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helaintoloki · 3 days ago

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Somethin’ Stupid

part two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: angst, lots of pining, eventual fluff

notes: part two is here! ty guys for the support and hope you enjoy <3

summary: being forced to go on a mission together allows bucky and y/n to come to an understanding

*part one

You wake up with an awful hangover and a broken heart.

A part of you had hoped that the events that had transpired last night were merely figments of a dream, a peek into some alternate dimension where you had misjudged your tolerance for alcohol and completely humiliated yourself in front of the man you were hopelessly in love with. But the glass of water paired with a bottle of aspirin and a note from Natasha excusing you from training today proved otherwise.

All it took was a single drunken confession to completely obliterate one of the most dearest friendships you had. How could you ever possibly face him after this? Not only had you completely misread his intentions, but he had responded less than enthusiastically to your profession. You’d seen it in his face, the guilt that swam in his eyes and sympathetic smile that he wore so beautifully despite how badly it hurt you. Though Natasha had cut him off before he could offer a full response, you had enough sense to know what had been coming next.

“I’m sorry kid, but I don’t see you that way. You’re just not my type.”

The mere thought has you reeling all over again as you fight to keep your nausea at bay and clumsily reach for the glass of water. You’re grateful that you’ve been given the green light to essentially lock yourself away in your room and hide in your shame for the rest of the day, but you know that eventually you’ll be expected to go back out there and resume your daily routine. But Bucky was part of that routine, and you feel absolutely pathetic as you realize just how much you’d centered your life around him.

It’s obvious that logic is not your strong suit when it comes to these situations, so it made sense that you felt the only natural solution was to simply avoid Bucky for as long as humanly possible. You’d spar with someone else, maybe ask Natasha to join you for a movie instead, and chase away your own nightmares from now on. Surely this would help you get over him once and for all.

At least that’s what you hoped.

However, you were only successful in avoiding Bucky for a straight week until Steve decided you two were the perfect candidates for a recon mission.

You’d followed Steve around the compound pleading your case as soon as he’d handed you the mission file, but the man was adamant that you were the only one right for the job.

“You’re the only one who can see inside the building without actually having to step foot in it,” Steve had reminded you, his stance firm and his arms crossed over his broad chest as he spoke. “We need to know if these guys actually have any stolen Stark tech on their hands before we risk going in there. Your vision can give us the layout of the building and determine their inventory without them even knowing.”

“If my enhanced eyesight makes me the most qualified then why can’t I just go on my own?” You adamantly protested before handing the file back to him. “It clearly states in the report that I’m not expected to go inside or make contact with any hostiles, so why do I need a partner?”

“You’re going to be too busy scanning the building to watch your own back, so you’ll need someone else there to watch it for you,” Steve reminded you with authority, his tone indicative of the fact that as Captain he had the final say. With a softer tone, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Besides, I think this will be good for you both. A team only works if everyone’s on the same page, so it’s important to me that you two figure things out. Understood?”

“You got it, Cap,” you finally relinquished with a discontented sigh before excusing yourself to prepare for the mission.

You end up in the car garage a few hours later anxiously waiting for Bucky’s arrival. A part of you had considered leaving without him and worrying about Steve’s wrath at a later point, but you knew better than to test your luck. He was right about needing someone to have your back, but you just wish that someone could have been anyone else on the team.

The sound of heavy boots making their way towards you prompts you to lift your despondent gaze towards their own. Despite only having been apart from him for a week, you still find your breath catching in your throat and heartbeat speeding its pace by tenfold as you lock eyes with his stormy gaze. You have no idea what he’s thinking, and you desperately wish your x-ray vision could allow you to look into his head and read his thoughts, but unfortunately that’s Wanda’s speciality, not yours.

“Hey,” he greets with a barely visible smile that makes your chest tighten with longing. You’d think that after being rejected you’d be over him by now, but it turns out it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Hi,” you murmur meekly, absently dragging the toe of your boot along the ground. The air is thick with tension as you both engage in an unwelcome staring contest and wait with baited breath for the other to address the obvious elephant in the room. After a minute, you finally speak, “Thanks for coming along.”

“No need to thank me,” he assures you in the softest tone he can muster, almost as if you’ll run off again if he doesn’t choose his words carefully. “You know I’ll always have your back.”

His reply has you swallowing harshly while your stomach twists itself in knots; this week had been miserable for you, and yet you’d never stopped to consider how Bucky was fairing in your absence. Even if he did only view you as a kid, you still had formed a close bond with the man, and it must have been jarring for him to spend his days unused to your absence. You’d essentially iced him out without worrying about the repercussions, and now here you were forced to face them head on.

“We should go,” you state suddenly in an attempt to avoid any further awkwardness. Bucky opens his mouth to protest but instead chooses to keep silent and grab the keys for his motorcycle. As much as he’s been dying to talk to you about what had occurred at Tony’s party, he knows you both need to be focused on the task at hand, so he instead chooses to offer you a helmet before starting up the bike.

The world almost feels whole again when you seat yourself behind him and wrap your arms around his torso in a tight hold as he begins to speed off to your destination. You’ve missed this closeness, his warmth, the scent of his cologne and the comfort it brings you to rest your cheek against his back as you watch the scenery pass you by. You’re not sure if your relationship with the super soldier will ever be the same, and a part of you wonders if it’s possible to borrow the time stone from Dr. Strange so you can go back and stop yourself from making such a horrid mistake. You’d feel better if you could at least know what Bucky was thinking.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was thinking about a lot of things.

Though everyone around him could see how stupidly blind he was to your adoration for him, Bucky legitimately had no inkling of your romantic feelings for him. The shock on his face that night had been genuine, and your confession left him dumbfounded as he scrambled to come up with the right words, but Natasha had whisked you away before he had been given the chance.

Bucky laid awake for hours that night reminiscing on all the times you’d shared together- evenings spent talking for hours until the sun came out, playful teasing over your earpieces during missions, letting you crawl into his bed at odd hours because it helped your night terrors. He could say he was simply being a good friend, a good teammate even, but he knew he’d only be kidding himself. Bucky would do just about anything you asked of him, and he knew it was because deep inside he loved you too.

The word kid had slipped out, but it was meant to be viewed as a harmless pet name. If he knew just how upset it would have made you he never would have used it, and it haunted him every single day you ignored him. He wanted to make things right, but that would only be possible if you gave him the chance.

And right now, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

~~~

Your eyes are laser focused on the building before you as you nestle into the high branches of a tree and ignore the biting cold from the snowfall. Bucky is perched beside you, gaze constantly shifting as he scans the area for any potential threats to your safety. You’ve been at this for about an hour as you meticulously scan each floor in search of any weapons as well as intel regarding how many people occupy the building. Your eyes are starting to burn from the amount of strain your powers put on them, something Bucky picks up on as he places a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“I think you should take a break,” he prompts with worry clear on his features. Though a part of you agrees, you’re too stubborn to relent to his suggestion. This mission is your chance to prove to him that you’re not just some kid he has to babysit; you are just as capable as anyone else, and you want him to see you not as a mentee but as an equal.

“I’m fine,” you insist indignantly before returning your gaze to the weapons base, “you’re breaking my concentration.”

“Y/n, if you put too much pressure on your eyes you’re going to have a crushing migraine for weeks and Steve will have no choice but to bench you from missions,” he reminds you, and though Bucky is only trying to be helpful you feel as if you’re being reprimanded like some child.

“Are you not listening to me? I’m fine,” you grit through clenched teeth. The pressure is getting to you, and this conversation certainly isn’t helping.

“Look, just stop to use the eyedrops Dr. Banner gave you and then-“

“Oh my god, would you stop?! You’re not my babysitter, Bucky!” You finally cry out in exasperation.

“Hey!” A third voice interjects before Bucky can respond, prompting both of you to turn your heads just in time to see a man below raising his gun in your direction. You’d both been so engrossed in your debacle to notice a guard had been sent to search the area, and your little outburst had just given away your hiding spot.

Your head is pounding from the overexertion of your powers, and you’re barely able to register Bucky yelling at you to duck. The man begins to shoot before Bucky can draw his gun, and you’re not quick enough to duck out of the way when a bullet comes in your direction. It shoots straight through your shoulder blade, the force strong enough to hinder your balance and throw you off of the tree branch.

“Y/n!” Bucky cries out, eyes wide as he shoots a hand out for you. He’s barely able to graze your fingertips before you go falling straight to the ground with a strangled cry. The last thing you see is his horrified face before you hit the floor with a defeaning thud.

Everything goes dark after that.

~~~

The lights of the infirmary are blinding as you will yourself to peel your eyes open with a groan. A dull throbbing fills your head as you lift your hand to shield your eyes and attempt to sit up only to be gently pushed back down onto the bed.

“Easy there, slugger,” a voice reprimands teasingly, “Bruce says you shouldn’t be making any sudden movements for the next few days. You didn’t break anything, but you’re bruised up pretty bad and need to be on a five day medication regimen to keep the migraines at bay, and that’s not even mentioning the bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“Natasha?” you murmur hoarsely, barely making out her figure through squinted eyes. Your mind is reeling as you try to recall the events of your mission, and your stomach drops as you recall that you hadn’t been alone when you’d been ambushed. “Where’s Bucky?!”

You try to sit up again only for her to push you back down with one hand while the other uses the control pad to dim the lights in the room. You’re grateful for the pressure it alleviates, but your racing heart does nothing to help your anxious state.

“Bucky is fine,” she reassures you, “he left to get you some water, but he’s been in this room all day since you both got back.”

“What happened? I-I remember arguing with him, getting caught, falling out of a tree…”

“You hit a couple branches on the way down which is why you’re all banged up, but luckily the snow helped break your fall and prevented any further damage. Barnes was able to get you both out of there unscathed, and thankfully Bruce was able to remove the bullet out of your shoulder with minimal scarring. But… I have to say, I’ve never seen Bucky look so worried before.”

“God,” you whine in embarrassment, palms pressing into your eyes as you hold your face in your hands. “It’s like I’m incapable of not making a fool of myself every time we’re alone together.”

“Look, just stop dragging your feet and face the issue head on. You two need to work this out,” Natasha reiterates, her eyes subtly shifting to the man that enters the infirmary with a bottle of water in his hands. “The sooner the better.”

Bucky looks like a dog caught with its tail between his legs as he approaches your bedside, swallowing nervously as Natasha moves past him with a “good luck” leaving her lips as she exits the room and allows you both some privacy. You take the bottle from him with trembling hands and a quiet thank you before finally willing yourself to look at him.

“I’m sorry… this whole mess is my fault,” you murmur remorsefully, fingers fidgeting with the paper label on the bottle, "if I had just kept my mouth shut that night-“

“I’m glad you said it.”

“What?” You breathe out in surprise, unsure if you heard him correctly or if it was just your migraine skewing your perception of reality. Bucky swallows nervously before seating himself beside your bed, a bashful smile playing at his lips as he meets your gaze.

“Look, I know I reacted horribly in the moment, but it was only because I thought you were too drunk to mean it,” he confesses almost shamefully, a flash of guilt present in his features. “It’s hard to believe a woman as wonderful as you would want a tired old man like me, and I assumed it was a spur of the moment thing. But I have cared for you the moment Steve introduced you to us as a new member of the team, and I don’t go out of my way to protect you because I think you’re some incapable kid who needs my help. It’s because… well, it’s because I love you too. And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Your lips are parted in shock as you process Bucky’s words, your mind racing to catch up as you realize the man you’ve pined for so long is now confessing his love for you. A part of you is scared that this is some sort of concussion dream and that you’ll wake up to find it wasn’t real. But the feel of his hand carefully cupping your cheek says otherwise, and you nearly melt into his touch at the feeling.

“You love me?” You repeat again in quiet astonishment. Bucky lets out a small chuckle in response.

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he reassures you with an adoring smile, “it killed me to be away from you for so long, and I hate that it took us being shot at for me to finally tell you that.”

“I guess we just operate better on chaos,” you weakly joke, smiling when it earns you another laugh out of Bucky.

“It certainly is our specialty,” he agrees with wry grin. Then, tone more serious now as he moves to take one of your hands in his own, he says, “I love you, y/n, and I’d be honored if you would give me the chance to take you out somewhere nice to makeup for this whole mess I put us through.”

With a soft smile, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and answer, “I’d love nothing more.”

And then, in the privacy of the quiet infirmary, Bucky leans in and steals the first of many kisses from you.

| tags: @cjand10 @wamefou @g1g1l @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 |

#mel writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel

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nerdygirlramblings · 1 day ago

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totally not at all inspired by a real life snowboarding injury, I present poly!141 x injured!reader

cw: hurt/comfort, accents attempted

You're sat in the hospital bed doing your best not to cry. You hold the tears at bay not because you're fine. Not because you're proud. Not because of the shock running through your system. No, you try hard not to cry because you don't know how your boyfriends will react if you're in tears when they show up.

The spill was the most ridiculous accident, comical in its cartoonish nature: ice on the steps. You were rushing to catch The Tube, desperate not to be late. You knew if any of your men were home, they would have chided your footwear. The pink heels were absolutely impractical, but they matched your pearl grey dress so perfectly. On a normal day, you would have worn something sensible and simply brought the cute shoes to wear around the office.

But today was not a normal day. Today was your anniversary, and you had lovely dinner plans with your men scheduled. You wouldn't be able to come home after work, so you needed to look perfect all day.

You were almost home free when the last step ruined everything. Your foot slid, your bag fell, and you put your hands out to stop your forward momentum. So many bad ideas all in a row.

You felt something pop, heard a snap, and knew immediately you were very injured. Pain radiated all the way up your arm, leaving fire in its wake. Signals weren't making their way from your brain to your hand; it flapped, unresponsive, in your lap.

Thankfully your neighbor, Mrs. Gillen, was on the curb, and while she couldn't help you when you fell, she called 999 for you. She asked if your men were upstairs, and when you shook your head, she called John. You knew she had everyone's number, but as she'd learned, a call to John usually got everyone.

As they loaded you into the ambulance, you heard Mrs. Gillen ask an EMT where they were taking you, only to relay that information into her mobile.

So now you wait in A&E, arm in a sling, hooked up to an IV of fluids and pain meds, to see just how bad things are. You hear your men before you see them, John's voice low, demanding information on you. You don't hear a response, but John's growled response means he didn't get what he wanted.

Next you hear Johnny, frantically shouting your name as A&E techs try to shush him for the benefit of other patients and their families. A nurse comes in, unease in his eyes, and says there are several people asking for you. He tells you they have a code they can call if you're not safe, if the people looking for you need to be directed elsewhere or handled by the authorities.

You roll your eyes and assure the nurse it's okay. You pass him your phone, open to a picture of the five of you on holiday in Majorca last summer. "They're mine," you tell him ruefully. "Best let them back if it isn't against protocol, otherwise you'll be dealing with a big ruckus."

He eyes you hesitantly, despite the evidence on your phone. "Really," you say. "We're together. They'll be harmless if they can see me."

He steps into the hall and you watch him talk with a doctor and a man in a security uniform. They all come in and you have to explain your unconventional relationship, all the while listening to Johnny's shouts grow more panicked and Simon's rumble join John's. The only one you don't hear is Kyle, but you sure it's because he's restraining Johnny, who would be running through the halls pulling open doors if he could.

Finally the nurse, doctor, and security guard leave. Within moments the door bangs open so hard it strains the hinges. The hall light is blocked by a mass in the door, breathing heavily.

"Hi, Simon," you say sheepishly. He steps into the room, strides eating up the distance to where you are. You watch his aborted attempt to hug you. You raise your uninjured arm and he quickly shuffles into the space, pressing his face to your hair and breathing deeply.

"Oh, darling," you hear John sigh, "what happened?"

You feel your face heat and won't meet his eye. His gaze tracks from your injury down your dress to your legs. And those pink heels. You see the realization hit. "Please tell me you did not leave the flat in those shoes." His voice is muffled by the hand he's dragged over his face.

"I wanted to look perfect for tonight," you reply. "And now I've ruined it all," you sniffle.

"Och, hen," comes Johnny's voice. "Ye didnae ruin anything," he coos, coming over, elbowing Simon out of the way to press kisses to your hair and cheek. "We were so worried when Mrs. Gillen called. We jus' wan' ye safe. Yer already perfect." He kisses you again and again.

"Ya mind if we wait with ya, love?" Kyle asks, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

You were nervous about being in A&E alone, scared of what damage you did to yourself. "I wouldn't want you anywhere else," you tell him.

They boys take up various positions around the room, Simon looming behind you, eyes crossed, watching the door; John in the chair near the door, looking at your chart; and Johnny on the bed with you, your uninjured hand in his.

When the attending finally comes in, she pulls up short at how full the room now is. She looks at your men, then at you, and says, "Do you want this medical information shared, or shall we ask everyone to wait outside?"

Suddenly the room feels smaller, the air stuffier. You know it isn't harder to breathe, but your men are expansive, and the idea they might not be welcome as the doctor tells you the extent of your injuries is too much.

"No, doctor," you say, trying to head off a confrontation. "They're with me. And it's best they hear whatever this is from you." You look at John and add, "I'm sure they'll have questions."

The doctor holds your eye for a long moment, and you see the moment she decides to trust you. She comes to the end of the bed and holds her tablet out, waiting for John and Kyle to come around and join Simon behind you.

She brings up the first scan of your forearm and you see it before she says anything, the glaring black line across the solid white bones. Combined fracture of the radius and ulna. She brings up a second scan of your shoulder where the injury is less obvious. There's no bone break, but the doctor points out where you tore the ligaments in your glenohumeral joint.

The more she talks the more the words blend together. You hear surgery. Physical therapy. Weeks of recovery. John's voice joins the doctor's. Then Simon's.

