally loosens, replaced by something warm and overwhelming. 

“so, what do we do now?”

lauren grins, her expression brighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

“first, i’m calling the pr team and telling them we’re done with this fake stuff. after that, we’ll figure it out. together.”

you let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you. 

“okay. yeah. let’s do that.”

she glances at the tv, her grin turning playful. 

“before that, can we watch the rest of this? i’ve been meaning to start season two.”

you laugh, gesturing to the couch. 

“sure, but you’re sharing my blanket.”

lauren plops down beside you, pulling the blanket over her legs as the two of you settle in. for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.

also real.. 

masterlist

happy very early birthday aj 😆

[chibinasuu]

Sugar Cookies | Sanji x Reader

Summary: Just two shy oblivious fools in love. Tags: f!reader, no use of y/n, pure tooth-rotting fluff

Note: i imagined the reader here being the same one from my other fic “Good Mornings”, so this can be read as a continuation to that, but can definitely be read as a one-shot too!

A now familiar sight greeted you as you stepped into the kitchen of the Thousand Sunny – Sanji, his back to you as he tirelessly worked on preparing today’s breakfast. It had fallen into your routine to join the blonde chef in the kitchen every morning, yet no matter how many times you've seen it, you never got tired of watching the man cook. 

They say the way to one’s heart is through the stomach. You never truly understood what that meant until you met Sanji. You fell in love at first bite with his cooking, but the more you got to know him, the more you found yourself falling for the blue-eyed cook himself. You were captivated by his charm, his kindness, his gentleness, and the way he deeply cared for each of his crewmates – yes, even the mosshead. 

A cup of coffee awaited you on the kitchen bar, steam still billowing off the mug. Sanji had memorized by now the hour and minute you usually come into the kitchen. He had gotten the timing of serving your coffee down to a science, making the drink just the right temperature for your first sip of the day – not too hot that it would scald your tongue, but also not left on the table long enough for it to be unpleasantly lukewarm. 

You took a deep breath through your nose, savoring the usual aroma of coffee and bacon, but there was also a hint of something else wafting through the air today. Something sweet – a delicate blend of vanilla, butter, and sugar. 

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart!” Sanji called out as he noticed you, and you felt your heart involuntarily skip a beat. 

The nickname didn’t use to affect you this much. Sanji had been calling you sweetheart since the very first moment he saw you, eyes full of hearts and arms waving to grab your attention. Truthfully, you found it annoying at first, even more so when you realized he acted like that with every single woman he met. But, somehow, somewhere along the way, you found yourself addicted to hearing him call you the term of endearment, even when you thought he didn’t actually mean it. How could he, when he called every other woman that?

Little did you know, somehow, somewhere along the way, Sanji had miraculously found himself looking less and less at other women. He didn’t even notice it until one day, Nami asked if he was feeling sick, thinking something was wrong because he hadn’t flirted with her for a record three days straight. Nami eventually figured out that Sanji hadn’t dropped his lovesick act, he was just reserving it for you. She didn’t say a thing, though, secretly entertained by your and Sanji’s obliviousness to each other’s true feelings. 

Sanji set down a plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies next to your coffee and winked at you, “Something sweet for someone sweet.”

He really needed to stop saying lines like that before you end up in the sick bay with heart failure.

A little peek at the jar on the counter showed you that the rest of the cookies he had set aside for your crewmates were all round-shaped, unlike the hearts he gave you. You tried not to read too much into it, lest you get your hopes up.

“Try dipping them into the coffee, dear, it’ll balance out the sweetness,” Sanji suggested as he returned to the stove, flipping some more bacon and adding them to the already massive pile on a plate.

You took a cookie and dipped it into your coffee, as per Sanji’s instruction, and you couldn’t stop the moan rising out from your throat as the bittersweet taste mingled exquisitely upon your tongue.

Sanji froze at the sound, before clearing his throat awkwardly, “Enjoying the cookies?”

He turned off the stove and started wiping down the oil splatters off the counter. 

“They’re perfect.” You told him as you popped another one of the buttery goodness into your mouth. Jokingly, you added, “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to make these for me every day for the rest of your life, Sanji.” 

You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the sincerity in his tone when he replied, “That would be my greatest pleasure, sweetheart.”

His heartfelt remark caused a tightness in your chest, and you were suddenly awash with an irresistible wave of affection for the cook. You got up from your seat, your feet unwittingly carrying you toward the man still clearing up the countertop. 

Once you were right behind him, you wrapped your arms gently around his slim waist and rested the side of your face against his back, “Thanks, Sanji. You’re always so sweet to me.”

Sanji’s whole body stiffened under your touch, and you felt your heart drop. What were you thinking, suddenly hugging him like this? Of course he’d feel uncomfortable.  

You immediately started to remove your arms, but he urgently grabbed onto them, stopping you from letting go of the embrace. You looked up at Sanji curiously, only to find him tilting his head up toward the ceiling to prevent a nosebleed from streaming down his face.

“Oh, shoot, Sanji!” You yanked your arms away from him, grabbing a dishcloth and pressing it up to his nose.

Sanji’s face was bright red with embarrassment as you wiped the blood away. A laughter tinted with mortification bubbled out of you, “Sorry, sorry! I won’t do that again!”

His hand swiftly reached up to grab your wrist, and you stared at him in confusion. He refused to meet your eyes, and his voice was small when he finally said, “I don’t mind if you do that again.”

You stood in stunned silence, processing his words. Did that mean he liked that you hugged him? 

Sanji took a deep breath, looking oddly determined as he finally made eye contact with you. 

“No, actually, I want you to do that again. Please.” His voice cracked slightly with nerves as he hurriedly added, “But only if you want to.”

His shyness, so different from his usual over-the-top flirting, surprised you. It felt like he was giving you a peek at his genuine feelings that up till now had been thoroughly disguised by layers of exaggerated acts.

“Just, uh, give me a warning next time, maybe?” Sanji chuckled nervously, “Sorry, it just felt like my heart was going to explode.”

“Right.” You said, trying to supress a grin at how adorable he was being right now, “Consider this your warning, then.”

You tossed the bloody dishcloth into the sink and placed your hands on either side of him, looking right into his eyes as you announced, “I’m gonna hug you again, ‘kay?”

This time, when you pulled him close, Sanji’s arms moved to wrap around you too, one snaking around your waist, while the other cradled your head into his chest. 

He sighed in contentment at the feeling of you against him, marveling at the way your bodies fit perfectly like puzzle pieces — like you were made just for him. 

This close to him, you could feel his heart pounding a million beats per minute, and you wondered if he could feel yours racing at the same speed. 

After a few minutes — or hours, you couldn’t tell — Sanji admitted, “Still feel like my heart’s gonna explode.”

You chuckled and confessed, “Mine too.”

Sanji pulled away slightly from the embrace but kept you close, not intending to let you go anytime soon now that he finally had you in his arms. A speck of insecurity was evident in his expression as he searched your eyes, looking for validation that you wanted this as much as he did. Yes, Sanji blatantly flirted with you all the time, but at this moment, faced with the real possibility of something more, he was terrified. He was scared that you would regard his actions as unserious or thought that his feelings were a mere infatuation, when in fact, it ran so much deeper than that. 

Sanji started to tremble, and your grip on him tightened, steadying him. You caressed his back in a soothing motion and gave him an encouraging smile, while he observed you for another long second. Your eyes must have conveyed to him what you were too shy to profess through words right now, because Sanji inched the slightest bit forward, seemingly emboldened by what he found in your gaze. 

“Can I-” He gulped and cleared his throat before trying again, “Can I kiss you?” 

You felt your heart drum more erratically against your ribcage, if that was even possible. If he couldn’t feel it before, then he definitely could now. 

Warmth rushed into your cheeks as you nodded. Sanji tentatively brought his hands to your face, while yours found a home on his chest. You closed your eyes as he slowly leaned in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

Sanji’s kiss was gentle and soft, but electrifying at the same time. Full of passion, but also slow and unhurried, just like all these mornings you two share together. 

It was everything you ever imagined, and more.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbled against your lips, “Like sugar cookies.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, still in disbelief at how lucky he was to be here, having this moment with his precious sweetheart at last. 

You both were quiet for a short while before letting out relieved laughs, simply exhilarated at the thought of your long-held feelings being reciprocated.

“Can we do that again?” Sanji asked hesitantly.

You fondly laughed and reassured him, “Sanji, you can kiss me anytime you want.” 

He grinned widely, before closing the gap once more. His lips had barely grazed yours when the door to the kitchen burst open, “Good morning, yo ho ho ho!”

You and Sanji immediately leaped apart from each other as if poked by a hot iron, a space far too wide for your liking suddenly materializing between the two of you.

“Ah, my apologies.” Brook said with a hand covering his mouth, though he sounded more amused rather than sorry, “Am I interrupting something?”

Your face felt like it was burning, the heat spreading quickly down your neck as you awkwardly folded your arms across your chest, refusing to respond to the musician’s question. 

Sanji’s face was similarly flushed, but he also looked absolutely furious that someone dared to interrupt a scene that he had been dreaming about day and night for a very, very long time.

The cook quickly took the kettle off the burner and poured some hot water into a teapot he had already prepared earlier in the morning.  

“Here’s your morning tea.” He thrust a tray with the teapot and a cup onto Brook’s bony hands, before shooing him out, “Now get out, you creepy skeleton!”

He kicked the door shut in Brook’s face and sighed, rubbing his temples while grumbling about the geezer’s awful timing, before turning back to you.

Sanji’s bashful smile slowly returned when he saw you giggling in amusement at his outburst, which, he admitted, was a tad excessive. Oh well, he’d apologize to Brook later, but right now, he had something more important to get to. And no, it wasn’t finishing breakfast prep. That could wait — he was nearly done anyway.

Your heartbeat picked up all over again as he strode purposefully across the kitchen toward you,

“Now, where were we, sweetheart?”

a/n: yes i stole that “something sweet for someone sweet” line from opla sanji - couldn't get my mind off it. anyway, all of my fics so far have been platonic (or romance-adjacent at most), so this was actually my first attempt at writing a more romance-centric fic. i hope that was okay?? feedback and constructive criticisms are always welcome!

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[abiatackerman]

Levi Ackerman as a BOYFRIEND

Just how I think Levi would act if he becomes a boyfriend.....

He'll make sure you take shower everyday and clean yourself properly.... This will be his first priority.

He won't say romantic things to you nor he'll be clingy we all know Levi's not like that. But he'll make sure to make you a cup of tea everyday.

Once in a while he'll visit your room and will force you to organise and clean it. He hates messes...

No matter how busy he's... He'll always try to make up some time for you. It's not like he'll take you on a romantic date or something... He'll just make up some time so that you two will be able to spend some time alone on the roof, gazing at the stars while making small talks.

He'll make sure you train properly everyday. You might think he's being tough with you but it's for you to become stronger because he doesn't wanna lose you... Never. He'll even request Erwin to put you in the safe position or in his squad during the expeditions.

He'll make sure you're in good health. That you're eating properly three times a day or that you're getting enough sleep and not doing something unhealthy which may create some chances of you getting sick.

Even if you accidentally get sick, he'll definitely take care of you. No matter how much you protest, he'll stay by your side (if he doesn't have more important works to do) 24 hours if possible. He'll even do the paperwork in your room so that he'll be able to keep an eye on you.

He'll be the most loyal boyfriend you've ever seen. No matter how many beautiful or sexy women would try to seduce him, he'll never fall for them. He's love for you is real and he'll just look at those annoying ladies with disgust and will shove them off with his best glares or by being rude to them.

He'll never show you that he's jealous. He never knew what jealousy is until he started to feel some weird anger and possessiveness whenever he would see you to talk to another charming cadet and laugh at them. He won't say anything to you he'll just have a small talk with those cadets who he'll think are trying to make a move on you. Otherwise if he's gonna feel nothing's wrong, he'll leave the matter.

He never liked sex. For him it's a messy and filthy thing. And since you always act like a brat after it and refuse to clean all the mess you two make, he gets more pissed. But whenever he's inside you while you're smiling up at him moaning his name... For him it feels like heaven, a feeling he never felt before. Though you both don't get enough time to make love, whenever you get needy he'll manage time for both of you. He'll always make sure you're comfortable while making love and will instinctively whisper "I love you" while doing it.

He was never good with his words or feelings. He knows he can't express his love for you properly with words and emotions. So he'll try to show how much he loves you by doing little things. Like sometimes buying you books or foods or whichever you like... Sometimes helping you with cleaning... Helping you to organise your room, clothes and other things... Helping you with your paperwork... Sometimes checking up on you to see if everything's ok... Using less curse and rude words when he's with you... Sometimes even trying to smile whole heartily when he's with you.

He's a good listener rather than a speaker. He doesn't love to talk so he'll just let you speak and listen to you. Sometimes he'll try to make some snarky remarks just to make you laugh and to see your smile.

Whenever you'll act bratty and won't listen to him he'll just sigh, throwing you over his shoulder he'll bring you to his office to give you some punishment. Starting by slapping your ass it'll depend on you where the punishment will end. It may end by making a mess due to having a steamy sex or just by him patting your head when you'll finally agree with his terms. Totally depends on you, he'll just follow your mood.

He'll sometimes will hint to you that he'll love to spend his whole life with you. Like asking you some questions like do you like children? What's your plan after the war is over? He'll never directly say that he wants to marry you and start a family with you so badly. Since a serious war is going on he'll just hope you two will be alive and will see the end of it... And then you both will get married and lead a happy life with a bunch of kids you two will make.

He'll try to protect you with his life. He'll take care of anything or anyone which he'll think is threatening to you. He'll always have your back and will hold you close when you're scared. He'll try his best to always keep you unharmed... No matter what....

A/N: This is how "I" head cannon Levi as a boyfriend. You can head cannon him in your way and I have nothing against you. So please, no hate words.

[zeezelweazel]

I beg you make a part 2 of the Wally fic where something happens between her and reader (maybe reader catches Wally in one of the fantasies)

Lia Wälti| Dream Come True|

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I wasn't planning on making a part two but since you guys asked so nicely

Guess who finally entered their 20s :)

Part two of "Fantasise"

TW: fingering, degradation, spanking, choking, strap on use, mention of masturbation

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Lia had to go to training the other day like nothing happened. She tried to avoid you and for the most part she was successful. But of course, she couldn't avoid you forever, you are playing for the same team after all.

Lia stepped into the gym and when she saw it was empty she sighed relieved. That is until she moved further inside the room and saw you on the leg press. Your muscles were shining with sweat and your breathing was heavy from the all the exercise. Your legs were moving up and down slowly and Lia licked her lips as she stood there, ogling you like she was back into one of her fantasies.

"Hey, came to train Lia?" The Swiss woman jolted in surprise when she heard your voice. Lia's brown eyes locked into yours and for a moment she thought she saw something there. She shook her head and smiled politely before she moved on to start training.

After she was done with training Lia packed her things and started moving towards the exit of the gym until she felt you tug on her wrist. Lia turned to look at you and you smirked at her.

"Want to come to my place?" Lia stared at you shocked, simply trying to process your words. The invitation was clear, your voice was flirty and your body language was hinting at one thing only. Lia's cheeks flushed when she remembered what she did last night but all the same, she was confused about where this came from. You've never showed signs of liking her before so why now all of a sudden?

The longer she took to answer the more certain you became of your suspicions. You weren't blind and as someone who's slept with many women you knew the signs of someone being into you.

You also knew Lia, albeit not very well but well enough. Enough to know that all her exes were as interesting as dull dish water. Lia screamed vanilla, not just her perfume, but just with the way she carried herself you could tell this woman has never been properly fucked before. Which is a shame considering how absolutely gorgeous she is with her pretty face and her soft lips and those killer doe eyes that only made you want to absolutely wreck her.

Lia's lips were opening and closing but no words left her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed, clearly not expecting you to be this forward. In the end she didn't say anything, she simply nodded and you grinned down at her, like a wolf to a lamp.

Closing the bedroom door softly behind her Lia took a moment to simply take in your room. It was nicely decorated and very much you. Though Lia didn't have much time to appreciate it. Your hands framed her face and her eyes stared up at you. There was this hesitant and curious innocence that you couldn't resist.

Your brought your lips together, the kiss hard but slow, giving her time to relax and get used to it. You pulled her in and Lia threaded her hands through your hair. You dominated the kiss easily and Lia's whimpers were swallowed by your tongue. You manoeuvred your bodies towards the bed and when the back of her knees hit the bed she sat down.

You climb on her lap and press feverish kisses across her neck. Lia sighs and moves her head back to give you more access. Her hands move down to start undoing the buttons of her blouse and you smirk against her neck when you take notice. You let Lia throw away her top and thread her fingers through your hair as you willingly move down to her collarbone. Sneaking your hands around her midsection you unhook her bra and take it off before pulling back to stare at her chest unabashedly.

Lia blushes under your gaze and resists the urge to cover her breasts with her hands. You shakily exhale through your nose as you take her breasts in your hands softly at first before pinching her tight nipples. Lia yelps not expecting the sudden movement. You lean in to press kisses against her jaw while your hands roughly squeeze her tits. Lia gasps when you lick a hot line up to her ear.

"Tell me Lia, what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

Lia almost chokes on air at your words. There's no way you could possibly know. This is probably some sort of foreplay question, right? But still how is she supposed to answer without telling on herself?

You seem to notice Lia's internal turmoil but you don't say anything to the brunette. You let her think it through while you move down to remove her pants. Lia's head is spinning but she still lifts her hips up to help you remove her pants. You grin when you notice the wet patch on her lacy underwear.

Lia had yet to answer your question but the moment you started slowly removing her panties her mind turned fuzzy with pleasure. The cold air hit her dripping cunt and she bit her lip to confide a moan. She whimpered when you ran a single finger through her folds and she spread her legs just a bit more. You smirked and nipped her neck teasingly.

"Do you think about me fucking you when you touch yourself Lia?"

Lia's eyes went wide and her hand clasped your wrist. If it wasn't for the fact that a new wave of wetness hit your finger you'd think that the brunette didn't like the comment. A deep red blush spread over her face and Lia knew she was absolutely done for. She didn't have the mind to ponder over how you know, just that this fact alone made her so wet.

You moved your fingers up to fondle her throbbing clit and Lia whined all high pitched and needy. Lia noticed how horribly dry her throat is only when she opened her mouth to finally answer your probing questions. She swallowed once and looked you in the eyes before answering.

"Yes." She choked out an answer and you chuckled and teasingly dipped your fingers inside her clenching hole only to pull them away and move up to play with her clit once more. "That's not enough princess. You know what I want to hear."

Lia whimpered and threw her head back, face flushed a deep red at your relentless teasing. She took in a few deep breaths to collect herself.

"I-I think about you tying me up and-" Lia's voice closed up when you shoved two fingers inside her tight pussy without warning. You brought your free hand up to play with her breasts and it was getting almost impossible for Lia to think, much less answer your question.

"Go on baby, finish that thought."

Your strict but sweet tone send a shiver up Lia's spine and the Swiss woman has to fight with herself to form a coherent sentence.

"I think about you tying me up and fucking me while you're choking me." Your eyes visibly darkened at Lia's words and you resisted the urge to just push her on the bed and fuck her senseless. You lean in and after a strong bite on her neck you slowly kiss towards her ear.

"Let's make your dreams come true then."

You pull back, removing your mouth and your fingers from Lia, leaving the brunette alone and desperate. Lia sits on the edge of the bed waiting for you to come back. With you busy searching the closet it doesn't take long for the Swiss to get impatient. Lia slowly drags a hand down her body and runs a single finger through her folds. Her mind almost starts to wander on its own but before Lia can sneak a finger inside a harsh slap on her thigh makes her jolt. Her eyes snap open and they first meet your furious eyes before sliding lower to land on the big appendage between your legs.

Lia gulpes at the sight of the big cock in front of her face. She's imagoned you fucking her many times but this is the first time she's actually seen such a big strap. Now she's not so sure she can take it. Before Lia can voice her worries she feels yet another slap, this time on her sensitive clit. Lia yelps and her legs snap closed as you thread your other hand into her hair and tug her down until Lia falls on her knees.

You could moan just at the sight of her like this with her pretty doe eyes looking up at you, legs splayed open just a little on the cold floor and hands behind her back. Your hand moves from her hair down to her jaw and your thumb glosses over her pretty lips.

"Open your mouth like the good little slut you are."

Lia hesitantly does as you ask, not really knowing what to do from there. You grin at her innocence before taking the cock in your hand and slowly stroke it. You push the head of the cock against Lia's lips and the brunette whimpers slightly. Slowly she presses small kisses on the cock head before moving lower and back up again.

You use your free hand to guide Lia to take the cock in her mouth. Lia moans around the shaft as your hand tugs on her hair and forces her to take more. Lia gags and immediately recoils, the brunette panting on the floor with saliva dripping down her chin. You pat her cheek reassuringly when she pouts up at you.

"Don't worry, I'll train your whore mouth to take all of my cock."

Lia moans and gets up again to push her lips against yours for a feverish kiss. Lia groans against your lips and you take the chance to push your tongue in her mouth. You two slowly move up the bed and Lia's hands desperately pull at your top. You pull back and take your shirt off only to push Lia down before she gets the chance to touch you. You reach on your drawer and pull out a set of handcuffs. Lia smirks and cheekily puts her hands up above her head ready for you to finally tie her down.

You smile at the brunette's newly found confidence and pull a black pair of leather handcuffs from your bedside table. You secure her hands on the bedpost and make sure the Swiss is comfortable before moving your head down to bite and suck on her neck. With her hands tied Lia is unable to push your head lower towards her aching heat so she's left squirming against you. As a result Lia receives a sharp slap on the side of her thigh that only makes her wetter. She whimpers when you take a nipple in your mouth and suck. Her head is dizzy, mind spinning in pleasure when you bite down on the tender flesh of her breast.

All the different sensations drive her crazy and she's so out of it she gasps when you run your cock through her folds. Lia throws her head back when you try to push the head in and she tries to relax to accommodate the sheer size of it but it doesn't seem to be working. Lia moans loudly at the stretch when the head pushes past her entrance but after a few minutes of you shifting your hips and pushing in slowly Lia whines loudly in frustration.

"I can't take it. It won't fit." You move one of your hands from her waist to the column of her throat and squeeze until Lia's eyes snap closed. You chuckle and thrust your hips forward, hard and deep, as you watch Lia's pussy swallow more of your cock.

"You will take it. Fuck, that's it baby, you take my cock so well." Your hips keep moving as you slowly start upping the pace. Your thrusts turn from deep and hard to fast and shallow while you work Lia's tight cunt open. Lia is left to thrash hopelessly on the bed, her tightly clasped hands not allowing much movement. The brunette couldn't make loud sounds due to the pressure from your hand, still steady on her throat.

With a steady pace the fake dick keeps pushing farther in and Lia's head spins from the stretch, accomodating the pain mixed with pleasure. With a particularly harsh thrust and a high pitched breathless moan from Lia you finally bottom out and you groan, putting both of your hands on her hips and grinning down at her. Lia opens her eyes, chest heaving with deep breaths and her eyes lock with your before following your line of sight. Lia moans softly when she's greeted with a soft bulge on her lower belly. Your hands stroke over her abs and you groan when you feel your cock nestled deep inside the midfielder.

"Fuck, Y/N, please." Lia started rolling her hips against yours, desperate for you to start moving again. Your fingers squeezed her hips and you leaned down for one final kiss before you begun pounding into her once more.

Without your hands restricting her airways Lia is now moaning freely and you almost groan at the pornographic sounds that leave the normally quiet woman. You groan at the beautiful sight of the woman under you almost shaking from the pleasure. Lia can barely form any coherent words but you can make out pleas and sounds that remind you too much of your name. Lia's thighs begin to shake and you feel your own orgasm approaching fast.

"You're so beautiful. That's it come for me pretty girl."

You try to push Lia closer to the edge by bringing one of your hands to rub at her clit in short and fast circles. Lia tugs at the restraints harshly and you know that if her hands were free she'd be raking her fingernails down your back.

"I'm gonna -" the words barely leave Lia's mouth before the Swiss blacks out as her whole body shakes. Your hips keep moving as your high approaches quickly and you feel yourself getting close. The picture of Lia lying beneath you with a fucked out expression is enough to push you over the edge. The orgasm racks through your body and you fall limp on Lia. You take a few moments to collect yourself before you push of the midfielder and slowly remove the strap. Lia whines quietly and tugs at her wrists once, you quickly get the message and take off the handcuffs. She sighs and stretches on the bed, finally able to move her body freely. You grab some lotion and rub it on her wrist softly and Lia tries not to blush at how soft and gentle you're being.

Lia has never done this before. Not really knowing what this is that's going on between you, but as far as Lia is concerned you aren't supposed to cuddle in bed and laugh until the late hours of the night with your supposed one night stand.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

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[maple-the-awesome]

He's Becomes a Dad || Part 2/2

Part 1

Pairing: Twilight, Warrior, Sky, Wild x Reader

Overview: Congratulations, you're new parents 🎉 Some of the Links are prepared. Others...might need a moment to gather themselves. But rest assured! At the end of the day, they're all going to get a handle on this whole dad thing. Warning: Mentions of miscarriages for Sky's section. Nothing to detailed, but it's there so beware 🙅‍♀️

Zelda Masterlist 🤎Fandom Masterlist

It's never been a surprise to you that Twilight would want kids of his own. He never even had to say it aloud, you could just read that look in his eyes whenever playing with the village children. It was a wordless yet ever so contagious request: I want this. And how were you to deny him? Just look at him!

Simply put, children were a top priority of yours almost as soon as you married. It didn't take long for you to become pregnant either (not with Twilight's fierce passion and your shared disinterest towards 'waiting'). Regardless, there were still many tears shed when you found out - all happy, of course, as your husband spun you around in his arms while you both laughed giddily in between quick kisses.

Let's get this straight: Twilight is prepared-prepared. Ordon is that type of close-knit community where everyone helps raise each other's kids, so despite this being his first rodeo as a new dad himself, he has plenty of experience taking care of youngsters. As a ranch-hand, he's also perfectly accustomed to the whole birthing process, having hand-delivered more baby goats than he can count, so don’t worry, nothing about the ‘less glamorous’ sides of pregnancy scare him. 

With that being said, Twilight doesn't stress too much aside from the normal concerns about your health, after all he recognizes that not every pregnancy is the same for every woman, but that's exactly why he makes it his personal mission to ensure your comfort. 

Feeling particularly ill? He'll make you all the tasty pumpkin soup you could ask for which, believe it or not, works wonders for an upset stomach. Just having a bad day? He'll happily let you cuddle with Wolfie to help you relax. Restless? He'll take you on a horse ride no matter the hour and if you're too far along in your pregnancy to climb onto Epona, a simple walk to Ordon's spring will do since that's the perfect spot to soak your sore body. Twilight is no above carrying you there himself if you ask.

Trust that your every worry is always smoothed; Twilight is there to reassure you no matter how 'little' the problem. Have concerns he can't speak on as a man? He'll happily go ask one of the other village women for you if you're too embarrassed to do so yourself, in fact this guy's already been talking Rusl and Uli's ears off for advice since day one. He doesn't want to leave a single thing to chance regardless of how confident he already feels which is probably why there's a stack of parenting books on his nightstand. Did he clear the shelves in Castle Town? Probably.

You're pretty sure that Twilight already had a 'go-bag' put together before the end of your first trimester, although he’d add to it like a paranoid squirrel up until your due-date. Curious, you had gone through it one day just to get a hint of how overboard he might've gone. Diapers, snacks, blankets, comfortable clothes for you, more parenting books...He does realize you're doing a home birth, right? Most of this stuff he could just grab from the cabinet if needed, but it's sweet that he's trying to be organized.

It isn’t really news to anyone that Hyrule’s heroes tend to land on the quieter side and usually Twilight isn’t much different…There’s a key word in there because you’re quite certain he hasn’t actually shut up since the second you told him you’re pregnant. He can hardly keep his excitement to himself! Oh, but it’s adorable, especially on those nights when he’ll fall asleep mumbling about his joy all while using your swollen stomach as a pillow. It makes your heart swell every time.

When you eventually go into labor, Twilight doesn’t show much outward panic if he has any at all, however he does feel incredibly terrible to watch you go through it without any relief. He feels absolutely useless while unable to take away your suffering the way a good husband should, so to make up for it, he does his utmost best to be your rock during those long hours, talking you through each painful contraction and doing everything in his power to distract you. Back rubs, walks around the house, whispers of sweet nothings…He’s by your side well into the night, keeping it up until it finally comes time to start pushing.

He definitely was not going to say it while you were going through the motions because he’d like to keep his head, but human and goat births are pretty much the same thing minus the actual cursing. He’s in his element then, knowing exactly what to do to ensure a safe delivery for mama and baby. His movements are almost automatic, trained by years of practice as he cleans the little one off before taking the time to admire them fully.

Are you shocked that Twilight is teary eyed? Not at all. Are you upset that he almost forgets about you entirely for a second because he’s so entranced by the baby? Also no, since you need a moment to catch your breath anyway. Don’t worry, though, he does eventually pass you your son reluctantly before hovering at your side with possibly the widest grin you’ve ever seen on the man since your wedding day. 

The rest of the night is calm from there on, filled with quiet whispers and cooing as you both take turns partaking in skin-to-skin contact with your baby. Will you be doing this again soon? You’re probably going to need a decent break to recover, but just know that your husband is absolutely ready whenever you are. In the meantime, expect to be showered in endless love and affection because you deserve it for the priceless gift you’ve given him.

Your relationship with Warrior has always been ‘slow moving’ if compared to most other couples’. For starters, while he may have a formidable reputation for being a supposed lady's man, all that 'skill' of his would go flying out the window whenever faced with your presence, so it took some time (and maybe a near-death experience) for any confessions to be made. In his defense, you're a very beautiful and strong woman who happened to be one of his superiors during most of the war, so please excuse him for usually being awed into silence whenever you showed even an ounce of interest in ‘lil ol’ him. His brain would literally become a windows error.

Even after Warrior did finally find the courage to ask you out, your respected jobs and heavy workloads have often forced your relationship to be put on the back-burner. Marry you? Hylia knows he’s been DYING to! You’re already wearing the ring and everything, but it's not like you're going anywhere anytime soon and he'd rather wait a few extra years to enjoy the perfect moment rather than rush the whole ‘happiest-day-of-our-lives’ thing during a bad time.

Luckily for him, you've never needed a formal certificate to know you own his heart. He proves it to you in other ways every day from cheesy love letters to overly romantic dates during your rare off time, and while you normally adore being the sole subject of his affection, that's exactly how you ended up in this very situation.

You're both adults and as such you won't pretend to be innocent: This wasn't planned in the slightest. Your jobs can be quite chaotic, as previously addressed, so you just wanted to help your husband-to-be relax and destress a bit - nothing new for either of you in itself, although that particular evening would end up weighing heavily on your mind a few weeks later.

To be honest, when you first entered Warrior's office and instructed him to sit down with a stern voice that could rival Commander Impa's, he thought you must've finally grown tired of being engaged for several years, having come to him then to demand that he marry you sooner. Agreement was right on the tip of his tongue when you delivered the bombshell that you were pregnant instead.

Your tone was serious and expression calm, but Warrior knows you well enough to spot the hidden worry in your eyes. It’s justified, of course. Had either of you even discussed having kids before? He doesn’t think so. It’s not like having a baby is a bad thing, though. The idea of creating a small family with you is a pleasant one, it’s just…happening a lot sooner than preferred. You both would’ve liked more time to plan and prepare…but oh well. What’s done is done. 