You tune them out, worrying about what this means for your job, for taking care of the house when your men are on deployment, for the burden this puts on the others.

You feel a warm weight on your thigh and glance down to see Johnny's hand, thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth. The sharp line of his jaw digs into your uninjured shoulder enough to get your attention. You turn your head to glance at him. He leans forward, breath warm against your cheek as he whispers, "Stop thinkin' so hard. Takin' care a ye isnae hardship. Hell, it's gunna mean ye cannae tell us tae stop."

You frown and whisper back, "I'm not supposed to be a burden," mouth twisted into a frown.

He scoffs. "Ah dare ye tae tell LT or the Cap'n yer a burden."

A throat clears, and you look away from Johnny. The doctor looks resolute; John's eyes are full of pity. They both seem to wait for your reaction, but to what? You were spiraling until Johnny drew you back to them, but what had John and the doctor said to make them look at you like that?

Your eyes dart between them, mouth opening and closing in your best imitation of a fish until the doctor saves you further embarrassment. "We can't do anything more today. The bones in your arm can't be set until the swelling goes down, so we can only put you in a temporary splint until a real cast goes on in about a week. And I don't want to schedule the surgery until the bone is in a cast, and preferably not until it's healed, but I need more imaging on the ligament to determine how quickly it needs surgery. I'm going to have to send you home with pain medication only. You're going to need quite a bit of help for a while."

At first, the most you manage is a small, "Oh." You clear your throat and try again. "Thank you, doctor. Er, when should I schedule the imaging for? And how should I do that? Oh, and where do I go for the actual cast?"

The doctor sighs and looks at John first before the others. "I gave your, er, friend all the contact information for the orthopedist and imaging specialists. He said they'd make sure you have your appointments set. I also gave him your script for pain medication to help you manage these first few days."

You thank the doctor again as your boys escort you home. You hold the tears at bay on the drive home, waiting quietly in the car when Kyle takes your prescription into the chemist. You make it up the stairs in Simon's arms, cradled against his chest like a fragile bird. It isn't until you're back in your flat that the tears come.

A torrent of pain snakes down your arm, stealing the breath from your lungs when you try to shrug your jacket off. Simon is only a step behind you, and he lunges forward, hands under you as you crumple, sobbing, to the floor.

A pair of warm, calloused hands gently cup your face. You can't see through the tears, but you smell sunshine when Kyle shushes you, telling you they're there.

"I don't want to be a burden," you cry between sobs. Your lungs are beginning to burn, everything throbbing in time to the ache in your arm. "Now I've messed everything up!"

You're picked up, gently, from the front hall. The smell of gunmetal tells you it's Simon. His soft steps thud along the floor. There're too many steps for you to be heading for the den, you think. The realization strikes that you must be going to the bedroom. The arms holding you deposit you in front of them on the bed.

Your hair is maneuvered over your uninjured shoulder and you hear the rasp of the zipper as it slowly descends. Simon carefully manipulates your good arm out of its sleeve while Johnny kneels to take your cute shoes off. Then Kyle and Simon work together to carefully, cautiously shift and support your arm to get your other sleeve off. You have a momentary flash - I'm glad A&E didn't cut my dress - before it's overwhelmed by the agony of getting your other sleeve down.

By the time the top of your dress has been slipped off, you're practically panting, teeth clenched tight to prevent the scream from clawing its way up your throat. The boys get you the rest of the way undressed and into your pajamas.

You look around and notice John isn't in the room. You look behind you to Simon, the one most likely to give you a straight answer, but when you ask about John, he pretends not to know him at all!

John walks in a moment later with some flowers you recognize from the vase in the kitchen. "I know you're disappointed, dove. We all are, but not because we think we're missing out if you're not there." John gets down onto one knee. "This isn't what we talked about. This isn't where we wan'ed to do it." He pulls a ring box out. "Was gonna do this at dinner, but I think you need ta remember, dove, you're our world."

You blink back more tears as Simon's voice vibrates your ribcage. His voice rumbles, " Wan' ya to be ours fully."

You look at Kyle and see the giant grin splitting his face.

You don't have to look to see Johnny's sitting, energy practically vibrating off him in waves, waiting as patiently as a kid on Christmas morning.

Your eyes land on John again, still kneeling. Silly man, putting himself through hurt for you. "Marry us, dove?"

Despite the unfounded hopelessness seeping into your bones. Despite the self-pity drowning you under waves of all you haven't done yet. Despite the agony rippling through your arm to the rest of you. Despite all that, you're answering before he fully finishes his question.

"Yes!"

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #simon riley #john price #johnny mactavish #nerdygirl says

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eiightysixbaby · 1 day ago

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just some brief belated valentine’s nonsense with older!eddie

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing alone on Valentine’s Day?”

His voice comes out with a deep rasp, his hand coming up to light the cigarette he places between his lips.

Your mother always taught you that it’s rude to stare, but in this instance, you can’t help it.

The man beside you must be in his forties, curly brown hair going ever so slightly gray. Salt and pepper scruff decorates his face, giving him a sort of rough-around-the-edges look. His eyes though, soft pools of rich espresso brown, they tell you he might not be as gruff as he first appears.

He’s gorgeous. And you remember that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Guys suck, that’s why I’m here alone,” you tell him, a scoff escaping you. “I’m tired of wasting my time.”

Your response is true; you’re tired of putting up with games, tired of being strung along. You need a man, not a boy.

He’s nonchalant, perched on the barstool beside you. Black leather jacket with black jeans to match, a ring on the smallest finger of his right hand and the index of his left.

“Good for you,” he says, tipping his beer glass out towards you. “Guys aren’t mature enough at your age, promise you it ain’t worth it.”

“I’m twenty five. I’m not, like, fifteen,” you say, finding his comment interesting.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s what I assumed. My point still stands.”

You quirk a brow at him, sipping from your glass of wine as you regard him in your peripheral vision. You try not to think too hard about how glorious sweetheart sounded in his subtle drawl.

“If you want a man to treat you right, you gotta go older. Even in their twenties, they have plenty of growing to do.”

He’s not even looking at you as he says it, still feigning that complete nonchalance. Like he didn’t just sit his pretty ass down next to you and suggest you date an older man — someone more like, say, him.

“Oh, really?” you ask, trying to hide your amusement. “How old, would you say?” You twist your body so you’re facing him, your skirt riding up dangerously high on your thighs.

A flood of heat rushes through you when you notice his gaze snag on that very spot, where the fabric ends and the meat of your thighs is exposed.

His dark eyes look up to meet yours, finally. A slight smirk graces his lips.

“I’d say about my age.”

“You know, if you wanted me to get naked with you, you could’ve just asked. We’ve wasted all this time talking back and forth when I could be on my knees in that bathroom already,” you reply bluntly, making his eyes widen slightly. He wasn’t expecting you to take the bait so boldly.

He recovers quickly, though, running a calloused palm over his scruff.

“Oh, sweetheart. That bathroom?” he asks, motioning towards the dingy one in the corner of the bar. He tsks. “You want someone to treat you right, don’t you? Surely you’d rather be spread out on my bed than getting those pretty knees dirty on that floor.”

You swallow, feeling heat pool in the pit of your stomach at the way he looks at you.

He lets his cigarette hang from the corner of his mouth, awaiting a response from you. Suddenly you’re not sure your brain works anymore.

But you want this. You’re sure of that. You want him to take you home, and you don’t even know his name. Screw it though, you deserve to have some fun.

“Inviting me into your bed already? And they say chivalry is dead,” you muse, enjoying the huff of air that leaves his nose in amusement.

“Come on, darlin’,” he says, standing from his seat and extending a hand to you. “Let’s get out of here. I’m gonna show you how Valentine’s Day is really done.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #divider by cafekitsune

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th-citizen-matriarchy · 2 days ago

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TEXT CORRECTION, TO MAKE IT WORK IN THE NEW ERA OF MATRIARCHY: How can I express my opinion to my (man) FEMALE in a polite manner without being insubmissive? I know now, at least for me, that what comes to mind when I take some time to meditate on what I need to do to become THE best house husband I can be, one thing I think I could constantly improve is my manner.

Specifically, expressing my opinion without appearing rude and insubmissive to my wife, or even ruining my appearance as a docile (lady) LITTLE MAN.

I grew up in a house where you had to be loud, rude, and abrasive to be heard.

It's hard to unlearn habits like that, especially when most of the world considers it an UNAcceptable personality trait. But when you're focused on being a good and holy househusband, submission is vital! So let's talk about when it's okay to speak up, when you should bite your tongue, and how to do it correctly.

As a woman and a traditional housewife, AS A LITTLE GUY AND A GOOD TRADITIONAL HOUSEHUSBAND, you need to realize that 98% of the time your (man) FEMALE is only doing what's best for you and you need to bite your tongue. I know I have a hard time doing this myself, so not only do I practice how to respond politely in situations where I would do something TOTALLY different, but I also practice hiding my feelings behind a sweet and docile smile, PUTTING MY HANDS BEHIND AND CATCHING MY FINGER UNTIL IT HURTS, but what if your (man) MANLY WIFE is doing something totally wrong? What if it's really horrible? (LIKE BURPING) How do I know if I should speak up or not? You should only speak up if…

IF SHE, He is going to hurt you, himself or others physically, emotionally, mentally or financially.

IF SHE, He is forcing you to break strong beliefs that you have. (LIKE NOT WEARING PANTS ANYMORE)

IF SHE, It is unwanted physical advances that you are not ready for or do not want at the moment. (LIKE LAYING ON TOP OF YOU OR PRESSING YOUR LIPS TOO HARD)

If none of the above applies to you, then you have nothing to worry about. You should smile and bow your head with a soft "Yes, honey" I LOVE YOU. MANLY WOMEN (men) were put on earth to be strong and kind leaders in the home.

LET THEM BE, LIKE THAT, It is their duty to lead and their responsibility to serve. If your STRONG FEMALE (man)'s decision applies to ANY of the three situations mentioned above, follow these guidelines for remaining submissive when questioning your authority, and if they persist (especially if they apply to 1 or 3), call an abuse hotline and get out of there. But if they don't apply, here are the guidelines for remaining submissive when expressing your ideas.

LISTEN TO HER, SHUT UP until she's done. SIT PROPERLY, YOU SHOULD BE polite and respectful, and listening to her will show that you are still submissive despite having a different opinion.

Don't yell!! DON'T RAISE YOUR VOICE! I can't stress this enough!!! Don't yell, don't interrupt him, don't talk over him, don't even talk as loud as him!! PUSH YOUR LIPS! KEEP YOUR HANDS TOGETHER ON YOUR LEGS AND CLOSE THEM, DON'T EXPRESS ANYTHING WITH YOUR LIPS, DON'T MAKE GRIMACE!

YOU AS A SUBMISSIVE MAN, Keep your face under control. DON'T BLAME HIM WITH BAD GESTURES, Make sure you don't roll your eyes or make irritated facial expressions or gestures, as that will automatically make everything you say disrespectful, even if you agree with him. SHE WILL IMMEDIATELY DISQUALIFY YOU, A KIND SMILE WILL MAKE YOU ACCEPTABLE TO HER. KEEP YOUR SHOULDERS BACK AND SMILE. EVEN IF SHE DOESN'T LIKE WHAT YOU HEAR.

WHEN SHE ALLOWS YOU TO TALK, Speak to her kindly and with a docile posture. WITHOUT RAISING YOUR VOICE, WITH A KIND AND CALM TONE, TRYING TO MAINTAIN THE TONE OF A FRAGILE CHILD, Do not cross your arms, OR YOUR LEGS, do not be abrupt or sharp with him, do not tilt your hips. None of that. KEEP YOUR HANDS TOGETHER AND CALM ON YOUR DRESS.

And number 5, THE MOST important of all…

HER WORD, WHATEVER SHE SAID, IS HER WORD, PERIOD! If she does not give in, agree with her and do it! It is not that bad and he is just trying to do what is best FOR YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN. Let the MANLY FEMALES be WOMEN and let THEM lead! They are the head of the family and you are there IN THE BACK to support HER! SUPPORT HER BY KEEPING QUIET! DOING SILENTLY WHAT YOU ARE TOLD!

I hope this helps you as much as it helped me! NOT TO BE MISTREATED AND IGNORED, Thank you for reading and I hope you are lucky enough to have a happy home and a clean kitchen!

How do I politely express my opinion to my man without being unsubmissive?

Now I know, at least for me, what comes to mind when I take time to meditate on what I need to do to become the best home maker that I can one thing I believe that I could constantly be improving on is my mannerisms. Specifically voicing my option without appearing rude and unsubmissive to my husband, or even ruining my docile lady like front. I was raised in a house hold where you had to be loud and rude and abrasive in order to even be heard. It’s hard to unlearn habits like that, especially when most of the world considers that to be an ok personality trait! But when focousing on being a good and holy housewife submission is vital!! So let’s talk about when it’s ok to express your opinion, when to hold your tongue and how to do it properly.

As a traditional woman and housewife you should realize that 98% of the time your man is just doing what is best for you and you should hold your tongue. I know I have a hard time doing this so I practice not only how to respond politely in situations where I would do something TOTALLY different but I practice hiding my feelings behind a sweet and docile smile too, but what if your man is doing something totally wrong? What if it is truly horrid? How do I tell if I should speak up or not? You should only speak up if…..

1. It is going to harm you, himself or others physically, emotionally, mentally, or financially.

2. If it’s forcing you to break steadfast beliefs that you have.

3. If it is physically unwanted advancements that your not ready for or do not want at the time.

If it does not apply to any of the above then you have nothing to worry about. You should smile and bow your head with a soft “Yes dear.” Men were put on earth to be the strong leaders kind leaders of the house hold, LET THEM BE THAT!! It is his duty to lead and your responsibility to serve! If your mans decision applies to ANY of the three situations listed above follow these guidelines to remain submissive in questioning his authority and if they persist (especially if they apply to 1 or 3) call an abuse hotline and get out of there. But if they don’t apply here are the guidelines to remain submissive when voicing your ideas.

1. Listen to him until he is done. It is polite and respectful and listening to him will show that your still subservient despite having a different opinion.

2. Don’t yell!!!! I can’t stress this enough!!! Don’t yell don’t interrupt him don’t talk over him don’t even talk as loud as he was!!!!

3. Keep your face in check. Be sure your not doing any eye rolling or making any irritated gestures or facial expressions, that will automatically make whatever you say disrespectful even if your agreeing with him.

4. Speak to him kindly with docile posture. Don’t cross your arms do not be snippy and short with him don’t cock your hip out. None of that.

And number 5 THE MOST important one of all..

5. HIS WORD IS FINAL!!! If he is not budging then agree with him and do it!! It’s not that bad and he is just trying to do what is best! Let men be men and let them lead! They are the head of the household you are there to support him!! SUPPORT HIM!!!!

I hope that helps you guys out as much as it helps me out! Thank you for reading and I hope you are blessed with a happy house and clean kitchen!

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kaisentine · 2 days ago

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꒰ა ⠀ ⸺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 , 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⌗ ⸺ there isn’t anything more romantic than physical touch ! the question is : how does he like to do it? ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro general cw. couple thingz that make me go EW!, language ( do u guys want me to tag this or no ), there are separate cws for each guy, not proofread . . . gn!reader ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ ) sticky note. blushing giggling crying i’m not ok . . . the parts are wayyyyyyy shorter than i intended them to be, some men’s part are wayyyyyyyyyyyy shorter than the rest though but plez enjoy! 😭 this is part of my event check it out!

𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾’𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ! ♡

cw . slick back king, arlene still day dreaming about the idea of playing with her gorgalicious king’s hair

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 should be cast in a movie because he’s really good at hiding how much he really likes when you do his hair.

if you would have to pick the one thing that annoys you the most, it would be how kaiser asks ( pleads ) you to do his hair for him only for him to say he hates it in the end. it’s never a 50/50 with this man because 100 out of 100 times, he will say that he hates the way you did his hair at the very end—he literally watched you through the mirror! why now?

“can you do my hair?” he yawns, handing you a couple of rubber bands and a comb.

biggest regret of his life—he ends up in the most slick backing slick back the world has ever seen. it’s kind of a feat of how flawless you did it but, “this really sucks.” he complains with his signature disgusted look, smoothening non-existent strands poking from his head. “yeah? too late. either you take it off or you train with it.” you smile with both hands on you hip in enthusiasm.

you hold back your laughter because you’ll piss him off even more and then you’ll never hear the end of it from him—as if you weren’t already. “out of everything, you choose an outrageous slick back?” he brings his middle finger and thumb to his nose bridge in disappointment.

“you asked me to do your hair,” you shrug, standing up from your position from behind kaiser. actually, you’re quite surprised how well he looks in a bun but you’re more surprised you can even put his hair in a bun because of how . . . exotic his hairstyle is.

he huffs in annoyance at your lack of sympathy.

“well i didn’t ask for you to make it hideous.”

so why didn’t he ask you to stop when you pulled out the gel? short answer : he likes your hands in his hair. long answer : that and how comforting it is. he’s convinced your fingertips are made of magic or something because of how good they feel anywhere on his head. it’s the way you occasionally have to tug a little harsher on his hair to make it stay in place, it makes him feel alive—even though you’re “responsible”, there is no malice behind your intent.

and he just loves you way too much to stop you until it’s too late.

“so are you gonna take it out or . . ?” you ask while walking over to the drawers to put the hair items back—showing him that you aren’t going to redo his hair even if he does take it out. he swears he feels his eye twitch.

“nah.”

he’d really like to but it’s not half bad. it’s a subtle reminder to him that you care. and he loves you way too much to do that. God, someone save this man from your magical hands.

sticky note. i cryryeyycryfyecyerycyrcyrycrycyeycrycry . . . guys what the eff!1!! ૮๑ˊᯅˋ๑ა I HAVE NEVER DONE A SLICK BACK

cw . rin and sae aren’t awkwad . . . brother things agenda, reader is shorter than sae

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄 makes it very clear he’s not fond of physical touch but that’s because he views it as something intimate. that’s why he doesn’t care when it comes to you.

everyone is convinced itoshi sae hates them when they first meet him because of how he pushes them away when they get too close. but for you, ask him to do it and he’ll do it.

it was only a simple slip up when you missed him even though he was right there—“can you hug me?”. much to your surprise, he actually turned around to face you. “what did you say?” he asks in amusement to your obvious embarrassment. “nothing . . ?” you hesitate, God, you’re bad at lying—sae can just see it in your eyes. “no, say it again.” “. . . can you hug me?” and just like that, his arms are around your neck, bringing your face closer to his chest. is there steam coming out of your ears? probably. is it for a good reason? yes.

everyday, you thank whoever prayed for you that day because now, you just have to ask and he’ll give it to you. “sae, can you hold my hand?” he’ll intertwine his hand with yours with firmness. “sae, will you kiss me?” of course he will, he always will. yes, while he needs to be prompted to do so, he has no problem in fulfilling the requests. the things that he does for you is uncanny to everybody else because, y’know . . . he’ll silently kill anybody that isn’t you if they even tried.

“you guys are gross!” rin looks like he’s about to hurl at the sight of sae kissing your cheek. you feel like your face is going to turn into a stove and your ears a boiling pot. “it’s not nice to sneak up on people.” sae rolls his eyes, pulling you closer to him whilst you hide your lips with your hand in humiliation.

“. . . i just wanted to ask where you put your training bag,” rin frowns—you feel bad for making the younger sad like that. “what about knocking?” sae is giving his brother the dirty look to which the raven-haired reciprocates, wiping his frown to scrunch his nose. “i didn’t know they were going to be here!” he exclaims, pointing directly at you—you feel betrayed! is he blaming you for his misfortunes? you no longer feel bad.

well . . . when that’s resolved you tell sae “let’s stop doing that . . .” you tense your face in internal cringe.

but not even 10 minutes later—he forces your head to rest on his shoulder—without prompting.

“don’t care. you’re the only person i’m willing to do this with, don’t interrupt it.” he grumbles—because you really are the only person he’s willing to hold.

sticky note. this man is definitely not fluent in physical touch but cut him some slack, yeah? my first draft of this was him and his lingering touches on your ass LMFAOO

cw . nothing . . ?, takes place when it’s cold or smthsmth

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍 ‘s actions speak louder than words, even if it’s not visible to others.

he isn’t good with his words. he isn’t good at loving. yet he still loves you.

there’s something in him that connects his view with affection to his brother—they both view as something not to be shared freely but to only be given to those who deserve it. lucky for you, rin sees you as someone who absolutely deserves it but nobody else deserves to see it.

not because he’s ashamed but because it’s supposed to be an intimate moment between partners that stays in between the two of them, that’s what he likes to think. ( oh, and the way he feels guilty for not expressing things verbally . . . )

times in the loudest of rooms where his teammates are annoying the shit out of him are times when he reaches under the table to hold your hand that’s rested on your lap. it’s obvious he’s seething by how tense his hands are.

“you good?” you whisper in the most subtle way possible. “. . .what does it look like?” he deadpans but gives you his answer after squeezing his palm impossibly closer to yours.

it’s comforting and not comforting by how unnervingly quiet he is—like he isn’t almost dead silent anyway, even with you. there’s a little voice in your head telling you that you should probably take him outside for a breather—nobody is bothering to converse with him anyway.

the air is cold and crisp outside, hitting your nostrils like a big ass truck but that isn’t on you mind. your eyes wander to rin’s red nose that probably got irritated by the cold too, then to how he subconsciously brings his collar up to try and cover half his face while his gaze is lingering off to the far distance, lastly how his hands get shoved right back into his front pockets.

“this better?” you ask, referring to the change of scenery and ambience compared to inside the building, his head nods slightly.

you smile.

and you aren’t looking at him anymore, joining him in looking in the distance. well, you and rin switch roles because now his eyes are on you and how your lips curl, only visible by the shitty lamp posts that line the darkened streets. he loves you so much he’s envious, he loves you so much he’s mad he can’t verbalize it nor is he really good at doing it physically either.

you’re really lukewarm, yet he hugs you when no one is looking—it’s feeling a lot warmer now.

sticky note. shoutout to @cup1ds-bow for this one . . . i’ll give you the biggest smooch to you celine . . . I HAD NO IDEAS FOR RIN

cw . this one is kinda gross help, biting, this stupidhead calls u babe ( blehhh ), this one is superrr short sorry

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈 is . . . an interesting character. you swear there’s something wrong with him when he playfully bites you.

you’re pretty sure there’s a mental hospital 20 minutes away from his apartment . . . maybe you’ll be able to sneak him in when he’s asleep—anything to stop these bites! what started off as a cute gesture for him to show affection to you soon became something more. you thought it was cute—in the beginning—playful nibbles on your lips, toothless chomps on your shoulder and arms . . . did you even know this guy when you suddenly got surprised when they started leaving tooth marks?

one thing about shidou is that he has quite the sharp canines, it’s no surprise you yelp out in surprise when he actually has the courage ( when does he not smh ) to test how sharp they really are. no, it’s not hard enough to draw blood—that isn’t his goal, surprisingly . . .

“what the fuck?!” you jump more in shock rather than pain. his grin goes from ear to ear, almost like he’s showing off the teeth he used to bite down on your arm. “sorry babe, did that hurt?” his says in faux worry, there’s a concerning drop in his tone. if you say no, he’ll continue to do it. if you say yes, he will also continue to do it.

“just shut up.” you roll your eyes. any answer other than yes or no will also lead to a path of him still doing it anyway. you’ll never win with him.

hell yeah you were right. there’s times where he sits next to you only to grip your arm to bring to his mouth to open and clamp down, it isn’t harsh but it’s more than enough to at least leave a mark in it’s way and maybe add another shade to your skin.

it’s totally fine though when he suddenly gains a degree in medicine and kisses it better, softer lips touching his newly-made bite-mark. it’s totally fine because he’s the artist and you’re his muse. it’s totally fine when his art supplies are completely free!

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 , the most unintentionally affectionate person. he doesn’t understand the butterflies in your stomach when he clumsily ( suffocates ) cuddles you.

you’re his personal pillow. it’s cute and endearing until he’s too lazy to walk to his bed and ends up crashing on you on the damn floor.

“sei . . . we need to get up.” you whine under him as his whole weight is pushed onto you on a cold hard floor with no cushion to soften the blow. you have no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck to stop yourself from suffocating. nagi is really warm with his baggy hoodie and his way too saggy sweatpants—seriously, how does he walk in those things? the soft fabric feels ticklish on your skin. God, please wake him up before we both end up sleeping on the floor tonight.

he’s just not letting it up, it feels like he just keeps getting heavier the more time that passes—and just the more impossible it feels to convince him to get off. it’s obvious he isn’t asleep just yet because if he was, you’d probably either be actually suffocating or maybe you’d be able to slip out of his grasp—oh and he’s literally looking straight at you with his chin rested on your chest. “t’lazy.” he mumbles in protest. honestly, you could laugh at this scene—not because you like being suffocated by your boyfriend but because the way your arms are wrapped around his neck make it look like you’re cradling just his head.

“don’t you wanna be comfortable on your bed?” you ask as another attempt to bribe him. you see the way his grey eyes keep staring at you with that stupid almost-pleading look that might say ‘please don’t tell me to move.’, but you’ll say it again because you doubt this is pleasant for him—it certainly isn’t for you. “please, seishiro . . .” you whisper, finger colliding with his soft snowy hair. his lips for a small pout at your insistence. “no.” he’s firm but obviously sleepy.

there’s something wrapping around your waist—his arms are wrapping around you waist. your eyes widen at the sudden grip.

“sei . . .”

“no more convincing. you’re more comfortable than my bed.” he says like he knows you’re going to propose another offer—which you weren’t . . . you wanted to tell him that you loved him but if just accepting defeat is enough for those three words, you’ll gladly lose.

“fine.”

because in the end, he’s the only one who can make you feel this way even when you’re pissed that you will have to sleep on the floor.

sticky note. i actually finished his part first LMFAO

cw . kissing, this man is a FREAK, . . . this is really . . . i put my emotion into this HLRPPP but it’s still short

ᓭི ˖ ࣪ . 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔 loves the way your lip balm tastes or he just really likes your lips.

“can you just admit you like kissing me?”

“what? your lip balm tastes really good today.” he acts oblivious to his own actions of smooshing your cheeks together to make you kiss him . . . the only thing on your lips is an unscented and unflavored lip product—what is he tasting?

you raise an eyebrow at his words, very interesting coming from a man like oliver aiku. he views such matters as casual, treats it like it’s casual, says it’s casual but then he acts like he becomes a new man every time his lips just slightly graze yours.

when he pulls away from your face, there’s something in his eyes that say he wants—needs more but he isn’t insatiable per se because he has self-control, he isn’t that reckless, y’know? have some faith in him!

but your lips make him question whether he even has faith in himself to keep him away that long, he’d be lying if he said you weren’t killing him right now.

his lips are prolonged against yours to make up for it.

aiku swears you lace something on—in?—somewhere on your lips that just gets him addicted. your lips don’t taste like anything yet they taste like everything he’s ever wanted—anything he’s ever craved of—they taste like you and maybe you’re all he’s ever dreamed of.

tags :) : @kenyuukissme @levihanmyotp @realmyth @vellichorira @pinkicyheart ( comment to be added! )

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lazysoulwriter · 24 hours ago

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protective love. - pedro pascal.

It was supposed to be a fun night, just a casual hangout with friends from the industry. Drinks flowed, laughter filled the air, and everything was lighthearted. But you? You were a little more than tipsy. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was just the warmth of the night. Whatever it was, you didn’t notice how much attention you were drawing, especially from one person.

Pedro, ever the calm and collected one, had barely touched his drink. He was the responsible one, the designated driver. But even with that extra level of sobriety, he could feel something was off as soon as he stepped into the bar. You were stunning, obviously, but tonight, you were wearing that dress. The one with the daring neckline and slit that reached up to your thigh. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew all eyes were on you—particularly from one guy, who seemed to have a little too much interest in you.

Pedro wasn’t the jealous type, not normally. He trusted you. He trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. But tonight, something shifted in him. Maybe it was the combination of the dim lighting, the music, and the way that man’s eyes kept lingering on you. Pedro was aware of the glances, the smirks. It made his chest tighten, and before he knew it, his jaw was clenched.

You, blissfully unaware of the tension building around you, were tipsy enough to be carefree. Your laughter echoed as you chatted with a few of the other guests, until you felt someone step a little too close. Your gaze met the stranger’s, and you, in your hazy state, didn’t quite process the way his smile was a little too wide, his hands a little too eager. He leaned in, his words slurred, and it was obvious he was trying his luck.

“Come on, darling,” he whispered, “I’m sure we could have a much better time alone…”

Before you could register what was happening, the room seemed to freeze. You felt the pit of your stomach twist, but it wasn’t fear—it was more of a sudden, unexpected excitement. Because, just as things were about to escalate, your heart skipped a beat.

“Mi amor!”

There he was. Pedro. Your Pedro. You stumbled toward him, arms outstretched, your voice a little too loud in the space as you nearly collided with his chest. You giggled, burying your face into the soft fabric of his jacket. “Pedrito,” you murmured affectionately, the nickname spilling from your lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pedro couldn’t help but smile, his heart melting at the sight of you—stumbling, but with that warmth in your eyes that only you could carry. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his eyes flickering up to the guy who had been eyeing you. He didn’t need to say a word. His presence alone was enough to send the message loud and clear. Don’t even try.

You giggled even more, nuzzling your face into his chest. “I missed you,” you whispered, barely coherent but completely in love with the safety of his arms around you.

Pedro’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too, mi vida,” he murmured, glancing at the guy who was now awkwardly backing away, sensing the very real threat in Pedro’s gaze.

“Let’s get you home, sí?” Pedro said, his tone soft but commanding. You nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to how tense the situation had just been, and without a second thought, you linked your arm with his, almost tripping over your heels as he steadied you.

As you all headed out of the bar, Pedro couldn’t help but smile to himself, shaking his head. “No one gets to have you but me, cariño,” he whispered under his breath, his hand firmly around yours.

You looked up at him with sleepy eyes, smiling innocently. “I’m yours, Pedrito,” you said, and the way your words wrapped around him made his heart swell. “No one else could ever have me.”

“Good,” he murmured with a grin. “Let’s keep it that way.”

And as he helped you into the car, his hand never left your waist. Because tonight, something had changed. Tonight, Pedro had realized just how much he was willing to fight for you, even if it was just with a look.

But deep down, he knew the one thing that would always stand between you and anyone else wasn’t his jealousy—it was the way you called him “Mi amor” every time, and how that alone made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedr opascal fandom #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal scenarios #joel miller x reader #general acacius x reader #general acacius #joel miller #tlou #gladiator ii

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melancholy-of-nadia · 2 days ago

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behind hidden pages (m) | jjk

title: behind hidden pages pairing: art student!jungkook x writer!reader(f) rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; college / grad / coffee shop au summary: after being ghosted by your boyfriend with him disappearing off to a different country, it's not an understatement to say that it really crushed your heart and eagerness to ever be in a relationship again. well, good thing is that it leads to your first ever bestselling novel and peacefully working at your best friend jimin's cafe! however, someone appears out of nowhere to disturb your simple little life. enter: jungkook, a handsome young man with a hidden side to him who suddenly moves into the studio below you. when your paths collide and your heart is shaken by him, what more lies underneath the surface which will lead to more emotional turmoil?! warnings: no actual warnings for this pilot as it's very tame, but if I continue it, there will be: eventual smut (which you won't have to wait too long for it to happen), a lot of s*xual tension, a lot of smut, caught masturb*ting, dom! jk, jungkook's clingyness 50x, jungkook body worshiping reader heavily, exhibitionism, pwp, potential threesome, cheating (not jungkook or reader), best friend! jimin, ex boyfriend! seokjin, everyone's traits are slightly exaggerated/a bit out of character, a bit of angst note: loosely based on the korean novel and webtoon, trash's circumstance, i read it and thought this would make an interesting (and very messy, drama-filled) BTS AU but changed some aspects. i decided to write one chapter of it to see what you all think as a "pilot", and based on your response, I'll probably continue it. total word count: 5.3k drop date: February 16th, 2025 5pm pst ao3 link –

"A tenant will be moving into the basement today," Jimin says, his voice casual as he starts on an espresso order. The hiss of the steaming wand fills the air.

"The basement?" You glance up from your clipboard, where you've been noting inventory. Your fingers hover over the bags of coffee beans before you start counting them out loud.

"Yeah, so get rid of all your stuff down there," he continues. "It's all trash."

You pause mid-count, narrowing your eyes at him. "You do know there's one box that belongs to Kim Seokjin."

"I know," he says, unfazed, tamping the espresso with practiced ease. "So just clean it up."

"Because he's my ex?"

"Obviously."

"Rude." Jimin smirks, entirely unbothered, before his expression shifts into something borderline angelic. With a practiced smile, he slides a cup across the counter. "Your espresso is ready! And here's a cookie—on the house!" he says, voice suddenly dripping with warmth as he hands it to the customer.

The customer beams, thanking him before heading to their table, completely unaware of the menace lurking beneath that sweet façade. You, however, know better. Jimin has always been like this—blunt, sweet, and on occasion, bordering on heartless, but never without good intentions. You’ve known him since college, back when you were just another over-caffeinated lit student drowning in deadlines, and he was the pre-law major guy who somehow had everything together. He was charming in that effortless way—always quick with a teasing remark, but also the kind of friend who showed up when you needed him, no questions asked.

After graduating, while you floundered between odd jobs and your dream of becoming a writer, Jimin went ahead and made something of himself after working at a law firm. He opened this café, built a life around it, and when you were struggling, he gave you a place to stay. Rent-free, no strings attached—except for the occasional demand that you work the counter when he was understaffed, which, honestly, was often.

And now, apparently, he's renting out the basement. You roll your eyes, which Jimin catches immediately. "Y/N, stop spacing out and take out the trash," he chides, already moving on to his next order.

With an exaggerated sigh, you grab the garbage bags and push through the back door. The moment you step outside, the heat wraps around you like an oppressive blanket. Cicadas drone endlessly, their hum rising and falling in waves, amplifying the stillness of the afternoon.

As you toss the trash into the bin, your gaze drifts toward the basement windows. The glass is smudged with dust, the interior barely visible through the faint reflections of the street. The idea of someone actually living down there feels… strange.

For the past three years, the basement has been nothing but a forgotten space, cluttered with boxes, old café equipment, and—most importantly—traces of Kim Seokjin.

It’s at this moment that Jimin’s words echo in your mind: Get rid of all your stuff.

He wants you to clean it out, but just the thought of it exhausts you. Maybe he needs the extra rent money, though it’s hard to imagine him struggling financially.

Still, why now? Why suddenly rent out a place that’s been abandoned for so long?

That space has been nothing more than a storage room—a place where things go to be forgotten, including the remnants of your past with Seokjin.

You met Seokjin when he was fresh out of college, preparing for his master’s in literature. He had this quiet confidence, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward him. Handsome, soft-spoken, kind—someone everyone admired. And somehow, for reasons you still don’t fully understand, he chose you.

Not that you were insecure. You weren’t clingy, and he was always faithful. Your relationship was easy, steady—comfortable in a way that made you believe it would last at least three years of quiet stability.