The real concern is will your jobs allow you both time off to take care of a baby? It's not like a war is currently going on, so Hyrule won't suffer too much from having two of its best captains sidelined, however what happens if that doesn't remain the case? What if war breaks out tomorrow or the day after? Warrior can’t let his pregnant fiancée fight in battles! What kind of husband and father would that make him?! But at the same time, is he just supposed to ask that you sacrifice your career in order to spare his? THAT’S NO BETTER!

...All things considered, you'd say Warrior handles the news far better than some might've. Yes, he begins to ‘slightly’ overthink things, although that's exactly why you had him sit down first. Calmly, you take his hand and tell him how things will be (your own way of offering comfort not only to him, but yourself as well). The bottom line is that if you could successfully fight Ganondorf’s army together, you can raise a child together, too. Really, how much harder can it be? You already have some minor experience being unofficial parents to little Time and Wind during the war. Just don't give your own children any magic masks or wind controlling devices and you should be golden.

Thankfully, many of Warrior’s initial fears are proven to be irrational during the earliest stages of your pregnancy. Everyone else was positively thrilled to hear the news and even Impa gave her congratulations, explaining to your fiancé’s relief that she’ll simply assign you more deskwork until it’s fit for you to return back to your normal duties. All he has to worry about in the meantime is making sure you actually take it easy; only a slightly difficult task considering your headstrong nature and insistence on not being ‘coddled’, but hey, if anyone can handle it, it’s the guy who’s hellbent on marrying your stubborn butt one day.

Warrior will admit that there were still some nights when he would nearly pull his hair out while doubting if he’s actually ready to be a dad, however the moment you officially being showing is the same moment he forgets all about any possible regrets and replaces them entirely with daydreams filled with not only his lovely wife, but also a little one who will hopefully think the absolute world of him. He already knows he’ll think of it of them.

Although you may feel a bit nervous towards the prospect of suddenly being parents, that doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t choose anyone else to go through this journey with. One look to your side and you’re certain of it. The way Warrior holds his son for the first time, newborn wrapped comfortably in his scarf and dad, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion after hours of labor yet the proud smile evident on his face nevertheless…You were right before: so long as you do it together, you’ll excel in this whole ‘parenting-thing’.

You had married young - almost as soon as you were able after graduating from the Knight Academy. To everyone else on Skyloft, you have always been the picture image of an ideal couple; the hero and his beloved princess who somehow manage to be completely and utterly smitten with each other even years later. To call Sky your husband is a blessing in itself and you consider yourself lucky every single day. There’s only ever been one problem with your relationship - one single complaint you can think of where neither of you are truly responsible: your lack of children.

When you first married, there was lots of talk, after all everyone was simply dying to know when the first generation on the Surface would be born. Your parents were eager for grandchildren and Zelda, your best friend, had way too much fun teasing you over the matter by expressing her 'surprise' that Sky had yet to give you a baby despite how 'passionate' he’s always been towards you (she would make sure to use those exact words, too). 

Initially, you never minded anyone’s curiosity. It’s only natural to expect children from a newly wed couple. It's when that same couple reaches their third then sixth year of marriage without any trace of tiny feet or squealing laughter that those curious and well-meant questions grow quiet with unbearable pity, your shared excitement becoming shuttered sorrow.

At the start there was nothing to worry about. You were both young and not putting that much effort into it, so certain it wouldn't take long for your family to grow. Then the years began to pass and you would try everything the doctor recommended, but every test would still leave you as disappointed as the last. The absolutely worst form of despair came those few times you'd actually get your hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed a few months in.

What were you doing wrong? Sky would always hush your anxieties and do his utmost best to reassure you, however you knew by his own tears that your infertility hurt him just as much, especially when on those quieter nights, you'd suggest that perhaps you simply weren't meant to be parents - that the gods were just trying to tell you both something you were too stubborn to accept.

It's for that reason that you had such mixed emotions once finally able to fall pregnant again. You were optimistic deep down, however after six years of attempts and losses, you were wary to embrace too much joy right away which was shown in the way Sky held onto you for what felt like hours after you told him or how he slept each night with a hand on your stomach even in those early days, internally praying to the goddesses this would be the one.

A month passed...Then two...And three, and four…For once, you didn't feel sick aside from what was considered normal. Maybe a bit of high blood pressure the doctor kept a close eye on, but other than that he’d always tell Sky and you the same thing: they're healthy.

Even then, you’d say you remained extra cautious, not daring to eat nor do anything the doctor so much as hesitated against, however Sky was by far the worst when it came to worrying. As your husband, he considers your physical and mental well-being his personal responsibility, but as the father of your child? His work has doubled!

All chores were to be his alone so that you could rest. Any bout of sickness was closely monitored and tended to. His hand would remain on your stomach from beginning to end, although overtime it would be done less out of fear and more for the sake of bounding, often accompanied by his voice or the melody of his harp which he would happily play for you both whenever you were having a particularly difficult time falling asleep at night.

Now, you didn't dare tell anyone about your pregnancy during the first half, not wanting to deliver anymore bad news should it come, however once the remilit was out of the bag, you became the center of attention much to Sky's conflicted feelings. On one hand, you deserved it for all of your hard work growing a baby, but on the other, that overprotective dad-side of him couldn't help fretting over the vast number of harmful germs your guests could possibly be passing onto you and your unborn child. Did he make everyone wash their hands for ten minutes before visiting? Yes, yes he did.

Beyond being protective, Sky was also very emotional throughout the entire pregnancy maybe even more than you sometimes. He got teary-eyed after every doctor's appointment that confirmed the baby's development, while picking out names together, and even when you were yelling at him for something stupid because as far as he was concerned, you still looked so beautiful standing there with crossed arms and a round belly carrying his child. Oh, but none of that compared in the slightest to the tears that were shed when he actually held his daughter for the first time; that amount of waterworks could put the flood of Faron to shame!

Six years of waiting made you both lose hope. You assumed you’d never be able to have children of your own and even began to look towards other options such as adoption or simply living your lives childless forever…but the day your daughter was born was the day all your anxieties and doubts were finally put to rest. Now, as you cry happily with your husband, you can’t think of a single complaint towards your relationship; it’s officially as perfect as the precious little bundle in your arms.

Wild and you were still practically newlyweds when you gave him the 'thrilling' news. You were so happy to do so, too, barely able to bite back your excitement while watching your husband lift a small pair of baby pajamas out of a gift box. You were absolutely glowing as you eagerly awaited his reaction and all he could do was simply stare into space as his whole world came crashing down on top of him. Did he look horrified on the outside? He must've, because he swears he could’ve pinpointed the exact moment that shine in your eyes died, a frown etching its way onto your lips. What else was he supposed to do aside from fake a smile and embrace you, keeping you close to his chest so that your delight wouldn't be spoiled by his internal nervous breakdown?

Wild has zero right to be shocked. You had both been intimate (as tends to happen when you're married) not to mention you had made it perfectly clear from the start of your relationship that you would want a family one day. Judging on your eagerness towards the topic, it was never up for debate either; no kids would be a dealbreaker for you, so Wild had no choice but to quietly agree, too afraid to dare utter the truth or voice any hesitation because Hylia forbid you get the wrong idea and leave him. 

He thought it would be harmless. Some couples remain married for years before any children follow and you weren't in any big hurry, so he figured he'd have plenty of time to get his act together until the day of your dreams arrived; he didn't think it would happen during your first year of marriage! ...Now he's really dug himself into a hole it's too late to try escaping from…

He’s almost said something - a few times actually. He knows it’s only fair and that as your husband, he owes you proper communication, but each time he opens his mouth, his mind curses him with the image of your sadness. What if you think he doesn’t want this at all? What if you think he hates the baby and hates you for being pregnant? What if you concluded he must want to leave you so you decide to beat him to the punch?! 

…Okay, so Wild knows you aren’t going to just walk away. You’ve always been good at listening to his inner demons and acting as his strongest pillar of support, but that doesn’t change his fear that you might be hurt by whatever he has to say and he will not allow himself to ruin your own excitement. 

In the years that he’s known you, he can’t say he’s ever seen you quite as happy as when you found out about your baby. He knows he should match that joy, too. Most men do. Hell, Twilight practically sent a five-page essay bragging about his wife's first pregnancy. Truth be told, Wild actually does feel happy. On his better days, he feels that flicker of pride and a hint of eagerness because a family with you honestly sounds wonderful. The problem is, in his mind, it isn't a question as to what he wants, but rather what he deserves. 

So much has gone wrong in his past. It doesn’t matter how much you or anyone else assures him otherwise, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he failed Hyrule. He still suffers from so many nightmares and waves of guilt that he can’t properly put into words. You’re still having to shake him out of dazes and smooth his following sobs…How is he going to be a good dad and be there for his child when he can barely stand upon his own two feet like this?

Initially, Wild thought these feelings would go away; that’s why he never spoke them to you. He wanted so desperately to believe they wouldn’t linger, especially after you both got married. He lives in a peaceful world, has a nice home in a quiet village, a beautiful wife who adores him…He should’ve been able to move on from the Calamity already, so why hasn’t he? On his worst nights, it makes him wonder if he’ll ever be okay or if he’s just screwed you and the baby over by tying you both down to him.

These two sides of him - the hopeful and the pitiful - continue to battle for dominance inside Wild’s head throughout each step. Sometimes he’s genuinely smiling with you as you pick out baby names. Other times he’s sitting outside alone trying his damn hardest to remember any piece of his past that might make him feel at least a little better about his luck towards being a dad, preferably a time when he was actually good with kids or even had a family before. 

Wild’s internal dilemma comes to a head one fateful night when he’s awoken to the baby’s distressing cries. He had honestly already been awake after a mild case of anxiety, but you on the other hand are tired, worn from nine long months of pregnancy and the early days of active motherhood. The last thing he wants is for you to lose out on precious rest (a rare gift these days), so leaping out of bed, he’s quick to reach the baby’s crib.

Unfortunately, Wild’s natural instincts seem to basically stop right there at the crib’s side. Hands hovering above, he tries his best to calm his daughter through whispered assurances and attempts at cooing the same way he’s seen you do. When that doesn’t work, he awkwardly picks her up, cuddling her close to his chest while quietly pleading at this point. Is she hungry? Does she need a diaper change? Did she have a nightmare? Whatever it is, if you wake up, you’ll take over and he’ll be left to stand aside feeling like he can’t even do the basic task of comforting his own child and -

- To his astonishment, his efforts actually work. It really must’ve been as simple as a nightmare because slowly, the baby falls silent, seemingly forgetting all about her troubles as she finds solace gazing up at her daddy with the widest blue eyes and a stuck-out tongue that can’t seem to keep itself in her mouth. It looks rather goofy, so Wild can’t help but chuckle, although the sound is soft as his heart melts under the attention she holds towards him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s almost like she’s looking at her entire world…

Maybe some would say this moment isn’t necessarily anything special, but for Wild, it’s everything. As if suddenly a pro, he’s able to rock the little beauty gently back to sleep, his pleas turning into words of admiration as he tucks her into bed. There, he continues to keep watch over her until he feels tired himself, all the while thinking: he might be broken from years of trauma, and he might not be the best husband or parent out there because of it, but that's not going to stop him from doing everything in power to be there for his princesses.

[5-puthyyy]

The Apprentice (Agatha x Rio x Reader) - Chapter 10

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary:

Life has been about survival for you ever since your coven banished you for the simplest thing: desire. Since then, you've travelled from Inn to Inn, making ends meet, until you sense a powerful Magick presence coming from two mysterious women. They take you in as their apprentice and you end up learning far more than what you came for...

CHAPTER WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT + EDGING? + ROPE (VINE) PLAY + SLIGHT DEGRADATION? VERY MINIMAL

Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3 ~ Ch.4 ~ Ch.5 ~ Ch.6 ~ Ch.7 ~ Ch.8 ~ Ch.9 ~ Ch.10

It took you a few days to realise it, but when you finally did it hit you right in the chest. You are restless without Rio. Agatha has been there for you, holding you, coaxing you through your desires, teaching you lesson after lesson, but something is missing. And after the third night of terrible sleep, you realise you miss Rio.

“When will she be back?” you ask Agatha for the fifth time in the last two days, pouting when she sighs dismissively, “Agatha,” you whine out her name, drawing the syllables out, “When?”

The blue-eyed witch turns to you with a frown, revealing the heavy bags under her eyes that match your own. “Her job is complicated, sweetheart. We can never be sure how long she is needed for. You must be patient, and understand–”

You groan audibly and shut your eyes tight, interrupting Agatha. “Maybe I would understand if you would just tell me what it is she–”

“Did you just interrupt me?” Agatha scolds, her eyes squinting in warning. But you’ve received plenty warning from her about this, far too many for her to simply let it go.

“I’m sorry,” you start, attempting to plead your case, but Agatha cuts you off with a snarl and a typically gentle hand to your throat. It’s rough, the touch shocking you as she shoves you against the bedroom door. You’ve been spending the nights in their bedroom with Agatha, and think perhaps Rio’s lingering scent has made you miss her even more. You can even smell her on Agatha when you bury your face in her neck before going to bed.

“Sorry?” Agatha mocks, scoffing as she pushes her body flush against yours, her fingers tightening their hold on the sides of your neck. You whimper in submission, trying to tilt your head back but she keeps you still, her intense gaze still locked to your sorry eyes.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologise again, Agatha’s lips are roughly pressed to yours. Her invading tongue pushes through right away, establishing her dominance as you whimper into her touch, melting as she slides her tongue against yours, claiming you over and over again. But before you can start roaming your hands over her body, she abruptly pulls back leaving you hazed and confused.

“What?” you mumble, blinking your eyes open with a frown.

Agatha’s expression is one of controlled anger with the tiniest hint of satisfaction as she glances over your blushed cheeks, pouty lips, beaked buds through your thin gown.

“Why did you stop?” you moan in complaint, reaching out to grab at her but Agatha takes a step away from you in defiance; your frown deepens as you pout, begging for her to touch you.

The wicked witch smirks as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Naughty girls deserve to be punished,” Agatha says simply, walking away before you can protest. You’re left with your mouth hung open, equally shocked and turned on. Is this your punishment? Because you would much rather be spanked than have your desires ignored.

“Wait, please–”

Agatha cackles as she continues walking to the little washroom attached to the bedroom. “Begging will not work, sweetheart. You need to learn your lesson. Now, go tend to the garden, and wash yourself up afterwards. We’ll be headed to the Inn this evening.”

The Inn. Your Inn. With Catherine, the innkeeper’s daughter who very clearly provoked a certain type of reaction from Agatha and Rio the last time you were seen with her.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” you ask timidly, turning your head away from Agatha’s intense glare as she spins back. You take that as your answer and nod, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you with a soft thud.

Well, fuck.

Perhaps it wasn’t your best decision, but since Agatha refuses to touch you the best you could think of was making that task as hard as possible for her. Perhaps she’ll break, or it’ll only anger her further. You’ve come to learn that an angry Agatha is either the best or worse outcome; it’s the worst when the anger turns into yelling, tears, and a deeply painful feeling in your chest, but it’s the best when it turns into smirks, rough hands and angry kisses all over your skin.

Picking out the best dress possible was easy enough since you only have a few anyway. The cut of the top half is enticing enough without the undergarments you opted for, the special kind that pushes your breasts up as high as possible. Your corset is dark, black, intricately laced and worn over your dress as a statement; that statement is clear enough to Agatha it seems, her eyes darkening the moment you step out of your bedroom to show her just how ready you are to go.

“Is it time already?” you ask innocently, your tone teasing and playful. The smile you flash at her is knowing as she cannot keep her eyes away from your chest. She’ll look up at you trying to hold your gaze but those poor blues inevitably bounce back down. Part of you thinks (hopes) Agatha will decide right here and now to skip out on the Inn and devour you right here in the hallway, but instead she gathers her composure and straightens her back.

“If you think I will give in to these childish games, you do not know me well enough.”

You lift a brow as she brushes past you, faltering in her step when she’s close enough to get a whiff of your scent. Her head snaps to you, suddenly gripping you by the neck to pull you closer. A gasp is ripped from your throat as her nose presses against your skin.