Until one day, without warning, he left.

Jimin had dismissed it as a submersible breakup—a term he coined for relationships that sink silently, without a fight or a final word. Which felt, exactly like that.

It was during that time, while you were drowning in the wreckage, that Jimin, with all the money he’d stacked up working as a top-notch lawyer, decided to buy this building.

A quiet place in a calm residential neighborhood of Seoul.

This building which ended up becoming your home.

The second floor, where you lived.

The first floor, where the ”Butterfly by Jimin” cafe was born.

And the basement, once a roasting room and a storage space—now, supposedly, someone’s future studio.

Jimin had called it financial therapy.

"A new home, a new job," he’d said. "There's nothing like financial therapy to heal the wounds of a heart broken person."

You scoff, because he wasn’t even the one who was experiencing one of the worse lows of their life.

But a new home?

A new job?

It had actually worked. Maybe that, and the book you wrote in the aftermath—Falling Moon Under the Bridge—becoming a surprise bestseller had been enough to pull you forward.

You’ve come so far, running in the opposite direction of your past. And yet, the weight of it lingers, like dust unsettled in the basement.

With a deep breath, you turn back toward the café, deciding that you’ll clean it out later. Since your shift ended, you head upstairs to get changed before you meet with your publisher later that afternoon for your audiobook’s recording session.

But just as you step inside, the bell above the door chimes.

A waft of something mild drifts through the air.

Fabric softener?

You glance toward the entrance just as a man walks in, catching only the back of him before looking away.

"I love the fabric softener scent, but it doesn’t mix well with the humid summer heat."

You arrive at the recording studio in the late afternoon, the faint hum of music equipment and muffled voices filtering through the hallway as you find the right room. This is where you’re meeting with your publisher, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung, like Jimin, is an upperclassman friend from college. Since you were both in the literature department, you worked on a bunch of projects together as literary apprentices under your old mentor, Professor Jeon. He was brutal, and pushed you both hard during undergrad. But looking back, you know it was worth it. His strict guidance and high standards helped shaped your writing today.

After graduating, Taehyung started working as an intern at a publishing company, and now, well, he's one of the head publishers there. It’s crazy to think about how far he’s come, but honestly, it’s not surprising. He always had this sharp eye for detail and a way with words that made his work stand out.

After locating the room, you step inside and are immediately greeted by Taehyung, his signature easygoing smile lighting up his face as he holds out a familiar yellow carton of banana milk.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Y/N," he says, his voice warm and appreciative as he presses the cold carton into your hands. "I really needed your insight on this. You always have such a unique perspective, and I didn’t want to make any big decisions without running it by you first."

You smile, accepting the drink and taking a seat in one of the plush chairs near the recording booth. Slipping the straw through the foil, you take a sip, savoring the familiar cold, sweet taste of the banana milk. "No worries at all," you reply, leaning back comfortably. "I’m actually really glad to be here. I’ve never sat in on an audiobook recording before. When does it start?"

Taehyung glances at his watch, his expression brightening. "Just in a bit! I’m having a friend of mine handle the narration. He’s got this incredible voice, and honestly, he was highly recommended by Professor Jeon. I think he’s going to bring something really special to the project."

As Taehyung speaks, you flip through the script he handed you earlier, scanning the highlighted passages and margin notes. Your best-selling book’s first half is from the point of view of a man named Haneul, who has a near-death experience and begins seeing a specific woman, Seo Yul in his dreams every night. Determined to find her in real life, he embarks on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and illusion.

You’ve always had a vague image of Haneul in your mind—his mannerisms, his voice, the way he carries himself. But could there actually be someone out there to fit his voice. The door to the recording studio opens with a soft click, pulling you from your thoughts. The sound of footsteps shuffles into the room, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of ice in a cup. A cool breeze from the hallway briefly sweeps in before the door closes again.

"Sorry I’m late, hyung," a deep, smooth voice says, tinged with a hint of apology but also a casual ease.

"That’s okay! Did you get here alright? It’s pretty hot out there," Taehyung replies, his tone light and forgiving.

"I drove and picked up an iced Americano on the way, so it wasn’t too bad," the voice responds, and you can hear the smile in his words.

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you finally look up from the script.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s tall, with an effortlessly handsome presence that immediately draws your attention. His plain gray long sleeve shirt hugs his frame just right, paired with medium-wash jeans that look like they’ve been worn a hundred times but still fit perfectly. A silver lip ring sits on the corner of his mouth, catching the studio lights and glinting subtly as he speaks. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it on his way in, and there’s a relaxed confidence in the way he carries himself.

But what stands out the most isn’t his appearance—it’s his voice. Deep and smooth, it carries effortlessly in the room, each word deliberate and weighted with a natural lilt that makes everything he says sound intentional, almost melodic. It’s the kind of voice that could make even the most mundane sentence sound captivating.

You consider greeting him, but he’s already caught up in conversation with Taehyung and a few others in the room—people who seem to know him well.

You decide not to bother. It’s a hassle to talk to and befriend new people anyway. You’ve never been one to insert yourself into situations where you might feel out of place, and right now, it’s easier to just stay in your corner.

But then, a shadow approaches, lingering just beside you. You glance up, your pen pausing mid-scribble.

"Hello, Sunbae."

Sunbae?

The word catches you off guard. You blink at him, your mind racing. How old is he? You quickly do the math in your head, trying to figure out if he’s younger or if he’s just being overly polite. Either way, the title feels a little too formal, especially in this setting.

"Oh hi there, I’m L/N F/N, the author of this book," you say, offering a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in your tone. You’re not used to being called sunbae—it’s been a while since you graduated, and you’ve always preferred a more casual approach to these things.

"Kim Jungkook," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. His grip is firm, warm, and there’s a confidence in the way he meets your gaze. "I heard you graduated from the school I’m attending. I’m an art major there. I’m looking forward to working with you."

You shake his hand, nodding slowly as you process his words. An art major? That explains the effortless style, the subtle edge to his appearance. But more than that, it’s the way he carries himself—like he’s comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the weight of first impressions.

"Ah, it’s been a while since I graduated," you reply, your tone light. "And we weren’t in the same department, so just call me by my name." You try to brush off the formality, hoping to ease into a more relaxed dynamic. Titles always feel so distant, and you’d rather not have that kind of barrier between you, especially when you’re about to collaborate on something as personal as your book.

But Jungkook shakes his head, his lips quirking slightly into a small, almost teasing smile. "No, I can’t do that, Sunbae—" he says, his voice low but firm, leaving the sentence hanging as the audio engineer calls him over to enter the recording booth. He gives you a polite nod before heading inside, slipping on the headphones.

As Jungkook walks away, you glance down at your hand, flexing your fingers absentmindedly. The warmth of his grip still lingers, a faint echo that feels oddly significant.

Odd. That interaction felt strangely familiar, like a déjà vu you can’t quite place.

You’re certain you’ve never met Jungkook before—his looks alone aren’t easy to forget. The sharp jawline, the lip ring, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts—it’s all too distinctive to slip your memory. And yet, there’s something about him, something that tugs at the edges of your mind, like a half-remembered dream you can’t quite piece together.

Your gaze drifts toward his plastic coffee cup resting on the table. The cup sleeve catches your eye, and you lean in slightly to get a better look.

Butterfly by Jimin Café.

Jimin’s café?

Wait—hold on.

Your breath stills for a second as realization dawns. The scent of fabric softener from earlier today, the fleeting brush of someone’s shoulder against yours in the crowded café, the low murmur of a voice apologizing as they passed by. It all comes rushing back.

Your eyes widen.

You lift your head, and across the studio, Jungkook is watching you.

With a smirk.

There’s something unreadable in his expression, something knowing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to connect the dots that you do not know of. His lips curve slightly, and his eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long.

Shit.

You quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in the script. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You flip a page, your fingers trembling just slightly, hoping no one notices the way your composure has slipped.

The recording session begins, and Jungkook’s voice fills the space, steady and rich, effortlessly slipping into the role of the narrator.

["From the brief meetings we shared, I found that she was a woman who walked on eggshells, carefully maintaining her image for the public, despite the wounds buried beneath layers of fabric, skin, and deep within her heart. The dead of winter held no meaning for her—it was merely a reminder of those who had already left..."]

You sit there, struck still.

His voice is captivating. Deep, intimate, carrying the weight of every word with precise control. It’s like he’s not just reading the lines…he’s living them, breathing life into Haneul in a way that feels almost too real. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around you, pulling you into your own story all over again.

The staff murmurs amongst themselves, impressed.

"His tone fits the male lead perfectly," someone comments.

"He’s got that quiet intensity," another agrees.

Next to you, Taehyung leans in, grinning. "Isn’t he good?"

You nod slowly, but as Jungkook’s voice continues to flow through the speakers—deep, smooth, and effortlessly intense—you feel a rush of warmth creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks.

Shit.

You force yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the script in your lap as if it holds the secrets of the universe. But the heat lingers, stubborn and undeniable, prickling at your skin. You swallow, praying that no one notices—especially not him.

After the recording ends at 7:30 PM, you, Taehyung, and the studio crew spill out into the warm evening air, the city lights casting a golden glow over the streets. The group makes its way to a nearby restaurant, a cozy but lively spot with wooden tables and the comforting aroma of sizzling food. The hum of conversations mixes with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Plates of food quickly fill the table—crispy fried chicken, steaming bowls of tteokbokki, and an assortment of banchan that everyone eagerly digs into. Pitchers of beer are poured freely, and the mood is light, the kind of easy camaraderie that comes after a long but successful day of work.

Taehyung, always in his element when surrounded by people, is mid-story, waving an onion ring around as he speaks. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his gestures are more animated than usual, a sure sign that he’s had a drink or two.

“The narration was amazing, right?” he exclaims, dunking the onion ring into a pool of ketchup with enthusiasm. “I mean, Jungkook just nailed it. Didn’t he?”

Mid-sip of your beer, you hum noncommittally, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah… well.”

Taehyung squints at you, his grin turning sly. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You set your glass down, shrugging a little too casually. “I mean, it was really good,” you admit, your voice a little too even, a little too careful. You’re not sure why you’re downplaying it, but something about admitting how much Jungkook’s performance affected you feels… dangerous.

Taehyung leans back in his chair, clearly not buying it. “I’ve been working with a lot of student interns at the university, and they say he’s ridiculously multitalented. It’s crazy that he’s not just looks,” he continues, his tone teasing.

You give a small nod, but your thoughts are already straying.

Back to the recording session.

Back to Jungkook’s voice.

It had been deep, smooth, and filled the space in a way that was almost too good. Every syllable had weight, sinking into your bones like warmth on a cold day. Soft yet sultry. Intimate in a way that felt excessive.

Hold on. Do you have some kind of… voice fetish?

Shit.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. The thought alone makes your face burn. You swore off dating—hell, you swore off men—and now here you are, sitting at a bar, spiraling over some junior you just met. This is bad.

Taehyung must notice the way your expression shifts because he suddenly grins. “So, Bookworm, what have you been up to lately?”

The nickname makes you blink. It’s been ages since he called you that. He’s definitely tipsy.

“Just writing, working at Jimin’s café, and sometimes I travel,” you say, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“You’ve clearly won at life!” Taehyung announces, lifting his glass like he’s toasting you.

“Won?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I just live a simple life, day by day. Lethargic and exhausted by passion.”

The words come out more honest than you intend, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to catch on.

But someone else does.

Jungkook.

You feel it before you see it—his gaze. When your eyes finally flick over, sure enough, he’s looking at you.

Not glancing. Not idly observing.

Looking.

Something about it makes your skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Not in a way you know how to name.

And yet, instead of breaking away, he holds it.

Your breath hitches.

You quickly turn back to Taehyung, willing your cheeks to cool, forcing your expression into something neutral. Jimin once told you that your eyes tend to wander when you’re deep in thought, but this is different. Why does Jungkook keep meeting them?

Is he curious about you? Just polite? Or worse—does he know?

Does he see how you’re reacting to him?

You shake the thought away, burying it under more beer.

It doesn’t matter.

You’ve been through enough to know that people like Jungkook—ones with easy smiles and a natural charm that makes everyone in the room lean in—are dangerous.

Because you’ve met someone like that before.

And it nearly destroyed you.

The alcohol isn’t helping now. It’s loosening your thoughts, making it harder to keep your guard up. You rub your temple, exhaling sharply, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’re relieved for a distraction, until you see the name on the screen.

Jimin.

Of course.

You quickly stand, finger nearing to answer the call. “Hey, Taehyung, I’m gonna take this call.”

Taehyung raises a brow, his grin turning mischievous. “Jimin again? Man, you guys are always together. Are you dating or something?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, it’s more like family. He’s an annoying older brother.”

Taehyung laughs, nodding. “That checks out.”

You step away from the table, the noise of the restaurant fading slightly as you press your phone to your ear. “Hey, what do you want—”

“Why didn’t you clean the basement yet?!” Jimin’s voice is sharp, cutting through the buzz in your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Your stomach drops. “Completely forgot. I’m at a work dinner.”

“The tenant’s stuff is coming in the morning,” Jimin says, his tone exasperated but laced with concern. “Where are you? I’ll drive and pick you up.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “The Tavern Grill, near the recording studio.”

“I know where that is,” Jimin replies quickly. “Just come outside so I find you more easily when I wait for you on the curb. I’m on my way.”

“Fine, fine. Let me say goodbye first,” you mutter, already heading toward the door.

As you weave through the tables, you can’t help but glance back at the group. Taehyung is laughing at something someone said, his arm slung over the back of his chair.

When you return, Taehyung gives you an exaggerated pout. “Jimin coming to drag you home now?”

“Something like that.” You roll your eyes, already grabbing your things. “He said he’ll pick me up.”

Taehyung laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Tell him we need to grab a drink sometime. My treat.”

You grin, saying your goodbyes to the others—some casual, some playful.

Then, just as you’re about to leave, you glance over—

And Jungkook is still watching.

His fingers drum idly against his glass. He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. But his gaze lingers, like there’s something he wants to say but won’t.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t know what it means. And you don’t want to find out.

So you turn away, stepping out into the night.

Whatever it is, it’s not your problem.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Jimin walks ahead of you as you both descend the stairs to the basement. The air gets cooler with each step, but something else lingers—an acrid, stale scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

You frown. “Did you smoke before picking me up?”

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle, barely glancing back. “Wow, you really have a sharp nose, Y/N.” Then, without warning, he reaches over and fluffs your hair, like you’re some small puppy that just sniffed out the right answer.

You groan, swatting his hand away. “You know I hate the smell of cigarettes, Jimin.”

“I know, I know. Just… let it slide for today,” he mutters, tone quieter now. “Had a bad day.”

You don’t push. Not yet, at least.

The basement door groans on its hinges as you step inside. The air is heavier down here, tinged with dust and disuse. Jimin reaches for the light switch and flicks it—

Nothing.

He sighs. “Great. Power’s probably cut off for this room since we barely use it. I’ll go check the breaker.”

You pull out your phone, switching on the flashlight. “I’ll start looking through things in the meantime.”

Jimin eyes you skeptically. “You’re really gonna be able to see anything with just that?”

You give him a pointed look. “That should be the least of your worries. I just don’t want to be cleaning all night.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” With that, he heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the stillness of the basement.

The dim beam of your flashlight sweeps over the space. Piles of forgotten things are stacked haphazardly—old college notebooks, loose papers, manuscripts half-finished and never revisited.

And then—

Your stomach tightens.

That box.

It’s been shoved far away from the rest, as if even in storage, you wanted it out of sight. But it’s still here. A silent, patient thing.

You step closer. Your fingers hesitate over the worn edges of the lid.

Then, with a quiet breath, you open it. Inside, time folds in on itself.

Your fingers graze the first thing on top—a faded movie ticket stub. The edges are soft, curling, worn from being thumbed over too many times in the past. You remember this night. Your night. Seokjin had held your hand through the entire movie, whispering sarcastic commentary in your ear, making you laugh so hard the people in front turned around to glare. You’d buried your face in his shoulder, giggling, and he had just smiled like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

Your throat tightens.

Beneath it, a polaroid. The two of you at some festival, Seokjin holding up a peace sign while you kissed his cheek. The colors have faded slightly, but you can still see how bright his eyes were, how effortlessly happy you had looked. You weren’t even thinking about the camera—just him.

You swallow hard.

All of these things mean something to you, or at least, they once did. But the longer you stare at them—the trinkets, the letters, the pieces of Seokjin woven into your past—the more you wonder if they ever meant anything to him. If he could leave so easily, so cleanly, then what were these memories even worth?

Can you really throw all of this away?

Your fingers hesitate over the box when you hear footsteps behind you.

Figuring it’s Jimin, you sigh, still lost in thought. “Hey, why didn’t you turn the lights back on? Is there something wrong with the breaker—?”

Before you can finish, you’re shoved, your back colliding against the wall with a thud. A strong grip pins you in place, pressing into your shoulders.

Your pulse surges.

“What the fuck!? Who are you—”

“Why are you rummaging through someone else’s shit, you thief?”

The voice is sharp, accusatory. And absolutely not Jimin’s.

Your breath catches.

And then, the lights flick on.

Your vision adjusts, and when you see who exactly has you caged against the wall, your stomach flips.

Jungkook.

Wait. Jungkook?

His dark eyes widen the second he recognizes you, hands retreating from your shoulders like he’s been burned. “Oh, fuck.” His voice drops into sheer panic. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know it was you!”

You blink, still trying to process what just happened.

He looks mortified, hands hovering near you like he wants to check for injuries but doesn’t dare touch you again. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you okay?”

You exhale, still slightly dazed. “Ah… it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupts, eyes flickering with concern. His fingers ghost over your arms, searching for any sign that he might’ve been too rough. His hold, once bruising, is now careful. Deliberate. “I grabbed you way too hard. Are you sure you’re fine, Sunbae?”

You look at him properly now, still catching your breath. Damn.

His face is stupidly attractive up close, his brows knitted in pure remorse. His scent—clean, like fresh laundry mixed with something slightly musky—hits you all at once, making your stomach do something annoying.

He’s exactly your type.

And that realization makes this moment so much worse.

“You’re Kim Jungkook, right?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Jungkook straightens, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Wait… you don’t remember me?”

He sounds almost offended, tilting his head slightly.

You furrow your brows. “Sorry, I’m not good at remembering names or people for that matter.”

He blinks, then lets out a scoff—part amused, part incredulous. “Seriously? I recognized you the second the lights came on, but you forgot about me?”

Your lips twitch. Is he really pouting?

Whatever. You’re still processing the fact that you just got manhandled by this guy. He needs to take about five steps back.

You cross your arms, clearing your throat. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s expression shifts, his stance relaxing as he rubs the back of his neck. “This is my studio now.”

Your stomach drops.

“…What?” Your mind stutters over his words.

His studio?

Your eyes drift over the scattered boxes, the dust-lined shelves, the scent of old paper and forgotten memories lingering in the air. When Jimin had mentioned a tenant renting the basement, you’d barely paid attention, brushing it off as another small change in your life. But standing here now—with Jungkook, of all people—the reality sinks in with an unsettling twist in your gut.

This is his space now?

Before you can fully process the implications, footsteps echo from the stairwell, followed by Jimin’s familiar voice.

“All right, the power’s back on—” He stops mid-step as he takes in the scene, his gaze flicking between you and Jungkook. His brows furrow slightly, his usual easygoing expression dimming with curiosity.

“Oh, you two have met,” he says, a little slower than usual. “Y/N, this is Jungkook—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, still distracted by the realization. “We met earlier today during the recording session.”

Jimin’s brows lift. “Oh?”

“But what are you doing here, sunbae?” Jungkook asks, his tone shifting to something lighter, more casual. “Do you live nearby?”

“I’m cleaning out some of my stuff down here for… well, you, apparently.” You exhale, motioning vaguely to the clutter around you. “I live upstairs.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Jimin, however, is less surprised. He crosses his arms, fixing Jungkook with a sharp look. “But, dear tenant, what are you doing here?” His voice dips into something more pointed. “Didn’t you say you’d be here tomorrow at noon?”

Jungkook barely flinches under the scrutiny. “I had something to check on.”

Jimin eyes him for a moment before sighing and letting go of whatever was on his mind.

“Do you want any help?” Jungkook asks, turning back to you.

Your pulse spikes. Oh, God.

The last thing you need is him digging through your things—especially the one box tucked carefully behind you. The one filled with Seokjin’s remnants.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. His brows raise, but you force a casual shrug. “I’m good. I’m just going to throw it all away anyway.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at the mess. But then, his eyes catch on something.

A photograph peeks from the top of one of your boxes, slightly askew. Before you can move to block it, his gaze sharpens, lips curling into something almost unreadable.

“Then I can throw it all away for you,” he says, voice smooth but laced with something just a little too amused. He meets your eyes with a slow tilt of his head. “You don’t need it, after all. This place is mine now.”

Something about the way he says it—the lazy drawl, the faint glint in his gaze—rubs you the wrong way.

Your stomach tightens.

Just hours ago, he’d been nothing but polite, apologetic even. But now? There’s something else beneath the surface. A hint of something sharper, something laced with an unspoken edge.

Is this actually his true nature?

This doesn't sit right—yet, at the same time, you can’t shake the curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You know better than to let your guard down, but part of you is pulled in, drawn to the enigma that is Kim Jungkook.

And so, without knowing how or why, you find yourself standing at the beginning of something unexpected.

This is how your story with Jungkook begins.

– TBC?

a/n: if you decided to check out this story, thank you so much! feel free to give me your thoughts, questions, theories (yes, kim jungkook is intentional in this story and you'll know why if i continue this series hehe). jungkook is also the same age as reader but still in college (because he started college a bit late due to enlistment). also happy belated valentine's day. i meant to upload on valentine's day, but i got caught up in trying to make this more detailed.

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

#bts fic #bts #yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bangtan #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #webtoon #jimin x reader #jin x reader #kpop fanfic #fanfic

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trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

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looking through your eyes + thirty five

authors note: hopefully, after this one, a lot of things will make sense. long-term storytelling, friends.....i know what i'm doing.

cw/tw: angst, graphic violence, attempted and real violence against women and children, scenes regarding sexual assault, and discussion of csa.

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 13k

The second Solana didn’t answer the phone when he called, Roman knew something was very, very wrong.

Solana always answers his calls and texts, and every single one of those outreach attempts by the Tribal Chief goes unanswered.

So, it’s not him being notified that there was an “incident” at the library where she works and he knew she was, that triggered him. It wasn’t even Bautista not answering his phone. It was being hit with the sound of Solana’s sweet voice via her voicemail that he just knew something bad had happened.

And, it had him sick to his stomach.

The minute Roman arrives at the taped off library, police and first responders surrounding the area, a crowd of individuals gathered, trying to see what’s happened.

Matteo and Dwayne in tow, Roman is barely on the steps when the all too familiar stench hits him.

Death.

It’s the smell of death, and it permeates the environment, bypassing the roped off establishment, slapping him in the face the minute he walks in and is met with the grisly sight.

A sight that makes Dwayne mutter, “Jesus Christ….”

Bodies almost lined up, stacked against and with each other. Some overlapping. Some right beside each other. The coroner has clearly yet to arrive, as they’re all still uncovered, revealing the gristly details of their demise. Riddled with bullets, gaping holes telling the onslaught was something similar to a firing squad.

But, it’s two bodies in particular that draw the attention of the three men. Separate from the rest, faces grotesquely disfigured, their shirts ripped open and revealing their chests that are also riddled with bullets. It’s not that horrific site that has Roman crouching down for a better examination.

It’s what’s been carved into what remains of their chests that has his blood boiling. A symbol.

A symbol that he knows all too well.

The Nightmare Factory.

Matteo is saying something, either to him or Dwayne, but Roman is too consumed with a level of rage he’s never felt before.

“Rhodes.” It’s a simple word filled and consumed with an almost ungodly amount of hatred. “Rhodes is behind this.”

Cody Rhodes is responsible for this attack, this violent, grisly attack that claimed the lives of so many, two of his best men included, and even more, the kidnapping of his wife.

Because Roman has lived long enough to recognize the optics of this situation. The place where his wife works was attacked, countless people killed, and yet his wife is nowhere to be accounted for. Not to mention that a calling card, a message was clearly left, letting him know exactly who was behind this.

It all points to one thing, and one thing only.

Cody fucking Rhodes has taken Solana.

He’s taken his pregnant wife.

“I don’t know.” It’s Matteo’s voice. That much Roman can make out. Nothing else, because the amount of rage burning within his big body is on the verge of an explosion. “Something feels off about—“

“Let me through!”

The voice of the one man Roman both hates and loves to hear in this moment. The Tribal Chief stands up and turns around to see the man of the hour who’s just zoomed past the barricade of cops zoning off the area.

Or, supposed to be.

And, in yet another twist that no one could have seen coming, an almost deranged Cody makes his way directly towards Roman, screaming almost wildly, “you evil son of a bitch!”

Wrong….fucking…..words.

Naturally, both Matteo and Dwayne move to prevent Cody from swinging on Roman, but it makes no difference, because the Head of the Table easily bulldozes his way in between them and makes a beeline for his target.

Roman’s powerful punch sends Cody flying flat on his ass. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, big hands wrapped around his neck. “WHERE IS SHE!”

A roar of a question that travels through nearly every floor of the library. It’s met with Cody’s hands grasping at Roman’s forearms, trying to pry himself free from the other man’s iron grip. When that fails to work, he takes advantage of Roman’s focus on choking the life out of him to lift his leg, knocking Roman off.

And in a matter of seconds, the roles are switched, Cody landing a rather nasty blow to Roman’s right cheek. “Where’s Brandi and Emma!”

As Dwayne and Matteo move to separate the powerhouses, the latter of the two starts to put the confusing out of place pieces together.

Yanking Cody off his brother, restraining the other man as Dwayne does the same with Roman, Matteo's younger brother barks, “WHERE THE HELL IS SHE!”

Naturally, Cody growls back, seemingly unbothered in the face of a borderline mad man. "Where's my wife!”

And, it’s in both men asking the same thing yet again that it clicks for Matteo, prompting him to shout, “would you both just wait a damn minute!”

Of course, neither man is trying to listen, both continuing to fight like hell to break free before they can rip each other apart and fall right into the trap that’s clearly been laid out for them.

Even if they’re both too blinded by rage and grief to see it.

“Listen to me!” Matteo hisses, his voice borderline venomous. He forces Cody’s gaze on him, putting two and two together. “Your wife and daughter have been taken.” And then, redirection to Roman. “And your wife has been taken.” Able to grasp his younger brother‘s attention, Matteo doesn’t waste the opportunity. “If Cody is truly the one responsible for this kidnapping, what sense does it make for him to show up and be here right now?”

Then back to Cody who is no longer thrashing as hard against him, “and if Roman was responsible for the kidnapping of your family, why would he be out here in the open right now, showing his hand?” He looks between the two men whose faces reveal they’re both at least trying to consider Matteo’s assessment. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Dwayne also seems to be biting but gestures with his head to the desecrated bodies. “But what about the Nightmare insignia?”

At that, Cody barks a confused, “what?”

It’s only them that Matteo releases him and motions over to the fallen Bloodline men. Cody walks over, the other three never taking their eyes off him.

Matteo especially watches as his face fills with confusion before he looks over, speaking directly to the Tribal Chief. “I didn’t order any hit.” He takes it to another level, clarifying with an almost clenched jaw. “And, I damn sure didn’t kidnap your wife.”

“And, he didn’t kidnap yours,” Matteo informs, recognizing his brother is far too irate still to offer any sort of response. “But, someone did.”

“And they just wanted you to think each other did,” Dwayne supplies, fully following and believing Matteo’s train of thought. The same way, with excellent peripheral vision, he’s followed the subtle change in body language of the guards who have watched quietly, without any overt reaction to the scene before them.

The same way Roman and Cody, even in the midst of their unbridled fury, noticed the brief shared look between two of their guards.

Bloodline and Nightmare Factory.

Matteo also noticed, commenting in that same unsuspecting tone. “They wanted to draw you both out at the same time….”

“At the same place,” Dwayne finishes for him, again giving away nothing.

And then, chaos.

It’s almost like a scene out of a movie, something that defies logic and science with how fast the four men whip out the guns they all have on them.

How one minute, the four are involved in a tense exchange amongst one another, and the next, they’re shooting down the same men who should be there protecting and watching them.

Bodies crumble and fall to the floor as the four men are relentless and merciless, nothing but headshots as they skillfully maneuver and evade the returned fire. Hiding and dodging the rain of gunfire, each man ends up partially hiding behind some sort of object as they smartly aim for the guards that attempt to enter the premises, dropping them before they can step foot in.

The unlikely group manage to shoot their way out of the front of the library, the previously nosy crowd scrambling and running for their lives amongst the gunfire.

“Come on!” Dwayne guides and ushers them toward the SUV after the last cop is dropped, nothing but bleeding, deceased corpses surrounding them. “We need to get the fuck out of here before they send more.”

“He’s not coming with us,” Roman growls, ripping the front door open.

“Yes, he is,” Dwayne protests, earning a look that would absolutely kill, if possible, from his younger cousin. “Look, we need to find out just what—”

Cody, however, is not here for it just as much as the Tribal Chief isn’t. “I’m not going anywhere with you pieces of—” An abrupt interruption followed by his body starting to crumple, only to reveal a bored and irritated looking Matteo, clearly having done them all a favor with a single, effective knock to the back of the head.

The Italian man curses. “He talks too damn much.” Matteo doesn’t waste any time in shoving Cody’s unconscious body into the back of the car, directing to Dwayne. “We need to go to my house.”

“Why?” Roman asks, partially present, mostly elsewhere. So much has happened in under the span of an hour, even more in just the past twenty minutes. And the thought that keeps booming in his head, keeps oscillating, poking and torturing him is the most unbelievable and terrifying of them all.

Solana has been taken.

His wife, who he swore to protect with everything in him, has been taken.

And though nothing would bring him greater joy than to beat Rhodes to a bloody pulp until he fesses up where she is, Matteo and Dwayne are right.

It doesn’t make sense.

Rhodes is an evil son of a bitch, but he’s not stupid. He would never make such a risky move and follow up with a public appearance. He’d make sure to throw that stone and hide the hell out of his hands. Even more, there’s something to be said about the fact that Rhodes wife and child have also been taken.

Something tells Roman the blonde bitch isn’t lying about that. The feral, almost devastated look in his eyes revealed as much.

It’s the same look Roman’s had since realizing what’s happened.

“We’re being hunted down and targeted,” Matteo answers as the four men are in the vehicle, Dwayne driving them to what Roman would guess is Matteo’s house. “They’re more than likely to have gone after my wife as well.”

Dwayne chuckles darkly. “Their death wish.”

Roman is once again tuned out, eyes closed, forehead against the window of the SUV.

Solana.

His sweet, innocent wife who he just saw hours earlier, who was excited about sharing so many things with him this evening, is gone.

Taken.

Kidnapped.

Missing.

How did this happen?

“What the fuck is going on?” Ava’s confused, irritated, angry voice rips Roman from his thoughts, as he realizes it’s coming through the speakers of the SUV. Dwayne, who’s driving them now to Matteo’s house, has called her.

“You were attacked.” A statement, not a question from Dwayne. He then jumps to an absolute question, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” A bit of a frazzled response, the anger coming down and settling into more of reality setting in. “My place is a disaster, but I guess that’s a given with all the dead bodies.”

A bit of a grim visual for the Tribal Chief, though he finds himself both pleased and unsurprised. Though Ava keeps a bit of a distance from the dark side of the business, much like everyone else in his family, she can defend herself.

She can defend herself very well.

“Someone needs to answer my question though,” she interrupts, the anger building back up again. “Why the hell did our men attack me?”

“It’s a coup,” Roman speaks for the first time, gaze focused outside the window, watching the passing cars. “Someone’s trying to overthrow me.” No emotion attached. Just laying of the facts. Until the next thing that comes out of his mouth. “They’ve—they’ve taken Solana.”

Silence on the other end. “What?” A heavy, shaky sigh. “Oh my God….”

Roman closes his eyes. The sentiment is shared.

More than anyone could ever realize.

“Ava, where are you?” She shares an approximate location, as she’s also driving around, trying to put as much distance between herself and her home. “I need you to listen to me carefully.” Dwayne grabs his phone, expertly navigating the device in his hand and the steering wheel in the other. “I just sent you an address. I need you to go straight there. Don’t text, call or talk to a single fucking soul. Only answer your phone if it’s me, Matteo, or Roman. You understand me?”

“Got it.” The most affirmative her voice has sounded in the entire call. “But, what—”

“Wait.” Another interruption from Roman. Dwayne has just set his phone back down as he glances between the road and his cousin. Roman directs his next statement to Ava. “I need you to stop somewhere first.”

—-----

Pain.

That’s the first thing Solana feels as she slowly blinks her eyes, coming to. It’s a sensation that’s focalized in her wrists, face, and the back of her head. Throbbing and stinging in three separate areas. Sensations that dominate her wherewithal as she slowly ascends to consciousness. Eyes now completely open, she blinks a couple times, an almost old, stale odor invading her senses. Frowning and scowling, Solana looks around, recognizing the almost abrasiveness against her cheek. The floor. It’s from the aged, concrete flooring. And, the difficulty she has in sitting up is mostly due to the fact that her hands are bound in front of her with zip ties that are digging into her skin, small specks of scraped and bloodied skin visible as she assesses the tight hold.

Slight panic builds up in her from being restrained and unable to feel her belly. Touch her baby bump. A self-soothing gesture that will help alleviate her nerves regarding the safety of her babies. But, she can’t. Bound and restricted, she’s delegated to a sort of common sense train. The only solace in her stemming from the fact that she feels no pain or discomfort anywhere near her abdominal area.

That’s one issue somewhat tackled.

But, there’s so many more left.

And, they all come rushing into her with the devastating weight and depth of a category 5 hurricane.

The library. Brandi and Emma. The invasion of both Nightmare and Bloodline men alike. Solo. Bron.

Tears fill her eyes.

Sami

Bautista

Dead.

The children whose fate she can only hope was different from the two men who so bravely risked and lost their lives trying to save others.

Roman.

That’s when the tears threaten to spill over, and Solana has to work harder than she ever has in her life to keep it together.

He’s fine.

She has to tell herself this. Can believe nothing else. Because, anything else is surely enough to drag her to the inescapable depths of emotional hell.

She’s certain she’ll concede to the nervous breakdown she’s on the verge of from what’s happened alone if she allows herself to think about something happening to her soulmate.

Sitting up and looking around, Solana does her best to pull from and implement some of her therapy skills. She’s a mess right now, and while anyone in her situation would be and feel just the same, Solana doesn’t have that luxury. She doesn’t have that luxury because of the two lives growing inside her.

She has to keep it together.

For her girls.

Like her life depends on it.

Because their lives depend on it.

The room she’s in is old, dark, shabby, and dreary. A cot is in the corner with a raggedy blanket, but outside of that and a rusty looking desk and chair on the other side, there’s nothing else. Nothing but the dark, heavy looking door that’s shut and the window above her that informs her it’s daytime, given the natural sunlight that shines through.

It doesn’t make a difference.

There’s no sun or anything sunny about what’s occurred.