“Is this…”

Rio’s perfume. It’s a special mix she makes just for herself, a brand, a unique blend that is distinctly her. Agatha growls at the realisation that you must have snuck back into the room while she was napping earlier and taken Rio’s perfume from the nightstand.

“Oh, I’m sorry…Was that not permitted?”

Her jaw tightens at the faux innocence in your tone. Before she can stop herself, she leans in and sinks her teeth into your skin, giving you no warm up whatsoever. You gasp, hands immediately skying up to grip at her free hair. Every time she has her hair down like this, you cannot help but obsess over it. It’s so soft, so pretty, so wild and free and so Agatha.

“Whose attention are you trying to get tonight?” Agatha growls against your neck, sucking, biting, her hot tongue swiping over the wound.

“Yours,” you gasp, arching your body closer to her, “Always yours.”

Though she may not believe you completely, she still pulls back satisfied with your answer, and the bright smirk on her face as her eyes lock onto the mark she has left lets you know she’s satisfied with how she’s branded you. Your stomach drops, twisting uncomfortably with the thought of Catherine seeing the mark and understanding the insinuation.

Agatha senses your discomfort and it only fuels her excitement for tonight. The two of you are out the door before you can protest further.

The sound of lively music and laughter can be heard from far out. It seems the Inn is busy tonight, or the people are louder. Whatever the reason is, you still hear it as you see it in the distance, Agatha’s hold tightening around your linked arms as you approach. It’s a innocent enough touch, but one that you two share the secret of. It’s exciting, you think, the sinking feeling in your stomach turning into something else close to desire. To sit by her, have her hand trailing up and down your thigh under the table for no one to see but for you to feel…

Just the thought has you clearing that ball forming in your throat, catching Agatha’s knowing smirk shot your way. She wraps her arm around yours tighter, pressing her side to yours as you reach the door.

“Best behaviour,” Agatha warns teasingly, nipping at your ear discreetly before pushing the door open, letting everyone see the bright blush on your cheeks. The loud roar of joint singing hits you as the door opens; along with the sounds of boots hitting the ground, fists slamming against tables, and the men playing their fiddles in the back, it’s almost overwhelming. But it’s been some time since you’ve last been here, been around people in general other than Agatha and Rio, so you allow yourself a moment of adjustment. Agatha stays firm beside you, grounding, supportive, guiding.

You’re too distracted, watching over both the familiar and new faces in the crowd. The same group of gossiping grey women are sat in their corner, their typical scowls taken over by cheerful smiles as they join the crowd in their joyous singing. The main singing man is the same as he always is, immediately grinning widely when his eyes catch yours. He sings and sings and sings, stomping on the table as he does so, tipping his hat to you in the middle of his dance.

“There is a tavern in the town, in the town, and there my true love sits him down, sits him down, and drinks his wine as merry as can be, and never, never thinks of me!”

You begin to clap along with them, a soft smile on your lips as you reminisce. Despite you needing to hide yourself and look over your shoulder all the time, it was still a unique, warm feeling to be part of this community. You were still yourself, only showing them the parts that were safe enough to reveal.

“Fare thee well, for I must leave thee, do not let this parting grieve thee, and remember that the best of friends, must part, must part.”

Agatha’s hand is back, her touch warm and firm against your lower back. She passes you a pint, a half-smirk on her lips as she observes your freeing expression. Her reappearance is a reminder of what you left for. A soft warmth takes over your insides, making it incredibly hard not to lay a gentle kiss over her lips at this exact moment. She’s well aware of your struggle, finding it just as difficult; you can tell by the way her eyes go hooded, zoning into your pink, plump lips.

“Adieu, adieu kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu, I can no longer stay with you, stay with you, I will hang my harp on the weeping willow tree, and may the world go well with thee.”

Those eyes look even brighter with the candlelight here, those blues tinted a soft orange as they glitter and glow at you. You can’t help but reach to hold her hand in yours, squeezing once, twice, pulling away when it crosses over to inappropriate.

The two of you make your way to a table near the back, badly lit so dark enough for no one to really want to be seated there. Agatha sits across from you, both your dresses long and puffed enough to prevent anyone from seeing her sneaky antics. She slowly lifts her leg, the one closer to the wall and hidden behind her other, and slides her foot under your dress. 

You only realise what she’s doing when you feel her warm foot brush against your ankle; the sip of alcohol you were drinking catches in your throat. “Agatha,” you gasp quietly, terrified of what others may say if they catch you.

The wicked witch grins at you slyly, hiding her smile behind her own pint. “What?” she says, feigning innocence with a dramatic hand to her chest. But you cannot be fooled, not when her foot trails even higher, wrapping around your calf.

“We cannot. Not here, not where Cath–” you cut your own sentence short, cheeks tinting at the mix-up. Agatha’s touch is immediately gone, the humoured expression now taken over by a quiet discomfort. Before she spirals, you try to interrupt her thoughts, “Agatha, I simply meant that she may recognise you and make certain…assumptions. Your anger was very palpable that night. Surely you understand why I am feeling a little…”

“What?” Agatha scowls, “Protective? Why must you care what she feels? Let her assume, because her assumptions are the truth, are they not?”

A frown takes over your face as you take in her words. You’re unsure why she’s this angry about it. Surely keeping your secret is important, no? Especially considering Agatha’s past, discarded and thrown aside for being different. She should understand where you’re coming from…but below the anger, you see a hint of something else, something vulnerable that looks dangerously close to insecurity.

“If what she assumes is that I lo–”

“Y/N?”

Both your heads snap to the sound of your name, landing on Catherine, stood with wide, green eyes, a beautifully intricate beige and pink dress flowing to her ankles, and her blonde curls tight just below her shoulders. Agatha surprisingly contains herself, offering Catherine a thin, forced smile; you figured she’d jump up over the table with a growl.

“Y/N, oh, God, how are you? Where have you been?” Catherine rushes over to the table, her heels clacking against the floorboards. Instinctively, you stand up and let her hug you, wrapping your arms around her when she falls forward a little, tripping over the edge of your chair.

“Catherine,” you mumble with a soft laugh, “It’s good to see you,” pulling away from the hug doesn’t seem to work as you attempt to put a little distance. Catherine simply pulls you back closer, so close her nose is just an inch or so away from pressing to yours.

“I have missed you,” she says in a whisper, eyes hooded as she stares into your own, “Dearly,” she adds, her voice turning dark, deep, a clear attempt at a rasp.

The clearing of a throat pulls her attention away. While your head turns to Agatha expecting the sound to have come from her, Catherine’s turns the other way. When your eyes meet Agatha’s blues, there’s a humoured glimmer in them. She lifts a brow, pointedly looking over your shoulder and you have a feeling you’re about to be in deep trouble.

Slowly, you look over to the other side, gasping softly when your eyes land on Rio, stood with a deep glare over her face, a clenched jaw so dangerously sharp, eyes that could kill with a blink. Her black dress is scandalous to be wearing in public, tight around her curves which you can only see because she’s kept her oversized green cloak open at the front.

“Rio,” you whisper, immediately pulling away from Catherine to jump forward. Once the shock dissipates, all that is left is pure want, your heart yearning to be as close to her now that she’s back.

She has no time to react as you fall into her, arms wrapping around her neck; hers dangle for a moment awkwardly before sinking around your curves, pulling you in possessively tight. You can hear her breath hitching as her face presses into your neck, sniffing deeply; her hands grip your waist tight as she recognises her own scent on you, softly growling into your neck.

She’s so impossibly cold but you don’t care. Her touch is what you’ve been needing for so long, her scent, her presence, so comforting and protective. The way she holds you tight against her as if you belong to her, like she’s missed you and ached for something as simple as a hug, needing you just as badly as you need her. You forget yourself for that moment, falling into her safe arms and melting as she buries her face in your neck and refuses to leave it.

But suddenly, Catherine is laughing awkwardly, forcing the two of you to let go for a moment. It breaks you out of your Rio-bubble for a moment, panic filling your stomach at the closeness Catherine just saw. It seems to have broken Rio out of her Y/N-bubble too, her anger back as she stiffens against you, effectively pulling away until you’re no longer touching.

“New friends?” Catherine asks with a confused half-smile.

It definitely isn’t your best move, but you can’t think of anything but run and decide to pull Catherine away from the two angry witches. “Why don’t I buy you drink? Catch me up on how the Inn has been!”

Minutes later, you realise it was possibly the worst decision you could have made in that moment. Catherine started, and would not stop. But that wasn’t even the biggest problem; that was Rio across the Inn with the deepest of glares to begin with, but that since then has shifted into something you cannot decipher. It’s blank, dark, but she’s refusing to look at anything but you. Agatha’s hand is glued to Rio’s, running a thumb back and forth to soothe her, but it doesn’t do much to calm the bouncing of her knee as she watches Catherine continue to flirt with you.

Perhaps you should go back? The way you’re laughing back dangerously looks like flirting too, especially when she gets closer and closer to you, her hand touching your own, brushing over your bicep, tucking your stray hair behind your ear. And you do nothing to stop it. Part of you starts to enjoy it, though you will never admit that to the two witches across the Inn. You enjoy Catherine’s friendship, and there is no harm in her flirting; it feels good to be wanted. But within minutes you find yourself wanting nothing but Rio, Agatha, your little cabin away from the chaos that comes with this Inn.

It’s more than chaos, but fear. Of not fitting in, of revealing too much of your past, of the lack of acceptance. Agatha and Rio have given you that and more, all you could have ever wanted. Finally coming to a decision, you clear your throat, interrupting Catherine’s story.

“I should head back to my…friends.” 

Catherine frowns, turning to glance over her shoulder to them. “They look awfully familiar…”

“Oh, you must have been drinking too much to remember. I met them here, they sit in that corner all the time!” you laugh nervously, hoping the lie works.

Catherine remains suspicious but drops it when she realises she has bigger problems, one being you disappearing on her again. “Have you been staying elsewhere? Or working? Somewhere far away? I really do miss you, Y/N…There’s so much I think about, so much I would like to say to you but I feel…I feel it may be inappropriate and almost futile to do so if you will not be around.”

“Y/N,” Rio’s raspy voice is easily recognisable to you, suddenly appearing by your side, “We must go,” she says with finality, her tone making it crystal clear that it’s an order, not a suggestion.

“Sorry, I don’t believe we have been properly introduced,” Catherine shoots Rio a bright, beautiful smile, as if she is trying to crack the hard interior being thrown her way, “My name is Cath–”

“And we will not be introduced. Y/N.”

Shooting up out of your seat, you give a confused and offended Catherine an apologetic smile, promising to see her soon. You try to follow Rio out, opting out of a hug, but Catherine practically forces you into one, whispering a soft ‘be careful’, clearly interpreting Rio’s abrupt nature as a danger. You can’t help but laugh.

By the time you step out of the Inn, Rio’s already a walk ahead so you practically run to her. “Rio! Rio, wait, is Agatha not–”

“She’s staying for another drink or so,” Rio answers bluntly, not turning back to look at you as she marches in anger.

A frown forms on your lips and you stop, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance. “Why are you being this way?” you complain, yelling out as she’s still ahead of you. 

That seems to catch Rio’s attention; she slows before coming to a stop. “Why?” Rio repeats, the anger shaking her voice as she turns to face you, “I have been gone, and it has been excruciating being away from Agatha, and you,” she says, emphasising you, “And I am finally able to come back. Just to track the two of you, and find you draping yourself over some other woman. In front of Agatha, nonetheless.”

You gulp as she steps closer to you, finally coming to a stop right in front of you. She’s not much taller than you, but it feels like she’s towering of you in this moment as she glares deeply, trying to mask her hurt with anger.

“Not only have you been disrespectful to me, but to Agatha, too. And on the very day you were being punished for whining like a child? My, you really are stupid, aren’t you?”

Her harsh words feel like a slap across the face. Rio’s been angry, distant, but cruel is not a word you’d use to describe her. Before you can even open your mouth to apologise, you’re transported back to the cabin in a cloud of green smoke. Stumbling as you try and gather yourself, your arm ends up gripping her bicep. Rio can’t help but pull you closer at that, lifting you into her arms and pressing you up against her bedroom door. Before she kisses you, she pauses a moment, breathing in your gasps and soft breaths, eyes so beautifully brown, wide and intense.

“I wish I did not have to punish you this moment,” Rio mumbles, sighing as she memorises every crease in your forehead, the curve of your nose, the plump shape of your lips, “I have missed you dearly, my sweet…” Rio’s voice turns soft for a moment before she growls, “If only you missed me so.”

Her lips crash against yours, claiming, possessive, and rough; she sucks at your bottom lip roughly before nipping at it in soft punishment, groaning as you whimper against her. She allows you only a few seconds of roaming hands, nails scratching along her back through her cloak, but before you can go any further your hands are pulled back, a rough material wrapping around them in seconds.

“What is that?” you mumble as Rio pulls away from your lips for a moment, satisfied as she observes your flushed cheeks and dazed eyes.

“No touching,” Rio commands simply, tugging at the contraption holding your hands together, “It’s about time you’re introduced to my vines,” she chuckles playfully, trailing softer kisses down your neck as you sigh and turn your head to the side. Rio’s pleased with your obedience, immediately marking your new skin with her teeth, tongue, lips that suck and kiss tenderly.

“I did,” you gasp out, arching your body towards her when you tug against your restraints aimlessly.

“Did what?” Rio whispers against your neck, licking up to the spot just behind your ear. She sucks harshly, coaxing a choked moan out of you, smirking against your skin as she does so.

You struggle to keep hold of your composure, the ache between your legs growing by the second, but you manage to push you, “Miss you. I did miss you, Rio.”

She falters in her kisses, her grip on your waist loosening for a moment of weakness. “And here I was,” she chuckles, “thinking you liked Agatha more than me,” she jokes, but you can hear the vulnerability and insecurity she’s attempting to mask. 

With a frown, you brush your nose against her cheek, trying to get her attention. It takes a few frustrated attempts but she finally pulls back to look into your eyes with a sigh, and a tight jaw. “Why would you think that?”

Rio mumbles incoherently, choosing to ignore your question and silence you with a rough kiss. Her tongue slides against your bottom lip before slithering through, brushing over your teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth as if claiming her territory. You let her do so, finding this to be a comfort to her; if she’ll ignore your words, you’ll let her take you as she pleases until there is not a single flash of uncertainty left in those beautiful brown eyes.

All you can do is submit to her touch. She yanks at the restraints, tugging you forward to follow her to the bed. But instead of sitting you down on it, she pushes at your shoulders until your knees hit the ground. Looking up at her with parted lips, you take in just how ethereal she is. Her brown locks look untamed, frizzy and almost as wild as those eyes. She almost looks feral, but still controlled as her eyes follow the movement of your neck as you gulp.

“You missed me?” Rio asks softly, her hand reaching to gently hold your jaw.

Sighing and leaning into her touch, you blink softly. “I did.”

Rio shoots you a small, satisfied smile before it turns dark, her jaw clenching and hand sliding down to your neck. “Then show me.”

You’re well aware that your hands are tied, but the look of desire Rio shoots down has you tugging, desperate to pull at her thighs until your face is pressed exactly where she wants it. With a chuckle and flick of her fingers, her clothing falls off her body, pooling at her ankles. Seeing her now, entirely naked, all smooth, tanned skin…God, you don’t know how you haven’t collapsed yet. Forgetting to take a breath causes you to get a little lightheaded but Rio’s hand is right there to keep you upright.

She leans down, her concerned but humoured eyes meeting yours. “Should I take that as a good sign?” Rio teases, her thumb brushing over your cheek.

Without uttering a word back, you slide your face against her hand until her thumb’s pressed against your lips. Rio’s eyes turn a shade darker, hooded as you flick a tongue out, teasing her for a moment before wrapping your lips around the tip of her tongue. And then you suck, hard, cheeks hollowed, and Rio can’t control the gasp that escapes, can’t control the way her teeth clench together, the wetness gathering between her legs and coating her inner thighs.