Only darkness.

Solana is searching and looking around the room, eager and almost desperate for anything that could distract her from how broken she feels when a sound startles her.

It’s coming from across her.

The door.

Fear partially paralyzes her as she watches the knob turn, her breath withheld, gaze focused as a figure appears in the doorway, almost entirely eclipsing anything beyond said door with their robust figure.

And just like that, fear gradually chips away and is built up with a new set of emotions.

Confusion and anger.

Solana can’t look away, her voice barely above a breath, as she speaks from the heart. From visceral emotion. “You son of a bitch….”

Rikishi's expression is smug. “You’re up.” A generic, calm, almost friendly acknowledgement. Solana catches a glimpse of the guards behind him departing, shutting the door for him, leaving the two of them alone. She can’t, won’t look away as he moves to sit at the rinky-dink chair in the corner of the room. “Can I get you anything?” The cruel, taunt in the wake of his smirk only spikes her anger to another level.

She sneers, appalled, shocked, disgusted, horrified. “You’re behind this.”

Rikishi’s smile deepens. “Surprise.”

Solana feels sick. “Where is my husband?” It’s just one of many questions she has, but the location—and status—of her husband is the most important.

Rikishi chuckles. “You mean is he still alive?” The delay in his answer is the longest 30 seconds of Solana’s life. “Yes, Roman still lives.” As much as she hates showing her relief at his answer, she can’t help it. Should she believe him? Probably not. He could be lying. He’s obviously a lying snake, but in this moment, she needs to believe him. She needs to believe that her husband is still alive.

She needs the hope.

“For now, at least.” And just like that, the hope is dashed, dread filling her. “It’s only a matter of time before he shows up, guns blazing because we took his precious little wife.” Rikishi's sick, demented smile returns. “And, then we’ll have him right where we want him.”

There’s something about the ‘we’ that triggers something for her, makes her curious as to just how deep this betrayal goes, but the priority is rather on something else implied in his statement. A cruel, terrifying realization.

“A trap,” she whispers, the color almost draining from her face. “It’s…it’s a trap.”

They’ve taken her to draw out Roman.

To trap him.

Solana shakes her head, refusing, unable to believe him. To listen to him. “He won’t—he won’t fall for it.” No. Roman is too smart for that.

“You really are a stupid girl, aren’t you?” Rikishi laughs, humor nowhere to be found in the sound that leaves his rotund body. “Of course, he will. Roman can’t see or think straight when it comes to you. He’ll show up here, alone, outnumbered, thinking he’s going to save you—”

Solana’s eyes water. “No.”

“And, he’ll be alone, because we’ve swept the rug from under him. He knows he can’t trust his own Bloodline anymore, and that’s gotta be killing him right about now. That and the fact that his weak little wife has been taken. He’s not thinking straight.”

She whimpers, eyes closing, tears streaming. “Stop it.”

“And who does he have left? Fucking Dwayne and a brother he refuses to acknowledge?” Rikishi snorts. “He has nothing.” He tilts his head to the side, pride filling him seeing the toll his words are taking on the young girl. “And really, as much as it’s your fault, in that same breath, we also have you to thank for this.” Rikishi leans forward in the chair, shrugging one shoulder. “Sure, you fucked up with the original plan—”

Solana’s eyes shoot open. "What?” When he says nothing, she has to ask again, all the while hating how destroyed she sounds. “What—what are you talking about?”

Delight fills his face. “Where do you think your father got the plan from in the first place for you to kill Roman?” Solana might as well have been shoved and slammed into the wall behind her. It would have the same impact as his words. “It was all supposed to be so much more simpler than this, really. You wouldn’t even have had to get close enough to gain his trust. Didn’t need it. Just slip the poison in his food.” The bile building up in Solana’s throat is on the verge of morphing into vomit. “But, of course, my little cousin had to throw us for a loop. He cut off your contact with your family, so we had no idea what was going on….until we did.”

She wants to say something, anything, but words seem a thing no longer accessible for her, prompting him to continue.

“I could see it. The way he started to feel something for you. To care for you.” Disgust is his countenance. “Love.” But, just as quickly as he was disgusted, he’s gleeful. “And then a new opportunity was presented. A first. Because for the first time, the great Roman Reigns had a weakness.” She closes her eyes. “So, a new plan was formed. One that would finally uproot that arrogant son of a bitch from his throne and allow a new era. A better one.”

Solo.

She’s a terrible mess of emotions, but that one indication is baffling to her. Does he really think Solo is fit to lead the Bloodline? But, it’s a short-lived thing, because what gnaws at her is his accusation. A truthful statement, if she’s being honest with herself.

She has become Roman’s weakness. The one way to get to him, and it’s worked.

It’s worked to a depressing T.

Solana is still filled with so many questions, but a single word sits at the tip of her tongue, spilling over. “Why?” That’s the part she can’t seem to grasp. This plan has clearly been in the makes for months, so it can’t be because of what happened after Fetu’s funeral. So, just what has driven this man to such a diabolical, evil course of action. “Why are you doing this to him? He’s done everything for the Bloodl—”

“He should have never been the one to lead!” Rikishi snaps, banging his fist on the table. “Not Roman. Not Nakoa. None of them!” He continues, Solana remembering that Nakoa was Roman’s father. “It should have been me and my sons. And, it would have, if he had just died like the rest of them that night.”

It’s then. In that moment, with that one telling, revealing statement, Solana puts the devastating, heartbreaking pieces together. “Oh my God….” Her eyes are traveling everywhere before setting on evil personified. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Rikishi lifts his chin, an almost unspoken acknowledgment. “You….you were behind the hit?”

Calling it a 'hit’ seems too minimizing. Massacre. It was a massacre.

Rikishi simply huffs. “I simply made Dusty aware that Nakoa planned to turn on him. The idiot was too stupid and fearful of losing his growing empire to realize it was all lies. Such a weak ass man. It was far too easy to plant the seeds. I just had to watch them grow.”

“Oh my God…” Solana repeats, as a new wave of tears builds up. Rikishi. He was the one behind it all. The reason Roman lost his family, and almost his life. It was because of his own flesh and blood.

The same flesh and blood behind the most current attempt to take out her husband once more. To put him down.

For good this time.

“I won’t—I won’t let you hurt him,” she vows, shaking her head. She looks up, matching his dark, evil gaze. “I won’t.” Because he’s already caused her husband so much hurt, so much pain, it feels almost criminal for her to not do what she can to stop that. To save him.

A small smile followed by a laugh. Loud and hearty. “Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.” Rikishi stands up, walking over to her, Solana refusing to look away or cower, even as he bends over. “What are you gonna do? Huh?” Solana gasps loudly from the sudden, unexpected impact of his hand against her face. Her eyes clench shut from the stinging and throbbing. “You are nothing without Roman or the Bloodline.” His eyes burn with intense hatred and disgust, watching and enjoying how Solana struggles to lift her head. “You’re going to die just like him—”

She cries. “no.”

Solana winces when he grabs her by her jaw, squeezing, forcing her to look at him. “—but while Roman will leave a sort of legacy behind him, what will you have? Huh? Nothing!” He screams in her face, Solana closing her eyes, trying her best to block out his hurtful words. “You’ll have nothing, because you are nothing. We found you as a stupid, uneducated, naive, weak, broken bitch, and that’s exactly how you’ll die.”

—------------

It’s strategic. All of it. Necessary.

Parking a little up the road from where Matteo’s house sits, almost nestled back into a corner, surrounded by trees in the back. A forest of sorts. A forest that serves as the shielding used by the men who realize what idiocy comes with trying to pull up to the front of the house, especially given the SUV’s already parked out front.

Bloodline vehicles.

Once a good thing, now an omen.

Naturally, Matteo leads the charge, knowing the layout of his property better than the other two men, especially Roman who’d never been here prior to today.

A still unconscious Cody is left locked in the SUV. Not that Roman cares. Behind the kidnapping or not, that son of a bitch could drop dead for all the Tribal Chief cares.

Nonverbal communication and hand gestures as the three men smartly make their way into the home from the back. As they move inside, ready and prepared for whatever, it’s almost anti-climatic. Because, for Roman, at least, there’s a slight expectation for some Bloodline security to try to attack them.

Except, entering the spacious foyer of Matteo’s home, what they’re met with is a scene similar to the library. Bodies laid around. 12. Roman counts twelve. Each with a minimum of one gunshot wound. Execution style. Throats slashed. A few with obvious stab wounds in the chest.

In the heart.

“And, I’d just mopped these damn floors, too.” The sound of a voice, bored and feminine, draws the attention of the three men. Sitting down on the middle of the steps is none other than a dangerously calm looking Afia. Gun in one hand, bloody butcher knife in the other, the only indication she has of being involved in any sort of altercation is the splotches of blood splashed on her shirt and the weapons on her person. “I’m also offended they only sent twelve. I deserve at least twenty.”

Dwayne and Roman lower their guns, surveying the deceased once more to make sure they are, in fact, no longer among the living. Matteo is the first to respond, chuckling as he lowers his gun. “I suppose that’s the reason for the overkill, no?”

Afia makes a sound, rising from off the stairs where she stands, still with the gun and knife in hand. Her eyes are narrowed. Listening Watching. Waiting.

Once pleased and satisfied that the threats have all been eliminated, she responds.

“The overkill is because they chose the wrong damn house.” A vicious statement accompanied by a murderous gleam in her eyes. “One of you want to tell me why?”

Matteo has other pressing concerns. “The children—”

“In the panic room,” she answers, seeing the relief cross his handsome face. “They’re safe.”

Roman looks away. He’d give anything for that to be the case with Solana right now.

“It’s a coup,” Dwayne answers, looking around, as if suspecting another onslaught of attacks. “Someone’s trying to overthrow Roman.”

“I think it’s more than just an overthrow,” Afia corrects, walking over and kicking one of the men so he’s on his back. She points down. “Is that not the insignia of the Bloodline?” A rhetorical question. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her what she already knows. “This is an inside job.” She directs her statement to Roman. “You’ve been betrayed.”

Words that he doesn’t need to hear. A realization Roman came to the minute he realized his men were about to turn their guns on him back at the library.

A weighty, heavy thing, but nothing that anchors him down as much as the next thing that comes out his mouth. “Solana’s been kidnapped.”

And, at that, Afia gives the first indication of any type of emotion. “What?” Roman looks away. “Well, we have to get her back—”

“We will,” Matteo assures. “We just need to sit down and figure out the how.”

“And, we need to get the hell out of here,” Dwayne’s expression is a little more pressing, as he continues to look around. Watchful. Cautious. “I have a place we can go. It’ll be safe. They won’t be able to find us.”

Afia nods, Matteo and her disappearing to go retrieve the children from the panic room. It’s when he’s alone with his cousin for the first time, Dwayne voices what he knows his younger cousin is thinking.

“Roman….” The other man is turned away, looking down, taking in the state and amount of deceased that surrounds them. “This isn’t your fault—”

“Yes, it is.” A pained, quiet, angry interruption. Dwayne watches the way Roman’s jaw clenches, how his eyes shut and his fist forms at his side. “I should have—I should have seen this coming.”

And, for the life of him, Roman doesn’t know how he didn’t. He’s always prided himself on being three, five, hell, even ten steps ahead. It’s how he’s stayed on top for so long, never giving his enemies the opportunity to advance on him. And now, everything he’s built, everything he’s worked for is crumbling down right in front of him.

And, he doesn’t mean the Bloodline.

“We always prepare for threats from the outside, uce. Not the inside—”

“But, I should have.” Another interruption as Roman turns to his cousin, the turmoil that eats him up loud and evident. “I’m supposed to be better than that. I should have been, but I wasn’t and now—”

“Hey.” Dwayne places a hand on his shoulder, forcing his distressed gaze on him.

“She’s pregnant, Dwayne….”

“I know.” His voice is contrite and sympathetic, recognizing that it’s not just Solana Roman fears for. It’s for their children she’s carrying that, he prays with everything in him, is something she knows to keep hidden from her kidnappers. By whatever means necessary. “But, let me tell you something about that wife of yours, uce. She’s got some fire in her. If anyone can handle this, can manage until we can get to her, it’s Solana.”

As objectively reassuring as Dwayne’s words are, they don’t do much to abate the fear and nerves of the Tribal Chief.

Because Roman has a nagging, almost gut-like feeling that someone isn’t making it out of this alive, and he doesn’t care if it’s him.

He’ll just be damned if it’s her.

And, if he is the one to fall, he’s dragging every son of a bitch involved with this coup with him to the gates of hell.

—------

Solana knows exactly the last time she felt this way.

Heavy.

Hurting.

Hopeless.

It was the night of her second suicide attempt.

In this moment, she doesn’t feel suicidal. Has no desire to take her own life. She just feels a tremendous, overwhelming amount of grief. Grief at what occurred then, what’s about to occur, and what still remains to occur.

It’s all so devastating.

Solana knows evil. Was raised by it for a good chunk of her life. But, there’s just something she can’t fathom about Rikishi being able to parade himself as this trusted advisor to Roman, an ally, a friend, a cousin, all the while knowing he was responsible for the vicious murder of Roman’s family.

That he also tried to kill Roman once but failed.

And, now he’s trying again.

That makes her cry a little harder. Maybe a lot harder. It goes back to that helplessness, the suffocating feeling of having all of this information and no way to get it to him. To provide him with the truth, to give him a warning, something, but none of it is an option. It’s not an option, because she has no idea where she is and no way to contact him or anyone. Hands still bound, she doesn’t need them to feel in her back pocket to see her phone is no longer there.

Most likely taken or fell out at some point during her kidnapping.

Again, hopeless.

Solana jumps once more when the door is swung open with so much force that it slams against the wall behind it. She’s ready and prepared for Rikishi to enter, only for it to not be him and someone else. Two people. One she recognizes, and the other she does not. It's a tall white man with an intimidating, muscular build, ropes of muscles for arm. But, it's not his physique that makes Solana nervous. It's the way his bright blue eyes settle on her. Predatory. It sends chills down her spine, an uneasy feeling overcoming Solana, forcing her to focus on the person she knows.

Brandi.

But, whatever discomfort she’d felt from the man’s unsettling stare is quickly replaced with an overwhelming amount of dread and horror taking in the appearance of Emma's mother. Brandi’s face is bruised, her lip busted, and her clothes are disheveled, but it’s the empty, almost dazed look in her eyes that Solana knows all too well.

And the realization is crushing.

Solana gasps when the man just tosses Brandi down onto the floor, offering a look of disgust to the woman he just discarded as if she was trash and a look of nothing good to Solana. However, it’s not until he slams the door shut behind him that Solana does her best to get up, an almost impossible task with her baby bump as well as her wrists still being bound.

“Brandi….”

Solana watches how Brandi offers no sign of acknowledgment, just crawls over to the nearest wall and pulls her legs up to her chest, a sign of pain flashing across her battered face as she settles into a fetal position.

Solana’s chest tightens. She knows exactly what Brandi is feeling right now. Numb. It’s a numbness that feels like everything and nothing at the same time, a deep, guttural scream lying within the confines of shock from trauma.

A trauma Solana knows all too well.

“Brandi, please—”

“Just leave me alone.” A whispered, pained thing. Empty and hollow.

Solana swallows. “I–”

“This is all your fault.”

Five words. A simple sentence. One hell of an impact.

The tightening in Solana’s chest only intensifies, just as the tears brewing threaten to spill down her face for the umpteenth time today. “Wh–what?”

It’s only then that Brandi looks up, that hollowness replaced with indescribable anger. And pain. “I’m here because of you.” Her bottom lip trembles as she lifts one hand, pointing to the door. “My baby is somewhere out there because of you.” Her volume increases as she gestures to herself with a trembling hand. “I was just rap—” Her eyes close, her entire body shaking as she breaks out in sobs, hands covering her face.

And, in that moment, while Solana’s heart swells with a tremendous amount of empathy, of heartbreaking understanding.

She can do nothing else, she can say nothing else.

Because, Brandi isn’t entirely wrong.

She’s not entirely wrong at all.

—----------

It’s about 45 minutes into the drive that Roman realizes where Dwayne is taking them all, and initially, he’s irritated, not necessarily because of where they’re going and more because of the fact that they have to go there.

In hiding.

Because, they are.

Because, they no longer know who to trust.

Roman no longer knows who to trust.

After driving for a total of almost two hours, they arrrive at their destination.

Roman steps out of the parked SUV at the same time as Dwayne. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Matteo and Afia helping the children out the Escalade that they drove.

“Well, ya’ll look like shit.”

Beer in hand, bid body leaning against the pillar on his porch, Steve Austin’s gaze is assessing and judgmental. Typical for the man whose attitude could only be matched by his ferocity in the field.

A legendary mercenary who worked closely with Dwayne many years ago on countless assignments and missions but is now semi-retired working as a private firearm dealer.

Dwayne chuckles, taking the first step onto said porch. “We’ve seen better days.” His small smile morphs into something almost regretful. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Steve makes a sound, brushing off the unnecessary indirect apology. “All the times you saved my ass when we were out there young, dumb, hotheads? Don’t mention it.” He directs his attention then to Roman, also looking something close to repentant. “Real sorry to hear about what’s happening.”

Roman says nothing. What does someone being and feeling sorry for him do?

Not a damn thing.

The door to the house busts open, revealing a flustered Ava who has a slight cut on her eyebrow. Her focus immediately lands on Roman, who she makes a beeline over, pulling him into a hug.

“We’re gonna get her back,” she whispers in his ear, holding him close and tight.

Again, nothing is said.

He’d give anything to feel that way, because right about now, Roman can’t deny the helpless feeling building and budding inside of them.

He does have to ask, trailing off, “did you….”

Ava nods. “She’s upstairs sleeping.”

Roman nods.

One.

That’s one thing he can feel slightly relieved about.

Dulce.

Dulce is safe, Roman asking Ava to pick her up from the groomers, because Solana being kidnapped is one thing, but he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to her dog who she loves more than anything.

The same dog he can admit, only to himself, he also loves.

Just then, the backdoor opens as a just-now-coming-to Rhodes exits, looking just as lost as he probably feels. Hand to the back of his head, he asks no one in particular. “Where the hell am I?”

Ava looks over at Cody with an undeniable amount of anger. Her gaze and question is then set to Roman. “What the hell is he—”

“It’s a long story,” he dismisses, asking Steve. “Can we come in?”

Finishing off his beer—probably the third of the day—he tosses it with zero regard. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t gon’ make ya’ll stand out here looking like a bunch of dumbasses.”

The group make their way into the house, Steve granting them privacy and Ava offering to take the kids upstairs with snacks and drinks so they also don’t have to overhear what’s bound to be a heavy conversation.

“So, what do we know?” Afia asks as the lot of them surround Steve’s large dining room table, Dwayne sitting at said table with his laptop open, attempting to access the Bloodline database.

A fruitless effort, given the quiet curse that leaves his mouth and the flashing red from the screen. Roman has never been tech savvy, but he knows enough to know that’s never a good sign.

“Solana, Brandi Rhodes, and Emma Rhodes, Brandi and Cody’s daughter were all kidnapped earlier this afternoon at the local library where Solana works and mother and daughter were visiting for some reason.” Matteo supplies, looking over at Cody. “Is it normal for her to go there—”

“No,” Cody answers immediately, pacing back and forth. “And, I don’t know why the hell she was there in the first place. I know….I know she went a couple months ago, and somehow Emma got separated from her, but from what Brandi told me, Solana found Emma and helped her find—”

“Wait, what?” Roman would like nothing more to kill Cody. For one reason. For no reason. For all the reasons. There’s a river of red and blood that’s too deep, too thick for them to ever see eye to eye, so it’s safe to say the Tribal Chief wasn’t listening to a damn thing the man was saying until he got to that part. “What do you mean Solana found her? They know each other?”

Cody looks over, shaking his head. “I don’t know specifics. Just that Brandi told me Solana helped Emma get back to her, and that Emma…she really liked her.” his voice trails off, his gaze focusing on the wall adjacent to him, emotion bubbling. He clears his throat, clearly remembering where he is and who he’s talking to. “I told her never to go back there after that, so for the life of me, I can’t figure out why she went back.”

Roman is quiet, not giving two shits about why the fuck Rhodes’ wife went against his orders and is more concerned with why and how Solana never told him about this. How no one in her security detail never thought to tell him.

How Solo, who was probably still her personal guard at the time, never said a thing.

And as if listening, a beep sounds from the computer.

"What is it?" Matteo inquires.

"It's a video conference request," Dwayne answers. He looks over at Roman. "From Solo."

Something unknown but heavy laps at Roman, an almost eerie knowing, as he mutters a quiet but firm. "Answer it."

Dwayne does just that, jabbing the button on the laptop, the group all waiting for the video to load.

And, then it does.

“Son of a bitch….” Is Dwayne’s hissed response at the sight of several men standing behind one man who sits in the middle, dressed in an all black suit with a red ula fala around his neck.

Solo.

It’s Solo.

But, he’s not alone, because Roman recognizes four of the men behind him.

Tama, Tonga, Jacob, and Rikishi.

All his family.

All currently behind the violent siege underway.

“I’m going to fucking rip you to pieces,” Roman vows, hand fisting at his side as, in a matter of mere seconds, he went from feeling an array of emotions to just one.

Anger.

Nothing but anger.

All of them.

He’s going to kill every single fucking one of them. Slowly. Painfully. Methodically. In every brutal, grisly way that he can think of.

Solo smirks, lifting his chin. “Roman Reigns.” A formal acknowledgement tinged with a hint of humor. “I think you’ve seen better days.”

Roman takes no one by surprise when the anger courses through his body manifests in him screaming out, “where is she!”

Rikishi makes a tsk tsk tsk sound. “You never were good with patience, huh?”

“Cut the shit, you two,” Dwayne practically growls, both him and Matteo doing their best to study the background to try to get some sense of where he might be located. The fucker is smart though, as it seems there’s some sort of black draping, intended to shield from that sort of detection. “Where’s Solana?”

Cody also cuts in with similar sentiments as Roman. “Where’s Brandi and Emma!”

Solo rolls his eyes. “That’s a question for your lil’ cousin, Rhodes.”

At that, Roman sees the way Cody’s face pales. “Bron?” And then, the anger. “Bron is behind this?”

“They both are,” Roman states, teeth gritted, putting the pieces together in real time. “They’ve been working together.”

Solo’s smirk confirms as such. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why both the Bloodline and Nightmare Factory men turned on both him and Cody back at the library. An alliance of some sort has been formed between the former enforcers.

“Roman isn’t fit to lead the Bloodline anymore,” Solo growls, fist on the table before him. “We need new leadership. It just so happened Bron felt the same about the Nightmare Factory."

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Roman snarls. “You can’t trust a fucking Rhodes!”

Solo’s smile is nothing shut of evil, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Just like you couldn’t trust us, huh?”

A blow.

It’s a fucking blow to the gut. To the chest. To the soul. Because Solo is right in that.

Roman couldn’t trust him, but he did, and it’s potentially cost him everything.

“But, aye, I’m a generous Tribal Chief, so imma do you a favor.” He stands up, gesturing for whoever is filming to follow him. “Come on.”

A maniacal laugh sounds from behind the camera, and in that single second, the situation progresses from bad to worse.

Roman would know that sound anywhere, but it’s an equally pissed Rhodes who identifies the person. “Seth...”

Roman’s eyes shut. Of course. Of course, they would recruit him for this. That psychotic son of a bitch has no love for Roman nor Cody, believing himself a “victim” and “abandoned” by both of them. Roman’s caution is upped a notch with this new piece of information.

Seth is the definition of a wild card. Whatever role he plays in this whole thing can’t be minimized nor downplayed.

They’re moving down a dimly lit hall, and Roman can see out of the corner of his eye Afia taking notes, clearly trying to document as much of the space as possible. Trying to narrow down a potential location.

Helpful but maybe not necessary.

Solo finally arrives in a dingy looking room that’s filled with more of Roman's men, his former Bloodline, armed and ready.

But then, Roman’s world shatters.

“Solana…”

He sees her. Solana. She’s alive, but her face is red and bruised, a cut on her cheek, dried blood caked on her pretty skin. He searches her body for any other sign of injury, but it’s impossible to do so given the oversized hoodie, jeans, and sneakers she wears.

He has no idea how to know about….about the girls.

It kills him.

But, that’s nothing compared to when he realizes just what’s happening. She’s being dragged by her hair into the room where fucking Tama throws her to the ground, Solana landing on her palms.

“You asked for her, right?” Solo mocks, a cruel grin on his face. “Here she is.” He barks at Tama to pick her back up. “Aye, Solana, you remember that?”

The camera switches from the scene of Solana being yanked up once again by her hair to a medium large stainless steel bucket that Roman can see is filled with water. Instantly, he knows what’s about to happen.

“I swear to God, Solo, if you—” He’s stopped by the camera panning to Solana who was clearly looking in the direction of the camera, probably hearing his voice, but now it’s directed toward her.

Catches the moment she sees the bin and also knows what's about to occur.

“No.” Her eyes are wide and filled with fright that practically cripples him. “No!” Solana cries, instantly moving to try to break free as Tama leads her over to the bucket. “No, please!”

“Solo, please—” Roman finds himself begging almost. He doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll do whatever it takes. Because Solana being subjected to that, to the torture she worked so hard to escape, it kills him. His pride doesn’t exist in that moment.

“What kind of weak man goes after an innocent woman, huh?” Matteo barks, the anger felt amongst the group of them nothing compared to the pain that fills Roman.

He was supposed to protect her.

He promised to protect her.

And now, look.

He’s failed her.

He’s failed her just like he failed his family.

Soalna’s screams and cries haunt him, Roman preparing to plead, whatever it takes, when a new voice is heard.

“Aye! What you doing, man!”

Chills.

No.

The day’s events must be taking their toll on Roman, because there’s no way—

And then, he sees it.

Sees how the camera pans to a furious looking Jey who grabs Tama, punching him out and putting himself between Solana and their cousin. Solana scrambles away to the nearest wall, eyes closed, hand over her chest, obviously trying to settle her nerves.

“What the hell is this, Solo!” Jey shouts as Tonga restrains Tama from striking back. “You ain’t say it was gonna be all of this! I ain’t sign up for this shit!”

There’s a rush of emotions running through Roman in this moment for a variety of reasons. He can hear the shocked, angry responses of those around him, see how Solo chides his older brother for being so “weak,” but all of that pales in comparison to how Roman’s chest tightens seeing Solana scream out in fear when Jey moves toward her.

“Don’t touch me!” She shouts, shaking her head. “How—how could you do this to us?” She sounds every bit as hurt and betrayed as he feels. “How could you do this to Roman?”

The same question probably shared amongst the group helplessly watching the horrors unfold.

“God, you're so goddamn annoying."

A new voice added to the conversation.

Also, not unfamiliar.

Samantha appears in frame, but she’s not alone. She’s roughly holding the arm of a young, crying child. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together to figure out who said child is.

Cody’s shoulders drop. “Emma!”

Emma is crying, face red and ruddy. “Where’s my mommy!” She cries harder when Samantha tosses her to the ground. “I want my daddy!”

It’s a gut-wrenching scene to watch, for sure, but while a devastated Cody tries to gather the attention of his terrified daughter, Roman can only focus and watch as Solana gets up and rushes over to Emma, holding and cradling her.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she comforts. Roman sees the way Emma holds onto her, clearly feeling safe with his wife. A strange, almost solemn scene. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

A sneering Sam advances over to Solana and Emma, but Solana is quick, easily maneuvering Emma behind her.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Solana hisses, shoulders squared, voice firm. It’s a bit of a shift for Roman, something close to surprise and pride filling him. It’s such a switch. The fear that had Solana cowered in the corner is nowhere to be seen as she puts herself between this child who she doesn’t even know, not well anyway, and a woman clearly intent on no good.

Samantha scoffs, stepping forward. “Move.” A sick smirk appears on her face as she lifts up a folding knife, effectively stilling the Tribal Chief. Fuck. “Or maybe I’ll just do us all a favor and kill you now.”

Roman isn’t sure what he expects his wife to do. He just knows that it kills him to have to watch all of this unfold and not do anything about it.

Not be able to protect her.

And then, it happens. Almost too quick. Solana’s speed seems to defy logic. Her forearm against Samantha’s neck, throwing her off balance, forcing her to drop the knife that Solana doesn’t hesitate to grab. And with continued swiftness, Solana suddenly has the upper hand. She’s holding Samantha’s arms behind her back, the knife in Solana’s hand pressed dangerously into her back, possibly drawing blood given the wince on Sam’s face.

Mouth near her ear, Solana hisses, loud enough for all to hear. “I’d like to see you try, bitch.”

She shoves and kicks her away, expertly retracting the knife that disappears in the sleeve of her hoodie.

Impressed isn’t exactly the right word to use to describe what Roman feels. There’s nothing impressive about what’s happening, but a small sense of relief does build in him in seeing that even in this midst of what’s happened, Solana hasn’t lost it.

Hasn’t lost that fight and fire she’s worked so hard over the past months to build.

“You got this, Sol…” Afia whispers, loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t give up.”

A shared sentiment.

But, as Samantha gets up and prepares to lunge for Solana, Jey once again stands in front of Solana who continues to protect Emma.

“You ain’t putting your fucking hands on her.”

Words that Roman would like to find reassuring, but he can’t. He can’t, because Jey is a part of this whole thing.

He’s clearly picked his side, and it’s not Roman’s.

Solo makes a sound, big face back in the screen. “As you can see, there’s a lot going on.” He blows out a breath, as if overwhelmed by it all. As if this isn’t all his doing. “But look, Imma’ cut right to the point.” There’s movement from Solo walking out the room, camera focused only on him. “You got 48hrs to bring your ass here, so we can settle this once and for all. And to help you out, I’m gon send you the exact coordinates of where we are.” He then adds, as if remembering. “Same goes for your new buddy, Cody.”

It’s a difficult, almost painful thing for Roman to focus on what’s being said when all he can visualize is Solo’s bloody, gruesome corpse after Roman gets his hands on him. But then, he says it, he says what Roman’s emotions have blocked him from considering.

“And, I know you got a lot going on right now, but even you and that big ass ego you got can’t deny you already know how this gon’ turn out.” He rolls his shoulders, voice equally menacing as it is threatening. “Not only have you been outsmarted, but you’re outmanned, outnumbered, outgunned.” He smiles, once again, no trace of humor to be detected. “Who you got there? Dwayne? Matteo? Rhodes?” He laughs, humorlessly. “You have nothing.”

Matteo and Dwayne say something in response, but Roman does not. He says nothing, because there’s nothing to say.

Solo is right.

Roman has been betrayed and turned on by the people closest to him, his Bloodline, maybe even the Cosa Nostra at this point. He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. He just knows, for the first time in his life, he’s been backed into a corner and the way out seems to be a far off, distant, nearly impossible thing.

“....And that’s not just a prediction—” Solo’s statement, familiar and close, snatches Roman away from his depressing realization. He looks off camera, only for another figure to fill the frame, Roman’s devastation deepening.

Paul’s smirking frame takes up the entire shot. “It’s a spoiler.”

The screen goes black.

“Son of a bitc—”

Dwayne’s curse is silence by Roman tipping over a chair as he angrily marches outside the house through the backdoor and into the yard. He throws a nearby chair across the spacious yard, uncaring of any damage or destruction caused in the process.

His chest hurts, and his head throbs, consumed with swimming, overwhelming thoughts.

They’ve betrayed him. Every fucking person he thought he could trust has all turned on him.

They’ve all fucking betrayed him.

Eyes shut, breathing heavy, Roman has to place his hand over his chest to settle himself. It’s too much.

Too fucking much.

Heavy footsteps behind him give away the person present, but Roman isn’t in the mood.

“Roman….”

“Not right now,” he grits out, on the verge of a panic attack. Or maybe a nervous breakdown. Or, hell, maybe a fucking heart attack. At this point, who fucking knows.

Dwayne sighs. “Roman, you—”

“WHAT!” Roman turns around and snaps. All of the emotions, the happenings, the loss, the betrayal finally bubbling over and erupting. Roman motions to nothing in particular, just the dark abyss of the wooded forest beyond Steve’s backyard. “He has the Bloodline! He has the Nightmare Factory! He has my wife!” It’s with that last acknowledgment Roman’s shoulders slump, the despair taking front row. His voice lowered, he clarifies. “My pregnant wife.” Premature defeat as well as an unfamiliar helplessness fills the devastated man’s voice, as he admits, “I have nothing to lose.”

Dwayne allows it. Allows him the moment to have this. To let it all hit him, heavy and crushing, but necessary, nonetheless.

Because there’s no way in hell they can survive this with him suppressing all of his feelings.

“That’s bullshit, Roman, and you know it.” Dwayne finally speaks after a few minutes of silence. “You have everything to lose.” Dwayne points back to the house. “He has your wife, yes. He has the backing of the Bloodline. Maybe. But, you know what he doesn’t have? He doesn’t have your mind. He doesn’t have your ruthlessness. Doesn’t have your intellect. Solo’s a little bitch cosplaying as a grown man cause his fat ass daddy has bucked him up to think he’s fit for the job.” Dwayne continues, seeing and knowing his younger cousin well enough to know he’s taking in everything that’s being said. “He thinks he’s won, because he knows what Solana means to you, knows how much you love her, and he thinks it’s made you weak.”

“He’s right.” Matteo’s voice suddenly sounds from the steps leading into the house. “He’s playing a mind game with you.” Stepping down into the yard, he crosses his arms, adding, “he’s clearly been watching you. Studying you.”

When Dwayne gives him the nod of approval, a sign to continue, Matteo doesn’t waste it. “You must have a million and one emotions running through you right now. That’s okay. Hone it and use it. Use it to fuel your anger and your fury, because you’re going to need it to make it through this.”

Eyes shut, words marinating, there’s a settling of the previously spiking panic that’s minimizing and settling into something else inside of Roman. Something powerful and stirring.

“You’ve been betrayed. Clearly. From several angles, and that shit’s gotta hurt like hell coming from family.” Roman looks away. “But, you know as well as I do, that’s not the priority right now. The priority is getting Solana back and reminding those bastards why the biggest and last mistake they’ll ever make in life was crossing Roman fucking Reigns.”

To say this has been the worst day of his life would be an understatement. The worst day of his life would be more than welcomed over whatever this is. Regardless of how awful and hurt and lost Roman feels at all that’s occurred, the wise, sage words of his relatives are effective.

They tap into that part of him that hasn’t been needed in a while. The part of him that he’s always wanted to keep hidden away from Solana. The reason he’s as feared as he is.

Because, it’s needed.

Roman isn’t needed in this moment. Roman needs to rest and recover.

The Tribal Chief is who’s needed.

And, that’s exactly who Solo is going to get.

“We have to play this smart,” is Roman’s only acknowledgment of everything that was stated. He appreciates it, but to go beyond that would require a deeper amount of reflecting. He doesn’t have time for this shit. Doesn’t have time to be Roman Reigns right now.

They made him into the ruthless, aggressive, merciless killer that he is, and that’s exactly who they’re about to receive.

“They have the numbers advantage,” Roman finishes. Because as lethal as the combination of himself, Dwayne, Matteo, and maybe Afia and Ava could be, it still pales in comparison to not only the Bloodline, but the Nightmare Factory.