With a growl that almost sounds close to a whine, she rises back up to her feet, hands gripping onto your locks tightly. The two of your move together, you moving your head forward while she pushes you closer until your tongue is sliding through her slick folds. You moan in unison at the first touch, Rio almost quivering with desperate want.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good at that,” Rio’s praises shoot right down to your core; your thighs press together, desperate for the tiniest spark of friction. Tugging at your restraints doesn’t work again as you feel the urge to grip at her thighs and pull her closer. Rio does the work instead, using your mouth for her pleasure.

Her nails scratch along your scalp as she rolls her lips languidly, trying to savour the moment, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. The way she looks down with her lips parted practically panting like she’s in heat drives you to insanity. Eager to please, you swirl your tongue around her entrance, teasing it before sliding in with ease.

“Yes, just like that,” Rio hisses at the feeling, staggering for a moment before grinding down harder, wanting more of you inside her. It takes another minute of your tongue expertly twisting and swirling inside her before a disgruntled whimper escapes her, and within seconds she’s twisted around, pushing your head against the edge of the bed to let it down.

“Please,” you pant out the moment your tongue slips out of her, licking your lips for more of her sweet taste, “I want to make you–”

Rio cuts you off by pushing her lips against you again, letting you drown in her with desperate, muffled moans. She lets out the same as she grinds her clit over your tongue hard, fast, her rhythm faltering.

“Yes, fuck, Y/N,” she moans your name, throwing her head back as she practically mounts your face smothering you between her thighs, “So good for me,” she pants, “So pretty,” she gasps, her head bouncing back to look you in the eyes as she reaches her climax. It’s that, seeing that desperate, eager-to-please look, the clear submission, hands tied but tongue obedient to her. That’s what pushes her over the edge.

She whines as she comes, hips twitching, so close your nose is buried in her. Wanting to see just how far you can push her, you suddenly wrap your lips around her clit, sucking while flicking your tongue. It forces a high-pitched scream from her throat, desperate, croaky, so incredibly sexy you feel your own heat throbbing in response. God, you could come just from this, you’re sure of it, whimpering and whining around her clit as you pulse, empty and desperate to be filled.

Once Rio pulls herself back, you lick at your lips again, panting up at her with lust-filled feral eyes. She groans at the intense gaze you give her, clearly taken by you; she can barely contain herself, forgetting you’re meant to be punished for your behaviour as she drops down to lick herself off your face. Her tongue slides over your skin, your chin, neck, wherever she finds herself before slipping past your lips.

You moan into the kiss, letting her set a languid pace as your tongues dance together softly. “Please,” you beg, whispering against her lips as she pulls back for a moment, but she ignores you, kissing you again and again until you’re whining, trying to grind up into nothing, “Rio, please.”

She chuckles wickedly, biting on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but the pain is gone just as fast as her tongue swipes against it. You’re confused for a moment on how she’s done that, but you’re too distracted to ask, your desire ever-present in a messy, heated pulse between your legs.

“Are you forgetting this is a punishment?” her hand slides up your chest, pinching your nipples through your dress, “This is quite the outfit,” she mumbles hungrily, watching your breasts push up as you heave, “Were you trying to impress that whore?”

“No!” you immediately protest, shaking your head vigorously, “I swear it, I was only attempting to frust–” you cut your own words off, realising you’ve fallen into a trap. Rio grins in satisfaction, tipping your head up with a finger to your chin.

“Frustrate…Agatha?”

There’s a silence as you refuse to answer, terrified of the repercussions. But you’re already in them, already experiencing them. It seems Rio is being creative with her punishment tonight, choosing to ignore your desires completely knowing it would drive you to the very brink of losing your composure.

Rio rises to her feet, your face directly in front of her glistening heat again. But this time she swirls her fingers, controlling the vines. More of them manifest, this time gripping your ankles too, and separating your wrists; you’re pulled up the bed until you’re spread across for her. With another snap of her fingers, your clothes suddenly disappear, but she leaves the tight black corset over your stomach just for her satisfaction.

“You’re so beautiful…” Rio says with wonder, running her slender, cold fingers over your legs, thighs, purposely ignoring the obvious mess between them, “Something as beautiful as this deserves to be worshipped…too bad you won’t be touched tonight.”

A pout springs and tears immediately fill up in your eyes. Surely she must be teasing? Just a threat to make sure you behave? “I’ll be good, I promise, please,” you plead, your voice quivering in fear.

Rio falters for a moment before her hard gaze steadies again. Her touch is cold, dangerously so, but you crave it so, pulsing with need; within seconds she’s left you, walking into small washroom attached to their bedroom. Rio ignores your pleas, your desperate cries for her to come back. As much as it pains her, you must be punished for your bratty behaviour.

By the time she comes back, you’ve quieted down to soft whimpers, the pout still painted on your swollen lips. You perk up when you see her, trying to lift your neck to see what she’s hiding behind her back.

“It seems you have forgotten who you belong to,” Rio rasps, “And that as much as you are ours…we are also yours.”

Her words hit hard, harder than you expected them to. There’s nothing to do but watch her in adoration, wanting to voice your own feelings too but finding your throat too dry to speak those words. Rio hums as she observes but then reveals what she’s holding behind her back. You immediately tense up as your eyes lock onto the leather cock, made of a dark green material this time. It’s slightly thicker but shorter than the one she had used last time, but it makes you hungry for it nonetheless, desperate for the stretch.

But Rio shocks you this time as the vines let go of your ankles just for her to start sliding the harness up your legs. “Wait, what are you–”

“I told you, Y/N. You will not be touched tonight,” she says with finality, leaving no room for argument. Even as you open your mouth to protest, she stops you, climbing on top you and crawling like a cat until two of her fingers slip past your lips. Moaning at the filthy act, you swirl your tongue between her fingers, sucking gently, obediently, eyes locked to hers trying to entice her. But she doesn’t give in. Instead, she simply smirks at your pathetic desperation and rolls her hips over the fake cock between your legs.

Rio sighs softly at the first touch, letting it pass through her folds to slick it up. It doesn’t take much; not after your eager tongue and the long wait while she’s been gone. You gasp around her fingers, and she stutters, eyes locked to yours while lifting her hips up, using her other hand to adjust the cock. Rio sinks down, gasping at the filling sensation. It stretches her deliciously, and clearly it’s been a while for her given the slow, sensual pace.

“Fuck,” she curses softly, leaning forward to press her forehead against yours, fingers still buried in your mouth. You suck on them when you wake up from your haze, bringing her urgency back to life. She gasps again as she bounces down hard, so hard the lewd sound of your bodies meeting echoes in the room.

Rio pushes her fingers further in, forcing a gag out of you; the sound only excites her as she begins a slow but hard pace, sitting up until she’s nearly empty then slamming back down again with a loud groan. Though you’re turned on beyond belief, all you want to do at this moment is hold her, grip her waist, mouth at her breasts. You want to feel her, to guide her through her pleasure.

“Please,” you beg, muffled with her fingers still in your mouth. Rio continues to ignore you, too caught up in seeking her own pleasure. The wet sound of her pussy clamping around your cock is dizzying, paired with her enticing moans and you’re a goner, “Fuck, please, Rio,” you beg, but your pleas only urge her on more. 

She bounces down harder, grinding her hips against yours to seek friction over her clit, but she sees it’s not enough she risks taking her fingers out and giving you the ability to speak once again. Those same fingers, wet from your mouth, slide down to her clit right away as she sits up.

“You’re breathtaking,” you gasp, finally able to look down between her legs where you two meet. She’s practically shining, absolutely soaked; her slick coats both your thighs, sticking to the leather cock as it pistons through her over and over again, “Fuck, Rio, please, I want–”

Rio breaks your words with a loud moan, using her other hand to grope at her chest. “I already told you, sweetheart. You’re not getting touched tonight.”

You groan in frustration, hands turning into fists as you fail to contain your needs. “I don’t care, Rio, I just want to touch you!”

The witch falters on top of you, not expecting you to be that desperate for touching her. “You–” she stutters, moaning softly as a roll of her hips has the cock pressing up all her sensitive spots, “You want to touch me?” Rio asks again, her tone curious, surprised, eyes wide and analytical as she stares down at you.

The way she’s looking at you is almost hypnotic. “Please, let me, just let me hold you,” you whimper, tugging against the restraints again.

Rio leans down, her lips hovering over yours and pulling back when you reach up too close to kiss her. “Really?” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours as she wraps herself around you, “You want to touch me, baby?”

A whimper escapes you. “Yes. Please, I need to touch you.”

Rio sucks in a harsh breath, gripping your jaw for a moment, just looking at you before pouncing down like a cat. Her lips attach to yours in a tender but controlling kiss, moaning into your mouth as you brush your tongue against hers. She begins slamming her hips down against you again, whining into the kiss. 

This time when you tug, you pull hard and the restraints fall with your wrists. Not wasting a second, you reach down and grip her waist finding her skin warm to the touch now. Rio leans into the touch, pressing her body down to yours as tight as possible.

“You feel so good, so warm,” you pant against her lips, nipping at her lower lip playfully as your hands slides to her backside. You indulge for a moment, squeezing to see her reaction; she groans, grinding her hips hard enough for the pressure to build up on your own clit, “Fuck, yes.”

Rio swallows your gasp, unable to keep her lips off yours. With your grip hard and secure, you help move her up and down, lifting your own hips up to meet her halfway. Your eagerness drives Rio crazy, warming her stomach with desire and adoration for you; she leans down whining against your lips, brushing over them every few seconds as you thrust into her.

“Wanna see you come,” you mumble incoherently, eyes wide with feral desire. All you have is one goal and that is to make her unravel before your eyes.

Rio groans possessively at that, sliding her tongue through your lips in a quick goodbye before she sits up again. She literally rips the corset still covering you, throwing it to the side. Her nails dig into your stomach as she holds for balance, keeping her hooded brown eyes locked to you. She’s close, you can tell by the faltering grinds, the moans bordering on whines, how her legs suddely weaken, allowing you to move her instead.

With quick movements, you let go of her backside and slide a hand between her legs. Your thumb presses at her clit, rubbing hard circles as she gasps, twitching on top of you. “Come for me,” you beg, “Please.”

“Say it,” Rio demands between gasps, hanging on by a thread.

You immediately know what she’s requesting and grip her hip tightly. “I’m yours, Rio.”

With your clear, certain words, Rio’s neck snaps back, body arching as she slams down onto your cock. You keep thrusting up, grinding into her and rubbing your thumb over her clit, watching with parted lips at the work of art on top of you. Her skin flushes as she reaches her high, red blooming over her chest, neck, those rosy cheeks.

You can’t help but lean up, ignoring the pain in your abdomen muscles at the stretch; you need your lips attached to her in some way. Your mouth finds her neck, sinking your teeth possessively; Rio’s hand curves around to the back of your neck to hold you tight against her, gasping, panting, barely able to utter a word, but her eagerness for you to stay is all the praise you need.

“Y/N, baby,” Rio moans, voice hoarse, hips twitching as your thumb decides to slow down and let her ride her way back down. Only when she tugs on your hair do you slide your thumb away, holding onto her ass instead to help her gently grind until she’s had enough.

Rio hums in satisfaction as she climbs off your lap, rolling until she’s lying by your side. She pulls you into her arms and you eagerly bury your face in her neck, letting her earthy scent melt over you. You refused to squirm despite the painful pulse of neglect between your thighs; you’re determined to take your punishment as is. Perhaps you’ll be rewarded tomorrow morning for it, or–

“You’ve been so good, sweetheart,” Rio murmurs against your nest of hair, leaving a gentle lingering kiss on your forehead, “Do you think you deserve a reward?” Rio asks, playfully nipping at your ear.

You can’t help but softly whimper at the teasing touch, already feeling her hand creeping up around your waist. “I deserve what you feel like giving.”

Perfect answer. You can tell from Rio’s wolf-like grin as she slithers down, leaving soft yet possessive kisses along your skin. She slows once she reaches your stomach, taking her time to mark you, claim you, making sure you have a reminder of who you belong to. The leather cock is long gone by now, thrown onto the floor as Rio undoes the harness with ease.

“Please,” you sigh, squirming up against her stomach, ensuring she can feel just how soaked you are for her. The warm slick pulls a groan from the depths of her throat. Rio scratches your sides on her way down until she reaches your thighs, tugging them over her shoulder. She takes no moment to observe, to tease, to lick the wetness around your inner thighs. No, Rio dives right in like a hungry wolf, unable to contain herself from slipping her tongue directly through to your inner walls.

You feel yourself immediately clamping down around her hot, expert tongue as she curls it, swirls, finding every spot to make you weak in her arms. You’ve been so worked up you’re already so close – which is likely why she’s avoided your throbbing clit. Letting her savour the moment, you arch your back and dig your fingers into her scalp, pushing her further into your wet core.

“God, I’m–Fuck, this is–” you stumble and stutter around, unable to form a coherent sentence, already seeing spots in your vision. The pleasure is searing, bordering painful from the edging, from her neglection, from the pressure of her pounding on top of you, “Rio, fuck, don’t stop, please.”

Rio hums against you in answer, the vibrations rushing straight through to your clit. It has you gasping, thighs tightening around her head. You’re worried for a moment on how she could possibly breathe down there but Rio simply growls hungrily, sliding her tongue out to lick through your slit, refusing to let a drop go to waste. 

Before you can protest, feeling so empty, Rio’s fingers replace her tongue, curling in deliciously hitting that spot that makes you see stars. She allows your thrown back head, allows you to groan and moan and thrust your hips up against her face, her fingers. Seeing you so free, taken with pleasure is an astonishing sight for her. 

“I wanna–Fuck, please, please make me come,” you moan out pathetically, your cheeks flushing in humiliation at how desperate you sound. But Rio lets out a sound, one that borders on painful and you glance down to look at her expression. She looks completely taken, her eyes blown wide, nothing but adoration and a deep desire in them. She looks just as desperate as you do when she flicks her tongue over your clit, sucking it into her mouth.

It’s that moment when she looks at you with darkened, powerful eyes that flash black, a colour you’ve never seen before in them. The fear mixed with the excitement of her power has you moaning like a whore, loud and high as you reach your climax. Rio’s right there to hold you through it, fucking her fingers through the wet tightness of your walls. 

She doesn’t stop, not until there are tears slipping down your cheeks as you push against her head. She marks her way back up again, leaving bright colours over your skin until she reaches your parted, panting lips. Rio doesn’t kiss you, just looks at you, looks through you. Her hand feels hot against your cheek, but it’s fleeting, as if you’re fragile and precious to her. 

The sound of footsteps catches your attention, forcing Rio to snap out of her hypnosis; she turns back to see Agatha standing by the door, leaning on the ledge with a smirk.

“Satisfied?”

Rio huffs in soft laughter, leaning back on the pillow with an arm stretched behind her head. “Very.”

Agatha hums, nodding as she steps forward. “Good,” the witch states, taking her time as she pulls the strings at the back of her dress, “It’s my turn. Let’s see if you’ve learnt your lesson, little dove.”

masterlist + guidelines

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + three

authors note: wow! omg, thank you all so much for the kind words of support for this story! it really does mean a lot to me, cause i know the content is pretty heavy.

also, if anyone has read the acotar series, i imagine the dynamic between roman and the twins to be a bit similar to the bat boys. and yes, we'll def see more of the twins moving forward.

in addition, if you want to be tagged, you have to explicitly ask as such. the last thing i want to do is tag someone i thought wanted to be tagged and didn't, and they end up triggered. :(

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

cw/tw: language, violence against women, trauma responses (nightmares/night terrors), hints at suicidal thoughts, references to traumatic past

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

masterlist

words: 9k

Roman doesn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and he’s out the house again before the sun is even up.

Solana knows all of this because she doesn’t sleep that night.

It’s not for lack of trying. She spends nearly two hours twisting and turning before finally accepting that sleep isn’t in the cards for her. She instead finds herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom, door locked, writing away in her journal. No letter to mom this time, just pure word vomit, all of her thoughts and feelings about everything that’s transpired. 

There’s as many tears as there are words, and like always post–writing, she feels a tad bit better. The best and only release she ever has is in her written word, all of the things she could never say aloud, melted from her head and sealed into paper.

When she’s done writing, Solana opts to read a book in her Kindle Library. Doing so makes her realize that she still doesn’t have her stuff from back home. It’s not that she has a lot, but the items she was told to pack just for the first few nights will only last just that—for a few days.

But, Solana doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask Roman about that. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask him for anything, not after she’s clearly and understandably upset him. She’ll just….she’ll just have to make do until it's noticed she's essentially living out of a suitcase. 

And Solana has a thought, an idea, that getting up early to fix him breakfast could be a good thing, something to tame his anger toward her. It’s the least that she can do.

But one look around Roman’s massive kitchen indicates he’s every bit the stereotypical bachelor. There’s only a couple of ingredients, not enough of anything to make an actual meal. There’s also a lot of “meal prep” meals, which makes sense. She can imagine he’s insanely strict with his diet and fitness. One can’t look like Roman Reigns without an intense amount of focus and dedication.

It makes her wonder just what kind of dietary restrictions and preferences she’ll have to learn about him to make meals that he can actually consume. Another question she needs to ask but doesn’t know how or when considering he already has very little to no interest in having anything to do with her.

It’s another thing she knows she’ll have to figure out but tries her best to focus on anything else besides the fact that she’s now married to a man who can’t stand her, the same man her family wants her to somehow assassinate.

Yes…..other things is a much better seat filler.

Solana briefly wonders how she’s going to get to work considering her car is still back at her dad’s house, but just when she’s considering calling an Uber, she’s met in the living room of Roman’s massive estate by none other than his right hand man and cousin.

Solo Sikoa 

All he says is, “ready?” And she realizes that this is how she’s to get to work, that he is to escort her. Him and another set of large men, guards as she realizes. A separate set of guards, not the ones who roam and patrol Roman’s mansion. 

Being around so many men….it’s a different kind of experience. Leaning more on the side of uncomfortable than anything. 

But, she’s at least a bit more at ease when Solo only opens the door to the back of the SUV and doesn’t join in, instead sitting in the passenger seat.

She's grateful for that.

Solo is almost the same exact person as his cousin. Large, strong, stoic and scary as hell. The only difference is that she’s not sure Solo is capable of sentences that include more than 1 to 3 words.

It’s obvious he’s not thrilled about being assigned as her personal guard, and she can’t blame him. There can’t be anything exciting about watching her boring life and making sure nothing happens to her during said boring life.

But Solana can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels a small sense of comfort at having someone to look out for her. Even if she partially questions his loyalty to said job. Something happening to her wouldn’t do anything to anybody. At all. 

She’d just….cease to exist.

And lately….that hasn’t seemed like the worst thing ever. 

But, it’s when she arrives at work, goes into her office to start to prepare for the work day only to find her brother already waiting that that comfort is obliterated.

“Sis.” Wes' smile is tight and inauthentic, his eyes darting between her and Solo. “Sorry to scare you. I was just hoping we could talk.”

Talk….

Wes never wants to talk to her, not unless it’s him berating and screaming while he beats the shit out of her. 

“Alone.” He gives Solo a faux sympathetic expression. “Family things….you understand, I’m sure.”

Solana doesn’t know if Solo understands or he doesn’t, but she does know that Wes' kind and friendly tone is all smoke and mirrors. She knows he’s pissed that he didn’t catch her off-guard, didn’t catch her alone, that he couldn’t corner her like he always does.

And for a second, Solana believes she’s safe, knows that Solo won’t let Wes lay a hand on her. It’s….it’s his job to keep her safe, right?

But just as that hope is present, it’s extinguished by the reality she knows is inescapable. Solo won’t be with her 24/7. She won’t be protected forever. She’ll eventually be around both Wes and her father alone. And the price she’ll have to pay for denying him in this moment….

It’s not worth it. 

Roman’s words to her father about not touching her are nice in theory, but she knows better. Xavier Miller does what he wants, regardless of what’s said and by who.

“O–of course,” Solana mumbles, fingers dancing at the side of her pants. She turns to Solo. “Please….give us a few minutes.”

For the first time since she’s met him, Solo actually shows some type of emotion. It still stems from anger, maybe a branch of irritation, but it's still something different. “Tribal Chief said I’m supposed to watch you, so that’s what I do.”

She swallows. This is going to require a level of assertiveness that’s almost foreign if not non-existent. “I–I understand, but….Wes is my brother. He—” It’s almost impossible for her to even get the words out. “He would never hurt me.”

Solana almost immediately wants to vomit. That’s all this man has ever done. 

At least since the murder of their mother. 

Solo is struggling but wavering, she can see as much, so she continues. “It’s okay,” she assures, even mustering up a small smile. “Please….just a couple minutes. I won’t—I won’t say anything to Roman.”

Solo still looks torn but eventually agrees, leaving her alone with one of two men who hate her most on this earth. 

The door is barely closed when Wes has her pinned against the wall, hand slapped over her mouth, a knife pressed to the base of her throat.

“You stupid bitch, don’t think for one second that being married to Reigns changes shit,” he snarls. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He just doesn’t like people messing with his possessions.”

Solana knows all of this, knows that anything Roman may do that seems to be for her benefit is just him asserting his dominance. She doesn’t need to be reminded of this. 

“Wes, you’re hurting me.” She suddenly feels so stupid saying that, telling him what he already knows. Of course, he is. That’s the whole point. Still, she stupidly believes she can plead to whatever humanity is left in him. If any. “P–please.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, shoving her head against the wall. Solana winces quietly, mindful of Solo who stands outside the door because of her. Because she told him to, because she welcomed this violence onto herself.

“Reigns told dad you won’t be available for a couple weeks, so I suggest you start doing what you need to do to change that. We need to be able to communicate with you.”

This startles her. Why would Roman say that? Did Roman say that? Wes is a master manipulator, and she doesn’t put it past him to be playing mind games.

“I—I don’t know what you want me to do.” And it’s true. Solana has no idea what to do in any of this, how she’s supposed to kill a man who’s more or less impossible to kill, how she’s supposed to win his favor when it’s obvious she already annoys him. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming.

“Did you fuck him last night?”

It’s a question she hoped no one would ask, didn’t believe would be asked because there’s no one who would care enough except for Roman himself.

And while Solana knows being dishonest with her brother won’t turn out well, in this moment, she doesn’t know how he’ll respond if she tells the truth.

So, she lies. She lies to live to see another day, for what reason, she doesn't know. It’s not as if any other day will provide her some sense of solace or security. But, it’s just what she does. 

“Y–yes.”

Wes looks understandably pleased. “Good.” She gaps in fear when he drags his knife against her skin, gently trailing it across, just light enough to avoid drawing blood. “That’s all you’ve ever been good for us for anyway.”

A frown falls upon her face. What….what does that mean?

“Just keep contact open, you understand?” No, she doesn’t, but she has no choice but to pretend that she does. Nodding, Wes shoves her into the wall one more time at an angle that causes her shoulder to take the impact. Wincing, she holds onto it as he releases her and walks out the door. “Don’t fuck this up, Solana.”

Easier said than done. Much easier said than done. 

It’s when he leaves her alone that the tears pool in her eyes. But, it’s when Solo walks in, studying her that she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I–I’m fine.”

She’s not.

She’s far from fine. 

————

The day ends up slightly, maybe even moderately, improving. It’s to be slightly expected though as it’s Monday, the day that Solana runs her reading club with the younger kids. It’s always a highlight to see their bright, smiling faces, answering all of their fifty million questions.

It’s a break from a very bleak reality that is her life, immersing herself in their world of pretend and minimal worries.

Sometimes, she finds herself a bit jealous. Jealous that they still have their innocence, that their view of the world hasn’t been painted in red and blood like hers.

But, it’s when Solana is in the back taking her break, journaling, that that improvement takes a deep dive. Because a single knock on the door is followed by the large intimidating frame of her husband entering her space. 

Naturally, her stomach knots. She hasn’t seen Roman since last night, since he helped and scolded her in the same brief timespan. She understands it though and doesn't entirely disagree with what he said.

She’s far from the perfect picture of mental stability. 

Swallowing, Solana stands up and opens her mouth to address him when his eyes go from her face to her wrist. Following his line of vision, she sees why. There’s a blueish/greenish obvious bruise starting to form, beyond that initial point of formation really. It's just a straight up, fully developed bruise.

Roman slowly walks over to her and reaches for her arm. Solana naturally tenses. He hesitates for a second but still takes her wrist, lifting it so that it's at her eye level but still close enough for him to assess. 

She closes her eyes and acts quickly to think of an excuse. “I—umm—”

“Who?”

His voice is quieter than she anticipated and as much as she wishes she doesn't know what he means, Solana knows exactly what he’s asking. She just doesn’t answer. 

“I’m only going to ask you this one time and one time only.” His brown eyes are burning into her as he perfectly enunciates each word. “Who fucking touched you?”

Solana winces at his tone but eventually answers. “Wes....”

Roman drops her hand, and Solana brings her arms to her chest, head dropped. 

He’s pissed. 

That seems to be the only emotion he experiences around her, because of her.

His nostrils are flared as he demands. “Where was Solo?” 

Making him wait for a response is clearly something that sets him off even more, so Solana does her best to answer in a timely manner. “I—I asked him to leave. Wes….Wes didn’t want him in the room.”

“Of course, he fucking didn’t. Why would you—” Roman pinches his nose. A day. It’s been less than 48 hours, only a day in, and this marriage shit already has him fucking stressed out. Being married to this damn girl is like having a fucking child to look after. “From now on, I don’t give a fuck what your idiot brother and poor excuse of a father tell you, you’re not to be alone with them.” Roman’s command is a lot easier said than done. Denying her father or brother has never done her any favors. Solana isn’t sure how to verbalize this to the man in front of her who’s already six different shades of annoyed. “I thought I made that clear to them at the wedding, but obviously, they need a reminder.”

Solana feels every bit the scolded child, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry…”

Roman looks at her, and for a slither of a second, maybe even less than that, he feels bad for her. Feels bad because it’s clearly not her fault that she’s so fucked up. With a dad and brother like Xavier and Wes, what chance did she have?

He then briefly wonders about her mother, wonders what the dynamic was like there. But that’s a short lived trail because his mind then goes to his own mother. 

And Roman can’t have that, can’t go down that road for a variety of reasons, reasons that may not be that different from Solana’s. 

“Send me your work schedule.” Redirection is always a good strategy. That and fucking. Obviously, only one is an option for the woman in front of him. 

Panic builds in Solana’s stomach. Why does he want that? Her mind starts to race, arriving at only negative conclusions. Does he want her to quit? That thought kills her. 

Working at the library is the highlight, the only highlight, of her days. She doesn’t know what she would do without that outlet. 

“It won’t get in the way of my duties to you.” Solana typically isn’t the one to advocate for herself. Ever. But this….she can’t lose this, and it scares her to think of what mental decline could happen if she does. Nothing good. That’s for certain. “I—I can get up early and–and make your breakfast and meal prep lunch. A–and I’ll make sure your dinner is ready too by the time you come home—”

Rubbing his temple, exasperated, Roman asks, “what are you talking about?”

She’s not above begging. In a pleading tone, she begs, “please don’t make me quit my job.”

Roman isn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that the most words he’s heard leave Solana’s mouth are practically her begging to keep her job. He can understand it though. He would bet that her only time away from her family was when she was at work. “You can work as little or as much as you want. I don’t care about that.”

His words create instant relief. “Oh–I’m sorry, I thought—”

Roman runs his hand over his face. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”

“Sor—” Solana drops her head as he exhales. Loudly. It’s not even noon, and he’s already over and done with this damn day.

“What time do you get off today?”

Solana licks her lips, answering. “Three.”

“I’ll meet you then.”

He can see she wants to ask but has decided against it, most likely recognizing his irritation. “We need to get your stuff from that house.” 

And in the midst of her anxiety in this conversation, she finds a glimmer of hope. She’s thankful that this isn’t something she had to initiate to ask him about.  

Something tells her Roman doesn’t like being questioned a lot.

Or at all.

“O–okay.” Is the answer she finally settles on, not wanting to say too much, vowing, “I’ll make sure I’m done by 3pm sharp.”

On one hand, Roman enjoys and respects punctuality, but something tells him Solana’s is based more on fear than anything. “Whenever is fine.”

Nodding and pushing her hair behind her ear, Solana watches Roman walk over to the door, preparing to leave when he asks, “is your brother right handed or left handed?”

His question takes her off guard, and she doesn’t quite know why he’s asking this in the first place. “W-what?”

Roman clearly doesn’t like repeating himself, because his tone takes on an edge. “Is he right handed or left handed?”

Solana swallows. She’s made him mad. Again. “R–right.”

Without another question, he leaves. And once the door shuts, he snaps at Solo, demanding, “why the fuck did you leave her alone with him? I told you to watch her!”

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that Solo is doing a brilliant job masking his embarrassment at his failure. “She said—”

“I don’t care what she says. You don’t answer to her. You answer to me. Understood?”

Solo keeps his head high, acknowledging, “yes, my Tribal Chief.” Roman wastes no time in exiting the library and entering the SUV waiting for him, slamming the door shut. He pulls out his phone, selecting one of his most recent contacts, hitting dial. 

Jey answers on the third ring, but he’s immediately yelling to someone else, “slam my door one more fucking time, Nicki, and see what happens!” Roman’s jaw clenches, another new source of irritation being presented to him. “Ayo, Uce, now’s not a good time—”

“I don’t care.” Roman’s hot headed cousin and his equally hot headed wife arguing is nothing special. The fight. They fuck. They make up. And do it all over again. It’s not pressing news or even news at all at this point. “The Miller boy. Send him a message. A clear message.”

“I’ve got—”

“Did you hear what I just said?” There must be something in the air or the water, because Roman having to repeat himself is fucking asinine. He speaks once, and everyone should jump immediately. The fact that that isn’t happening is only pissing him off more. “And his right hand…make sure it’s broken.”

Jey sighs on the other end of the phone. “Aight. Me and Jimmy will have it done by the end of the day.”

Roman ends the phone call before his cousin can feed him any more excuses. Head tilted back against the headrest, he tries to settle himself. This day so far has been nothing but inconvenience after inconvenience. 

There’s nothing that pisses him off more than having to repeat himself, having conversations extend longer than they should, and that’s all this day has been thus far. He’s had to over explain and reiterate himself more than Roman feels necessary. 

And the day isn’t even halfway over. 

He needs an outlet.

Roman switches apps, finding one of his more recent contacts and sending out a message. 

Roman: Come over tonight. 

As expected, her reply comes almost right away. 

Samantha: Lol. That didn’t take long.

Samantha: See you then.

————

Solana always struggles with a level of anxiety when entering the home she grew up in. For a myriad of reasons. Most, if not all, being completely valid. Nothing good has ever happened for her in that place. And more often than not, she’d barely be in the house for more than a couple of minutes before she was either being berated or beaten.

Usually both.

But this…..this is different. A lot different, because she’s not walking into hell alone, she’s walking along (behind) Bloodline guards and the 6’3, pure muscled leader of said Bloodline. 

Roman Reigns.

Who also happens to be her husband.

Playing around with the wedding ring on her finger, Solana tries again to remind herself that this is real, that she’s married, that she’s married to Roman Reigns of all people. 

The reality definitely hasn’t set in.

Roman is about to knock on the door again when it swings open. Solana naturally steps back, something Roman takes notice of.

Xavier looks pissed, his fiery gaze landing on her first, but just as quickly as it was present, it's gone, settling into an almost pleasant smile. Directed at Roman, of course.

“Tribal Chief,” he greets. Solana’s gaze is on the ground now, focused on her painted toes instead of the man before her who she’s certain would be unleashing hell on her if not for the multitude of much larger, much stronger men surrounding her. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care,” Roman interrupts, voice reeking of indifference. “She needs to go get her stuff.”

“Oh.” Solana can only imagine the difficulty her father is having in not throwing a fit. “Well, we can arrange for it to be delivered—”

“No.”

She means more to think it than to say it, but that intention falls short, because she definitely says it aloud.

And most of her regrets it, but there’s a small slither that doesn’t.

Solana knows her father. She knows him very well. 

Roman has done nothing but piss him off from the very beginning of this whole ordeal, pushing and pushing him. And Solana has always been the object of her father’s anger, but Roman seems intent on making sure that doesn’t happen. 

That means he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.

If he can’t hurt her, he’ll go after the things she loves. 

The few items in that home that she holds near and dear, items that belonged to her mother.

She knows he would dispose of them all so that all that would be retrieved by the movers would be clothes.

And the thought of the only things she has of her mother being discarded like trash makes her sick to her stomach.

She can’t give him that opportunity. 

Looking up, she’s met with two sets of eyes on her. One indicating irritation and the other, curiosity. Swallowing, she stutters, “I’m sorry. I—”

“No.” Roman’s interruption is stark and to the point. “We’re already here. She gets it now.”

“But—”

“Move.”

Xavier’s jaw ticks, but he does as such, stepping to the side. Roman looks back at Solana, motioning for her to walk in. 

Instantly, she’s going to the key holder. She has to make sure she gets her mother’s stuff before anything. But, the key to the attic, the key that’s sat in the same spot since she was a girl, is suddenly missing.

Her stomach drops. 

Without hesitation, she turns to her dad, asking, “wh—where’s the key to the attic?”

Solana knows before he even says anything that she’s not going to like his answer. She just doesn't realize just how much she’s not going to like his answer.

“Oh, I put it in your old room on the dresser.” Solana’s chest is immediately tight, her stomach dropping. Xavier gives that sly smile and little shrug. “Figured there’d be some things you’d want to grab as well.”

It’s hard for Solana to not start crying right then and there, standing between her father and her husband. Two men who dislike her for very different reasons. 

And maybe dislike isn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling her father has toward her. Because one has to have an inhuman level of vitriol toward another individual to put her in the situation he just did.

That room….Solana hasn’t been in that room in years and planned to never enter it again for as long as she lived. And he knows that. Knows that there’s nothing in there she wants. Knows that she’d rather walk on burning coal barefoot than enter that space of horrific memories and unspeakable horrors. 

“I–I—”

“Is something wrong?”

Roman, watching this whole exchange closely, is instantly annoyed. It’s obvious something is wrong, there’s some story with this old room of hers, because she looks just as terrified as she did last night. And something about this pisses him off all over again, because this man is still trying to defy his orders, still trying to find ways to inflict his torture without lifting a finger. 

“Where’s the room?” 

Solana doesn't expect that question to leave Roman’s mouth, but it instantly brings on another layer of dread. He doesn’t know why she can’t go in that room, and he can never know, but that not knowing is probably going to result in him pushing her to hurry up so they can get the hell out of here.

But, that doesn’t happen. He steps towards her dad and repeats in a calm voice. “Show me.” It’s then she realizes that he’s asking so he can retrieve this key for her.

And that confuses the mess out of her because why? He doesn't have to, doesn’t need to. It doesn’t benefit him in the slightest. 

So why?

But for Roman, it’s simple. He’ll take any opportunity presented to piss off this son of a bitch, and undermining every attempt Miller takes to mess with Solana presents an opportunity for Roman to assert his dominance. 

And it’s obvious by the pure terror that crosses Solana’s face that, for whatever reason, she has zero desire or even ability to enter this room. It does cross him a bit strange that she would have such a reaction to her childhood bedroom, something that typically holds special memories for people.

Until he enters said room. 

Immediately, there’s a darkness about the aura, something heavy and unsettling that he can’t necessarily describe but most definitely feels. It’s a stark contrast to the design and decoration, lots of pink and girly shit, a couple of stuffed animals sitting on the top of the dresser. It’s on the dresser he notices a shattered picture frame that in picking up he sees a photo of a young woman, dark curly hair, beautiful, light eyes and a breathtaking smile. There’s something about her that reminds him of Solana. Her mother. This has to be her mother.

For reasons Roman doesn’t quite understand, there’s something suddenly uncomfortable by looking at this photo, a ghost, someone from the past. A person cruelly and violently ripped away from her family.

It….it hits too close to him.

Laying the broken photo frame down, Roman continues to assess the room and suddenly notices scratches on the door and the wall that holds the door. But, they’re not scratches that come from furniture being moved or kids being rough, they’re clearly nail marks. As if someone was dragged and the scratches a testament of their fight against whatever attack they were facing.

Snatching the key off the dresser, he then redirects his attention to the poorly cleaned splashes of dried blood on the carpet near the bed. He’s suddenly frowning of sorts. 

There’s a story here. A story that paints a dark, grim picture. One that makes Roman slightly curious about just what the hell this girl has really been through in this hellhole?

Not wanting to stay in that creepy ass room any longer than necessary, he walks back out into the living room and ignores Miller’s obvious irritation to reach Solana the key.

Accepting it, she offers the first smile he’s probably seen on her since their first meeting. “Thank you.” Her voice is the usual mixture of soft and quiet but also….grateful. She’s probably the only person in history to ever be so happy at being given something as simple as a key. But Roman isn’t stupid. He recognizes the deeper meaning. 

Nodding, he motions for a few of his men to follow her as she heads for wherever the attic door is located. 

That leaves Roman alone with his least favorite person in the world.

“She can’t take everything, you know.” Xavier shares. He reminds, “she has a brother. My son and I deserve to have something of my late wife to—”

“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. He honestly, truly doesn’t. “She can take whatever she wants.”

“I understand that she’s your wife, but she was my daughter long before she became your wife. And you’re standing in my house.” Xavier doesn’t skip a beat to contend. “I think you should also remember that, Tribal Chief.”

To be fair, Roman would like to think he’s done a half decent job all day managing his temper. He’s yet to maim or kill anyone which is commendable for him, in and of itself. But something about Xavier pisses him the fuck off to the point where he doesn’t give a damn about controlling his temper. 

And that’s exactly what happens. 

In a matter of seconds, Roman has Xavier by the throat, pinned against the wall, squeezing so tightly he can practically feel the man's bones pressing against his fingertips. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Xavier’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he helplessly grasps at Roman's grip, which only makes the Tribal Chief squeeze harder. “Don’t ever fucking forget who runs this. I run it all!” As much as Roman enjoys playing the long game with this bastard, there’s only so much he can put up with. Miller needs to know Roman is not his daughter, but he damn sure will dictate that any interactions with said daughter go through him. “You see Solana when I say you can see her. You talk to her when I say you can talk to her.” Intensifying his grip, Roman notices the color draining from Xavier’s face. And it’s probably the best thing he’s seen all day. “You live because I allow it. You’re still fucking breathing because I will it.” Recognizing Miller is at the door of unconsciousness, he finally lets the man go, enjoying the sight of him coughing violently, nearly laying on the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that shit.”

Xavier, wisely, doesn't say much after that. And neither does Roman, who simply makes sure his men help Solana gather all she needs, which isn’t that much outside of clothes. He starts to ask her about her car, but something tells him it’s under Xavier’s name, which is why he decides against it.

He’ll just get her another one. 

Roman doesn’t want her to have shit to do with this family, largely because he doesn’t want shit to do with this family.

And he knows what the first step toward initiating that separation will be.

—--------

The Warehouse has always been Roman’s escape.

17,000 square feet of escape, completely revamped and redone by him in his early twenties. It’s a massive compound that serves as both a place to train and compete. The former of which being why he’s present and needing to speak to the one person who he has in charge of all the day to day workings of the Warehouse. 

But, that’s all she’s interested in outside of competing herself and only training those with some fire to them.

It’s why he’s not surprised when Nia takes one look at him, then Solana, and with a snort and roll of her eyes, simply says, “no.”

Roman isn’t an idiot. He knew his cousin would immediately decline, would know what he wanted to ask before it could even leave his mouth.

If only he cared about her objection. 

“Wait here,” he mutters to Solana who only nods, hugging the jacket around her body. Solo remains nearly inches away from her. She looks so out of place, a small part of him can’t blame Nia for declining.

Nia continues to walk the balcony, eyes clearly checking in on the various sets of people training. Roman does as well, just not nearly with the same amount of focus and attention. That’s what he has Nia for.

His blood cousin and close friend since they were kids, there’s few people in this world that Roman trusts, and Nia is grouped in that category. She’s a worthy member of the bloodline and a hell of a person to have alongside you in a fight. 

It’s why she's the perfect person for this task.

“Nia.”

“I said no, Roman.” She turns to him, smirking, taunting him in a way only she and his close family can. "You know, that word that you hate?”

It actually makes him chuckle, a speckle of amusement in a day full of anything but. “If you know I hate it, why are you saying it?”

“Because unlike the rest of the world, I’m not your bitch.”

It’s partially true. Nia has never been one to shy away from being completely and, often, ruthlessly honest with her cousin. It’s something Roman sometimes appreciates, enjoying the occasional challenge and differing perspective.

This isn’t one of those times though. 

He again reiterates. “She needs to be trained.” 

It’s abundantly clear that Solana has no backbone, and he can’t entirely fault her for that because it’s also clear that she’s never really had the chance to develop one. But, that’s no longer the case, because while he can deal with the stammering and quietness, her fragility has to go. 

She has to learn to stand up for herself.

She needs to learn how to fight back.

Nia turns around with a sarcastic chuckle. “You really think that girl can be trained? I saw her at the wedding. She looked terrified the entire time. You breathe too hard in her direction, and she’ll probably have a fucking panic attack.” Roman is briefly taken back to last night. Nia hasn’t the slightest clue how true her words are. “She’s not built for this life.”

Roman doesn’t entirely disagree. If there was ever a person who’d do well and significantly better in something cookie cutter, white picket fence type shit, it’s Solana. But she’s here now, this is her life, so they need to make the best of it. She needs to learn how to survive in this life. and he expresses as such. “Regardless, she needs to learn to defend herself to some extent.”

Nia shrugs, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms. “So teach her.”

“I don’t have the time. Or the patience.” It’s almost entirely true. There are already so many hats that Roman has to wear. Adding on another one that includes teaching a traumatized young woman how to fight is not an option. Even more, something tells him that Solana would do better training with a woman. She seems most skittish around men.

Nia scoffs, pointing to herself. “And you think I do?”

“Nia….” As much as he enjoys sparring with his cousin from time to time, his patience has grown thin. His tone darkens. “I’m not asking you.”

While tempted to continue to push back, Nia isn’t a stupid woman. She can recognize when Roman is about to lose his cool. “Fucking hell….” With a heavy sigh and shrug of defeat, she accepts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to like her.”

“I never expect you to like anyone.” He chuckles, adding. “And Nia…..take it easy on her at first.”

Nia curses, instantly accusing, “You think coddling her will help?”

“I know being too rough with her won’t.”

A hard exterior is built from experience and tolerance. Roman fully believes that. However, something tells him his new wife has had enough experiences that anything more could push her closer to breaking point. So approaching it almost gingerly would probably wield the best outcome. 

Nia is, justifiably, vexed. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your weak ass wife. I’ll have Naomi teach her the basics, and once she learns how to actually throw a punch without crying, I’ll take over her training.” 

Roman has no issue with this. Solana seemed to be fine around Naomi at the wedding, so it might actually be a good match. “Fine. Just keep me updated with her progress.” Roman adds, starting to walk away.

“Do I have a choice?”

Instantly, he answers. “Nope.”

Nia’s laughter behind him brings a small smile to his face. 

Rejoining the group, he finds Solana looking just as nervous as he left her. “Let’s go.”

He turns and so does Solo, Roman deciding he’ll talk with Solana about starting training back at the house. But, her small voice calling his name, the first time he’s heard her say as such draws his attention.

Turning around, he asks, “yeah?”

She swallows and starts that damn stammering. It’s hard for him to not snap at her to just get it out. He hates that beating around the bush bullshit. “Umm, can we—uhh, stop somewhere?” Roman does his best to hide his irritation. Where the fuck does she need to go? “I just—-I noticed you don’t have a lot of ingredients at the house, and—and I need some things so I can cook.”

Initially, Roman’s first reaction is to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to cook. He doesn’t need her to cook for him. He does just fine on his own, but that’s the thing that makes him pause. He’s not on his own anymore. She needs to eat too.

So, he agrees, “fine.”

“Ayo, uce!”

Jesus Christ.

Roman needs a vacation. A week long vacation, because the way the past 24hrs has drained him more than anything he’s experienced in the past year is criminal.

The twins jog over, exchanging what is an undeniably awkward acknowledgement to Solana. And he doesn't blame them. She’s so damn docile that they probably don't know how to interact with her.

“Let us catch that ride with you.”

Roman shuts his eyes. “Why?”

Jimmy is the one to answer. “You wanted us to debrief you on that thing from earlier, remember?”

Roman realizes they’re referring to the message he had them send Solana’s brother, which he does want to hear about but not necessarily now.

“She needs to stop at the store before we head back to the house,” Roman informs, hoping the twins will just take a car back to the house to meet him their to debrief.

But that’s too much like right, because they end up in the same SUV as him and Solana, seated in the back, while he sits in the middle with her. And it’s not missed upon him how she’s practically tucked in the corner of the SUV, notebook out as she writes away while his idiotic cousins go on and on in the back about whatever.

The old lady from the library wasn’t kidding. This damn girl is always writing. 

When they arrive at the grocery store, Roman reaches for his wallet, sliding out his black card and handing it to her. “Here. Use this.” 

Roman hadn’t thought about this until just now, thought about the need to make his money available to her. He makes a mental note to have his accountant add Solana to all of his accounts and have cards mailed out with her name. In the meantime, she’ll have to deal with using his.

“Thank you.” She accepts the card, quickly asking, “what’s my limit?”

“What limit?”

Her cheeks redden as she explains. “Like….like how much I can spend?"

“There is none,” he answers with a shrug. “Just get what you need.”

Jey suddenly leans forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder. “Ayo, Big Dog, lemme run this by you.”

“No.”

Of course, the word goes in one ear and out the other. “So, I’m trying to explain to her that it’s not what she thinks. I don’t even care about that bitch, but she’s not trying to hear me. Going on and go about how I ain’t shit, I don’t treat her right—you know, the usual—-and so finally, I just snap on her ass cause who the fuck you think you talking to—”

Jimmy agrees. “She acting like you ain’t got no options.”

Jey sucks his teeth, “man, that’s what I’m saying. Like, I ain’t gotta put up with that shit!”

“Hell naw!”

The idea of grocery shopping doesn’t appeal to Roman in the slightest, but neither does listening to his dumbass cousin complain about his marriage problems to his equally dumbass brother. So, it’s the lesser of two evils, really. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the door. Solo and Solana’s eyes fall on him as they’d yet to enter the store. “I’ll go with her.”

Solana looks expectedly surprised as Solo simply nods and gets back in the passenger seat.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Roman says nothing, walking alongside her, still providing enough distance to not make her uncomfortable. 

As long as the twins are harping on and on about stupid shit, she can take as long as she wants.

Once in the store, Solana pushing the cart, Roman realizes she was writing down a grocery list that she uses to track the needed items as they peruse what feels like endless aisles. Granted, he hasn’t been inside an actual grocery store in probably close to two decades, if not longer, so maybe this is normal for a grocery store. 

It’s when they reach the produce section that she seems a bit stumped, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly perplexed.

He starts to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks over to one of the workers and takes him slightly by surprise when she starts speaking in a different language. Spanish, he eventually settles on. It’s also the first time he thinks he’s ever seen her smile. Outside of when he gave her the key And laugh. That one is definitely a first. Both small and quiet, but still, a first. She seems to know or at least be familiar with the worker who digs around the produce and reaches over a packaged bag of whatever produce it is. 

It’s when she returns to place the produce in the basket, continuing to walk, that he asks, “you speak Spanish?”

She looks up at him, but not for too long, as if doing so is forbidden, explaining. “My—my mom taught me. She was originally from Mexico.”

Roman figured as such from the picture he saw in her room that Solana’s mom was Hispanic or had some type of Central American ancestry. He’s also surprised by her answering with more than just 3 to 5 words, providing more information than he asked. 

It’s not something he necessarily cares about, but it doesn’t annoy him like it typically does when people give him a longer answer than what’s necessary. 

“Are—are your cousins always like….like that?” Again, she takes him by surprise, up until the point where she immediately goes into apologizing. “I–I don’t mean it in a bad way. I would never—”

“Yes,” he cuts off her rambling. It’s unnecessary because the answer is simple. “They are.” With a mutter, he adds, “they never shut the fuck up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. That smile smile, this time conjoined with a small laugh that she does a decent job trying to suppress. And it’s like she catches herself, changing the subject as she asks, “umm, are you—like—allergic to anything? Or is there something you don’t like? I can learn—”

“I can eat anything.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. It also seems like something she’d been wanting to ask but only built the courage to do so at the end of their current conversation, even if brief as hell.

Solana doesn’t say much after that, and it confuses Roman when she tries to grab items on shelves much higher than what exceeds her reach. It confuses him because it would be significantly easier for her to just ask him to reach it. Granted, something tells him just her asking to be taken to the grocery store seems to be her daily quota for requests.

So he takes it upon himself, hand on the small of her back, ignoring how she tenses at his touch, to tell her to step aside as he easily retrieves the item. With a tuck of her hair behind her ear and a small “thank you,” she continue shopping but this time actually, still with that same irksome gentleness, asks him to reach items that she cannot. It’s not a lot, just a couple.

And it’s not long before she’s done, checking out with his card that she makes sure to give back to him immediately. He gets the sense that that’s something she thinks is important to him.

It’s not.

The worst he can see her doing is going crazy at fucking Barnes and Nobles.

Roman has his men load the trunk for her, something that also seems to take her off guard. Like she’s not used to the assistance.

And she probably isn’t. 

————

Samantha Irvin has been on Roman’s revolving roster of women since he was in his teens. The longevity being that It’s always been the easiest with her. Sexually, at least. Their compatibility in that one area, the only one he really (only) cares about, is astronomical. But lately, more in the past few months than anything, she’s dropped a comment here and there about wanting more. 

He’s ignored them everytime. 

Roman has never promised Samantha anything more than what they currently are: fuck buddies. She knows this, just like she knows she’s not the only woman he’s fucking. Nothing about that should indicate him wanting more with anyone, including her.

Well, other than the wedding band now on his finger.

Samantha’s gaze falls on that wedding band, a bitter chuckle leaving her mouth. “I still can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. Discussing his shitshow of a marriage is the last thing he wants to do and far from the reason he left Solana in the middle of the night to come see her, to come work off his frustrations.

The same reason he invited her over tonight. 

Last night was a dumpster fuck, without a doubt. But today with Solana was….decent. Not amazing. Not awful. Just some strange space in between. Even as they arrived back at the estate and she went straight into cooking, creating something he can’t pronounce but can honestly say was delicious, a meal she delivered to him in his office. There was something manageable about that, this level of she does her thing, he does his, and if their paths cross in the process, he can deal with that.

The intimacy though….that’s something he’ll have to figure out, have to navigate, just not now. Not tonight. 

Right now, he just needs Samantha’s talented mouth on him.

She moves her hands up his chest, biting on her bottom lip. “She’s just a little girl, baby. You need a woman who knows how to please you.” Roman knows the other side of what she’s saying or rather what she’s not saying. Another subtle, or not so subtle depending on how you look at it, hint that she’s the one he should settle down with.

In all honesty, he has, or had, zero desire to settle down with anyone.

Especially not with Sam. She’s the kind of woman that’s good for fucking and nothing else. As much as Solana’s extreme passivity annoys the shit out of him, he’d pick that over the bitching Sam would do. He just knows she’d be on his ass about stupid shit like fucking other woman and not paying her enough attention. Like she’d think she’s somehow above him doing who and what the fuck he wants just cause he put a ring on her finger.

Way too needy.

But at least he can actually fucking touch Sam.

Kinda hard to make a baby with someone who has literal fucking panic attacks just from being touched.

It builds up his frustration again, hence Roman grabbing Samantha by the back of her head, forcing it back. She hisses, both from pain and pleasure. It’s another thing he does actually enjoy about her. She lets him be as rough as he wants and needs.

“Why are you still talking?” There may be a slight dim in her eyes at his question, but she hides it well. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” He releases his grip and shoves her to her knees. “Put that mouth to actual good use.”

If she’s hurt by his brusque tone, she doesn’t show it, simply bringing her hands to unbuckle his pants. “I got you, daddy…” 

She gets his zipper down when a scream sounds throughout the house, causing her to freeze in her motions as she shoots Roman a confused look.

“What the hell?” Samantha’s obvious irritation is the last thing he hears before adjusting himself as he heads out the room and down the hall.

For some reason, Roman already knows what to expect before he even reaches Solana’s room. Opting against knocking, he opens the door and finds her twisting and turning in the bed, eyes shut, chest moving up and down, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Yeah….just as he expected. 

Sighing, he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. “Solana.”

“No.....” she’s crying in her sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Or night terror. “Mom, please…don’t leave me.”

Roman tenses. Immediately, he knows exactly what her nightmare is. He brings hands to her shoulder, shaking her. “Solana, wake up.”

“No…..”

He says her name again, a bit louder, firmer, “Solana, wake up.”

“No!” She screams again, shooting up from the bed, immediately fighting and pushing against his body. “Leave me alone!” She’s crying, clearly fighting against the demons one faces once in life but forever battles, even when they’re gone. 

It’s a permanent scar on the soul.

“Solana,” he says again, still stern, but somehow gentle. “You’re fine. You’re safe.” It’s the ‘safe’ word that seems to trigger something for her, mouth still ajar, painting heavily but no longer struggling against him. “It was just a bad dream.”

There’s a fleeting thought he has about pushing some of the flyaway hairs out of her face, but it’s gone before he can really process let alone act on said thought.

Solana looks at his hands on her forearm and immediately tugs them back to her body, hugging herself. She drops her head, eyes closing, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

His eyes take her in, studying her, “it’s fine.”

“I—I need some air.” She kicks the blankets off her body and swings her legs over the bed, hurriedly grabbing a notebook off the dresser and rushing out of the room past a smirking Samantha.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand over his face, ignoring the strange array of emotions, or something like that, he’s experiencing.

He hasn’t been this exposed to this kind of behavior in years.

This may be more complicated than he realized. 

And it’s as he stands up from the bed, walking near the door that Samantha smirks. “Did she seriously say mom?”  His eyes snap to her as she runs her hands up and down his chest. “What a fucking child.”

Her words take him back, reframe things so that it’s not Solana the child crying for her mother not to be taken from her. It’s a young boy. Burned, bloody, and beat, fading in and out consciousness, the gaze of fiery flames in his peripheral vision, the smell of burning flesh invading his nostrils, the sound of wails and sirens all mingling together from the shock of it all. 

Roman catches himself, forcing those buried memories back where they belong in the very back of his mind. He then looks at Sam for a good five seconds before demanding, “get the fuck out.”

She pauses and then asks with an uncomfortable laugh, “what?”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he repeats, shoving her hands off him. 

“What did I sa—”

“Get out!” Roman snaps, volume and tone making her jump. He probably scared her. He also doesn’t care. He just wants her gone. And she does as such, walking away without another word of protest. 

Left alone, he tries to gather himself, moving back to his room.

So much for a fucking distraction.

 —----- 

Roman finds her out back on the patio. 

He needed to clear his head, get back into his tunnel vision focus, and the gym he had included when he built the house is the perfect place to do that. Two hours later, recentered and showered, he readies to call it a night. But, he realizes he probably shouldn’t do as such until he makes sure Solana is at least partially stable enough to be left alone. 

And she is. 

She’s laid out, sleeping on the rattan lounge chair, a closed notebook tucked into her side. Roman recognizes it as the same one she was writing in that day at the library as well as the one she used for her grocery list just earlier in the day. 

He settles down on the chair next to her, studying her. Even in her sleep, she looks….sad. And for the first time in the midst of all these strange experiences with her, Roman understands. He understands her sadness, understands her difficulty, understands the memories that clearly haunt her.

The same way they used to haunt him. 

His hand goes to his tatted arm, intricate tribal tattoo hiding permanent remnants of that night of hell. The night that he once had the same kind of night terrors about. 

Noticing the breeze, he walks back into the house, grabbing one of the throw blankets on the sofa. Roman is careful to not directly touch her as he lays it over her body. A part of him is tempted to carry her back to her room, but he remembers these kinds of nights. The kind where it’s a challenge to escape the memories, let alone find a place and mental space to turn your brain off enough to just sleep.

So he leaves her alone, allowing her to enjoy the only escape she clearly has in this life.

[thecloudychalice]

Ok, rant time. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life wondering why it is that guys don’t care about the girl’s pleasure. Sex, if done right, should be about you focusing entirely on your partner, and them entirely on you. This, when done right means each of you gets your needs met. Some realizations I’ve had as a good, honest man:

1. If she mentions it more than once DO IT. It takes NO effort to actively take an interest in her wants and needs. Instead of doom scrolling at 3 am, go look up what she told you she likes. Show her that her needs are important to you and deepen that connection by learning to better yourself as a sexual partner through listening to her needs and MEETING THEM. It creates a much stronger connection which deepens the sexual experience. AND… It’s your responsibility!

2. Fact: Women need to cum more than once to feel satisfied. And good girls deserve to.

Unlike men, who were given the gift of peeing standing up, women were given the gift of multiple/successive orgasm. Their refractory period isn’t nearly as long as a man’s and thus, they need to cum more than once. If you don’t make them cum more than once, you’re essentially giving them the female equivalent of blue balls, and a very shitty feeling.

3. All women can squirt, but they need to be aroused in order for it to happen. The G spot does exist. It’s akin to the trunk of a tree.. but for the clit. It’s surrounded by erectile tissue that swells in response to arousal. In doing so, you’re actually drawing the nerves to the surface and applying pressure is stimulating them. If you stimulate it enough, it will leave you with a soaked bed and one needy, drippy incoherent mess of a girl.

4. Most (not all) men don’t understand the female body. But there’s no excuse. With unfettered and seemingly limitless access to information, in today’s day and age, there’s no reason why men shouldn’t be able to learn the process for female arousal. All women are different (yes honey, you’re special, daddy knows!), but there IS a standard pattern of arousal. Your texting pregame and FOREPLAY is everything. It’s not about what you do in the bedroom, it’s about what you do before you even cross the threshold into the bedroom. Take the time to make her feel cared for, listened to, and appreciated, and you’ll see how it makes a world of difference in how she responds to your physical touch. Foreplay should be a minimum of 25-30 minutes focused solely on her and isn’t just about riding the clit. It involves her ENTIRE BODY. Pay close attention to her body responses to your touch, your voice, and listen to her when she’s telling you she’s enjoying it. That’s your hint to keep going.

5. If she says she’s going to cum… DONT CHANGE A THING! whatever you’re doing, stay exactly in that position. This isn’t an invitation to be a hero or fight for your life through her orgasm, and give her your all.. she wants you to stay exactly as you are.

6. AFTERCARE. My god it’s crazy how many men are absolutely spare parts when it comes to this point. It’s not an option but a necessity. Just as you wouldn’t take her to the bedroom and immediately ram it in, neither should you just abruptly end your session. You need to provide her a way of easing out of the experience and transitioning back to normal levels of functioning (chemically speaking). Also, aftercare shows her you value her for her person and not just her body. It’s so essential and men need to understand how important this time is. It helps you build a deeper connection and a better rapport with your partner, serious, casual, or otherwise.

Tip #1. As she’s about to cum, keep your motion steady and slow down a fraction to ease her into the orgasm and delay sensation.

Tip #2. Make her cum and squirt a few times before giving her the goods. Once this happens, she will cum faster every time and it will help create the sensation that her organs are rolling into each other. A truly amazing experience for her.

Ladies, let’s reblog the shit out of this and help it to reach as many men as possible. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[forthevillains]

Getting sleepy

Albert Wesker X reader (gender neutral)

[Captain Wesker likes you and you accidentally lean against him in your sleep ;) this one’s safe for everyone to read]

It’s been a rough day for you, at a dangerous mission with the S.T.A.R.S. It was already around midnight when all of you were heading back. It’s been tiring to say the least, but all of you made it safely. Wesker was driving while you sat on the passenger’s seat beside him, Barry and Jill in the back. They kept a conversation while you and the captain stayed in silence. You’ve done a great job, that’s for sure, it’s been always pleasure to work with you even though you’re just a rookie for now. You fit in well, with skills almost like no other.

Wesker had his sunglasses on as usual, you’ve barely been able to catch a bit of his blue eyes from side, but were quick to look away before he could notice that you were watching him. You were pleased to be able to work under him. No words could describe how happy you were when he chose you to go into the field with them. It was no surprise to others as they were aware of your talents, they were all happy to have you. Not as happy as the captain himself though. The small hints he’s given you may not be enough to show you how much he appreciates you himself, you didn’t know him all that well, but it was enough to make you feel sure of yourself when speaking to him. You were not intimidated in the slightest, no the fact that the male was capable of smiling at you was enough to prove to you that he might not be as bad as everyone made him seem when you got recruited. Perhaps they just wanted to scare you off… Or perhaps the captain himself thought of you as his favorite and no one expected that could ever happen.

You felt your eyes threatening to close shut as you watched the night sky from the window, everything dark except for it alone, the stars, the moon… You were mesmerized, caught up in your own thoughts and the fact that you’ve survived your first mission without any serious injury made you feel proud of yourself.

At that moment, you had no idea that Wesker’s gaze was fixated on you, only occasionally looking ahead of himself to make sure he doesn’t crash. The roads were pretty empty this late so there was no need to be as careful. He watched you, thinking if it would be a good idea to say something to you, to strike up a conversation, but in the end he remained silent. He was good at talking, there’s no doubt in that, but when it came to you, he barely knew what to say at all. You were indeed a weird case to him, he knew so little about you yet he was tempted to get to know more. There was no way to get you to talk to him though, he was your superior, you were in S.T.A.R.S. only for two months and everyone knew he wasn’t much of a talkative person at work. They probably told you so many things about him that you’d see through his mere attempts to get closer to you. No he knew they did, he even heard them a few times.

You shifted in your seat, searching for a more comfortable position to fall asleep in. You were so tired it was impossible to stay awake. There was barely any possibility of finding one where your back or head wouldn’t hurt after so you’ve just settled for closing your eyes while sitting straight, hoping not to fall against the window and hit your head. It barely took a few minutes before you dozed off. That was another opportunity for Wesker to take a better look at you, your gentle features, looking so innocent, so peaceful. He was suppressing a smile for god knows what reason. You looked cute like that. He gripped the wheel tighter when he realized of how he was thinking. Like a silly teenager with a crush. He was nothing like that. Or at least he thought so. He’s been with plenty of women, but never has he felt such an admiration towards one. A sigh escaped him and he forced himself to look away from you, not wanting to feel like this. He didn’t want to have a thing for a fucking rookie… He had plans, things to do, he couldn’t let a liability like this get in his way, it would end up terribly. You were no more than a forbidden fruit he had to resist. Even when a thought of keeping you around crossed his mind, he had to slightly shake his head to get rid off it.

However the way you were relaxed indicated that you wouldn’t hold still for long, it only took a short while for you to lean against him, your head placed gently on his shoulder. He tensed at that, looking over at you now basically sleeping on him. He thought of pushing you away, but seeing a hint of smile tugging at your lips made him give up before he even attempted doing so. Wesker was so still, afraid that any movement of his could wake you up, that if it wasn’t for Jill and Barry sitting right behind the two of you, he would’ve cursed under his breath. He hated this. He hated that he liked it. He hated everything about it and especially the fact that it made him smile. Deep inside he indeed didn’t want this to end and he would for sure take you on missions way more…