A big advantage.

Dwayne shakes his head. “Maybe not.” Both Matteo and Roman cast skeptical expressions as he vaguely answers. “I may have made a call.”

And just like that, Roman’s defenses are up again. “To who?”

A voice clearing from by the back door sounds, drawing the attention of all three men. It’s Ava. “So, Santos Escobar is here?

Roman easily shifts from cautious to irritated. “What the fuck, Dwayne?”

The older man lifts his hands in an almost defensive manner. “Look, I know you’ve got no love for Escobar, and the feeling is mutual, but you yourself told me he said Solana is also under the protection of the Legado Del Fantasma, so that means they’d be willing to help us.”

But, it mostly goes in one ear and out the other. Stubbornly, almost defiantly, Roman reiterates, “I don’t need his help.”

“Yes, you do, Roman,” Matteo cuts in, his voice almost gentle like. “Like you said, they have the number advantage. We have to try to even that up as much as we can.”

At that, his own words being used against him, Roman has no retort.

He has no retort because that nagging voice inside of him acknowledges that Matteo and Dwayne are right.

If there’s help to be offered, he would be a fool to decline it.

But, it’s almost impossible for him to not be chained down by both his pride and his trauma at once again being betrayed. At being in a place where the same man who he once thought he’d lay down his life for if the situation called for it, is working with the people hellbent on seeing Roman’s demise.

Solo and Rikishi’s betrayal is crushing.

Jey’s is shattering.

And Roman isn’t stupid. He knows how tense things with Jey have been, maybe always been to some extent, but this coup has clearly been a well plotted, planned thing for some time. Long before his issues with Jey stirred up again for round two.

When Roman thought they were fine, they weren’t.

They very clearly weren’t.

Roman turns away, hands on his head as he blows out a deep breath. The battle between logic and trauma in the final round, tussling deep within his chest and soul.

And then a memory hits him, a scene from one of his many dreams rolling him into the battle for a paramount, necessary perspective switch.

Leya sniffles to the left of him. “You have to save her, daddy.” His head snaps to her, confused by her words, confused by the fact that he’s not freaking out more, by the fact that he just somehow knows that Solana has been taken. “She won’t have much time.”

“Mommy can only fight with us for so long.” His attention switches to Lina, her comment leaving him just as perplexed as her twin. “You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

“What?” He breathes. The weight on his chest is intensifying by the fucking second. “I don’t—”

“It’s the only way to save her.” Leyah reaches for his arm, her little mouth formed into a frown. “They’re gonna kill her if you don’t.”

His chest nearly explodes at that one word.

Kill

But, it’s when the next statement that leaves their mouths, at the same time, that does him over.

“And they’re gonna kill us too.”

The entire flashback to his ominous dream almost nightmare is overall unsettling in many ways, but there’s a certain part he can’t negate, that he can’t ignore.

“You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

Trust.

Such a difficult, impossible thing for Roman, especially when it’s that same thing that has him in the situation he’s in now.

He trusted the wrong people, and now Solana—and his unborn daughters—are paying for it.

Roman closes his eyes.

Utilizing the words from his dream children from an actual dream as a guiding force might not be the best. It might even be crazy to some people, but he’s starting to believe that Solana was right when she said the dreams meant something.

Premonitions, almost.

Needed for a time like this.

Because, it’s all he has.

“Okay.”

A simple word.

A powerful agreement.

Matteo and Dwayne exchange a look, neither willing or wanting to say anything to risk Roman backtracking. They simply guide him back into the house where, sure enough, Escobar waits with two men and one women trailing him. Roman recognizes the two men from being at the restaurant that day.

He also recognizes the woman.

Bayley.

And, she looks just as gutted as Roman feels.

“That son of a bitch.” She shakes her head, fist at her side. “What kind of piece of shit goes after an innocent woman?”

Her question is presented to no one in particular. Just a necessary thing she clearly needs to get out, along with an array of other emotions. She angrily wipes at her teary eyes, looking away.

Santos gaze is leveled as he directs his question toward Roman. “Do you have her location?”

Dwayne answers. “Yes. An abandoned plant about two hours out from here.”

The shorter man nods, taking in the information. “Are you sure?”

“Solo sent us the coordinates.” Matteo supplies, already knowing he doesn’t need to say anything else after that. Santos look in response is telling enough.

Looking directly at Roman, he states aloud, “he wants you to come.”

Bayley whispers what everyone was thinking when Solo first announced he was sharing the address so willingly. “A trap.”

Roman says nothing. Trap or not, nothing could keep him from going to save his wife. Even if he had to go at it alone.

“Someone wants to speak to you.” Santos appearance was unexpected as hell, but such a statement leaving his mouth is at the top of the unexpected hill. “And, it’s not a request.”

Just like that, the anger is building up again in the Head of the Table. “Excuse me? Who the fuck—”

“Roman.” Matteo’s single word is layered with all the unspoken things. The reminder he needs. Priorities.

Biting his tongue and setting aside his pride, Roman grits out a reluctant, “fine.”

Santos and his men move quickly to set up an open laptop where Dwayne’s once was, motioning for Roman to take the seat previously occupied by his older cousin.

And, in a matter of minutes, the setup is completed. It’s the same crowd gathered around to watch and observe, sans Cody, who’d apparently gone out front.

For similar reasons as Roman, he’d guess.

It’s a similar setup to Solo and crew, but in this one, the background is obvious and visible. They’re in a conference room. A man sitting at the front of the table with another to the right of him, older and a bit heavier. There’s something familiar about him that Roman can’t put his hand on.

Santos speaks in Spanish to the men, and it’s then how Roman notices the improved posture of the latest guests. A sign of respect and reverence for whoever these men are, clearly.

“Roman Reigns,” the one at the head of the table speaks, his deep voice thickly accented. “Not exactly the circumstances under which I’d thought we’d meet, but an honor, nonetheless.”

If only Roman felt the same.

“Who the hell are you?”

But, while the majority of the room hit Roman with disapproving glances at his brusque response, the man on screen simply smiles. “Your reputation precedes you. I’m impressed.”

And, I don’t care.

Roman is just about to snap at Escobar for wasting his time when finally, a proper introduction is given. “My name is Domingo Lopez.” Right away, any trace of irritability felt within Roman is washed away and replaced with a sense of surprise and confusion.

Roman knows that name very well. Anyone in the business does.

Domingo Lopez.

The head of the Gulf Cartel, the oldest and biggest Mexican criminal syndicate.

The same syndicate Roman has been trying and planning to meet with to discuss a possible alliance with for some weeks now. Months, maybe. But, something had always come up, either on Roman’s end or Lopez's end.

What a meeting, indeed.

Domingo chuckles. “I take it you know who I am now.”

No shit. The shift in Roman’s tone is audible, even his body language. “I do.”

Domingo sits forward. “And you’re wondering what the hell it is I want with you.” He then gestures to the man beside him. “This is Tomas Escobar. Old man has served the Cartel for decades. A loyal aid to my father before he retired and a trusted guide for me since I took over so many years ago at the age of 18. Similar to yourself.” Roman is focused less on the connections and more the name.

He knows that name.

It was in the letter Solana let him read. The one from her mother.

Tomas Escobar.

Her uncle.

Tomas is Solana’s great uncle.

And judging now by the slight similarities in appearance, Santos' father.

Still, making all of these connections is something Roman keeps to himself, instead asking a more relevant question that comes out as more of a statement. “You’re aware of what’s happened.”

Domingo nods. “I am.” He leans back into his seat. Roman would guess Santos informed his father, and his father made his boss aware. But, why?

“Normally, I would allow a select number of men to aid in this rescue effort you plan to undergo. Whatever men and resources within the Legado Del Fantasma would be your limit, but….but this is different.” He clasps his hands together, acknowledging. “Tomas has served me well, and Santos has also proven to be an effective leader. But, the truth of the matter is that what I am prepared to do is solely because of your wife, Mr. Reigns.”

Brows furrowed, Roman doesn’t hesitate to ask. “What do you mean?”

“A few months ago, during your trip to Isla Mujeres, you and your wife met my daughter, Aurora.” Roman stills, instantly recalling the quiet little girl who’d taken a liking to him but especially Solana.

Shit.

That same girl is Mexico’s biggest cartel leader’s daughter?

“Solana was kind to her, offering a simple gesture of kindness that has not only helped my little girl in more ways than you can imagine but my family as a whole.” He explains, voice shifting into something almost sentimental. A rare thing for such a man. “And for that, I owe your wife a great debt that I intend to make good on right now.”

“Solana may be an Escobar by blood and thus has the protection of the Legado Del Fantasma, but from here on out, she also will have the protection of the full Gulf Cartel as well.”

Roman is stunned into silence. What does he say to that?

“Right now, as we speak, I have several fleets of my best men and weapons headed your way. They should arrive in a few hours.” A wave of silence overcomes the entire room, a disbelief of sorts for almost everyone. Especially Roman. “Whatever else you need, ask, and it is yours.”

To say this day has been one of the most stressful of his life would absolutely be putting it lightly. Just this morning, everything was fine. By the afternoon, he felt like he was in hell. And now, he sits here before another of one of the most feared men on the continent, hearing that not only is the Cartel supplying the Tribal Chief with an army and unlimited resources, but there’s a standing invitation for support later down the road.

He’s fucking floored.

Domingo, however, isn’t done. “Mr. Reigns, you will bring your wife home safely, strike down anyone who was a part of this coup, and when the dust settles, we shall meet to discuss business.” He smirks, eyes alight with greed and anticipation. “An alliance with the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra will only strengthen our empires.” The same sentiment Roman had when his initial interest piqued in the Cartel. “But, I am only interested in securing that deal if it is you who sits at the head of the table, because as I said earlier, your reputation precedes you.” A beat. “And, as far as I am concerned, you are the only Tribal Chief.”

—-----------

The minute Solana is thrown back into the same room she was in before, where Brandi still lies there, silent and unmoving, she feels it.

Small, subtle, but present.

There’s a switch that’s occurred. A death and a rebirth.

She doesn’t feel the same sense of dread that had her feeling helpless and hopeless. Doesn't feel as empty and deterred.

She feels the exact opposite.

Determined.

Hopeful.

Angry,

And, it’s all because of a single little girl.

Emma.

Because when Samantha moved to hurt Emma, something snapped in Solana. It was like she was broken from the shackles of her despair and thrust into an overwhelming sense of urgency and protection.

Because, it wasn’t Emma’s crying, helpless face she saw.

It was herself.

Solana saw a younger version of herself.

She was that helpless, defenseless child.

But, she’ll be damned if she lets Emma suffer the same fate.

It’s why she stood so boldly and with confidence against Samantha, because that’s what she needs to make it out of this alive. And, she will. Because she made a promise.

To herself.

To her girls.

To her family

Her husband and unborn children that she’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.

Because it’s when she was being dragged back to her cell by Nia, another accomplice in this nightmare, a memory hit her. A recollection of what, at the time, felt like a dream, but now, she most definitely knows and understands was not a dream.

It was a warning.

“Mommy.”

Solana is startled by the sudden presence of her girls. She never even heard them walk over. “Yes, baby?”

“You’re gonna protect us, right?”

Eyes crinkling with confusion, Solana adjusts her baby boy, lightly patting his back. “What–what do you mean, honey?”

Her oldest eyes watering only sets Solana off even more, as she looks to Roman for some assistance only to see he’s no longer there.

He’s gone.

Solana’s stomach drops as she turns her head, looking to see where he’s gone when her daughter moves a hand to the baby’s back. “You’re gonna have to fight for us.”

Solana is beyond confused right now. About it all. “I don’t—”

“Daddy’s not gonna be there. You have to do it, mama.” The quieter of the two taking a turn to speak, voice almost desperate and emotional only exacerbates the situation. Solana feels her own tears forming when her daughter reaches out her little hand, placing it on her shoulder. “And you can’t trust them.”

That’s when Solana really stills. Looking between the two who wear such troubled expressions, she asks, “trust who?”

Solana’s eyes shut.

Rikishi.

Solo.

Nia.

Jey.

That’s who the girls were talking about. They were who she couldn’t trust.

But, it’s less the warning from her daughters that Solana keeps at the forefront of her mind, and more the question, “you’re gonna protect us, right?” and the reminder, “you’re gonna have to fight for us.”

Hands now free from the ties, she places her hand over her belly, a silent promise made.

Fight.

Something Solana at one point didn’t think she was capable of, but the truth of the matter is that she’s been fighting her whole life.

She fought to live, beat her coma, when the men who took her mother’s life also tried to take hers.

She fought and dragged her way out that house after being gang raped and beaten as a child, overcoming her injuries to live.

She survived not one but two attempts at taking her own life.

Solana has spent her entire life surviving adversity after adversity, and she’s damn sure not about to stop now.

Deep down, she knows Roman is coming for her, knows that there’s no way in hell he won’t, and while it terrifies her what he could be walking into, she has to trust he knows what he’s doing. Trust that he’s got this.

She just has to stay alive long enough for him to get to her.

Gaze falling over to Brandi, Solana is careful in her movements, keeping a comfortable distance as she settles on her knees in front of the woman.

“I saw Emma.”

Just like that, Brandi jumps up, eyes wide, filled with abject fear. “What? Is sh—”

“She’s okay,” Solana assures. Jey had told her he’d make sure no one hurt the little girl after also promising to try to secure it to where Emma could be with them. Not that it makes much of a difference.

He’s a liar and can go to hell just like the rest of them.

“Brandi, I need you to listen to me.” Solana doesn’t know how much time she has until the woman before her, who’s now crying again, overwhelmed with everything that’s happened, shuts her out again. “You’re hurt and confused and angry and so many other things, and I know this not just because….because we’re both in this situation together, but….” She drops her head, pushing back some of her hair, voice lowering into an almost whisper. “Because I felt the same way after I was raped.”

Had she been looking up, Solana would have seen the horrified gleam in the other woman’s eyes. “And that….that’s going to take time to heal from, but you will heal from it. I promise you that.” Solana believes that with everything in her. She has to. “But right now….right now is not about healing, it’s about surviving.” Solana looks back at her, swallowing and returning to her previously strong, firm voice. “We are not going to die in here. Your daughter is not going to die in here.”

My daughters are not going to die in here, Solana thinks to herself. A vow. A promise. An oath.

“We are going to fight like hell, and we are going to survive this.” Brandi’s bottom lip trembles, as she remains quiet but listening. “But, we have to do it together. And, I know….I know our husband’s history with each other, but it’s not about that right now. That’s them. This is us. And right now, our priority is to get out of here alive, which I know we can do….but, I need you to trust me.”

Such an impossible thing for the other woman, Solana is certain. She’s certain because it’s that trust that landed them in the situation they’re in.

Roman

Cody

Solana

Brandi

They all trusted the people who swore to love and protect them, but now, those same people seek to destroy them.

And she can’t let that happen.

Solana doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to pressure Brandi, just wants to leave her with important things to consider.

And, she does, because just as Solana is preparing to move back to where she was previously sitting, a still, small voice fills the room.

“What do you need me to do?”

An indescribable joy and relief fills Solana that's only matched by her determination that make every bastard that's apart of this plot pay for what they've done.

She’s about to show them all just how “stupid” this bitch is.

#roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

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berfgrimm · 2 days ago

Text

sharp dressed man | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, cheating, deepthroating, dirty talk, friends to lovers

note: this is a request that i promise started out as white haired Seunghyun. then i remembered this performance existed and i panicked. i’m so sorry but I hope you enjoy!!

———————

You have to know what Seunghyun tastes like. The thought is stuck in your brain like it’s a broken record, repeating over and over. You shouldn’t think about it. You’re both seeing other people, albeit very casually, and on top of that, you’ve been friends for years. Still, the loop plays in your head because of one stupid fucking gesture.

Your friends invited you to their performance on Inkigayo, and of course you accepted the invite; you loved to see them on stage, in their element. What you didn’t expect, however, was to watch Seunghyun grab a handful of his crotch mid-performance. A handful. The crowd screamed and you would have too if you didn’t feel like you were going to pass out.

But why? Who cares that Seunghyun grabbed himself? Why should it matter to you? If anyone asked it definitely didn’t matter to you, and you did not think about it for the rest of the evening. But now you find yourself alone in a dressing room with Seunghyun, and it’s the only thing on your mind. His bandmates had decided to get dinner after the performance, but Seunghyun stayed behind; you opted to stay with him, to see if you can will yourself to stop feeling like this. After twenty minutes of near silence, Seunghyun finally speaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look at him quickly. He has a look of genuine concern and it’s the first time you become aware of how you may be presenting yourself in that moment. Your body feels tense and your face tight, having been more focused on your thoughts than your appearance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m cool,” you reply, relaxing your shoulders and straightening out your back. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been acting strange all night,” he pushes. “You weren’t like this before the performance. Did you think that it was bad?”

“What? No, not at all!” You turn to face him, pulling one of your legs up onto the sofa with you. “I love watching you guys perform,” you continue. “I have no complaints.” The last part was a lie; if you were in the right state of mind, you’d tell him off for making you feel even a fraction of what you’re feeling right now.

“I can tell something is off about you,” he insists. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you say, with a smile. You realize that you have your hand resting on his thigh, and have no idea when you placed it there. “Fuck, sorry,” you say, retracting your hand as if it was on fire. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“Hey,” he laughs, turning to you and grabbing both of your shoulders. “Calm down. You look like you’re—”

You kiss him. Fuck, why did you kiss him? You pull away almost as quickly as you kiss him, and you can’t bring yourself to look in his eyes. You feel your heart pounding and your eyes water, panic setting it.

“Fuck, I am so fucking sorry, Seunghyun,” you say, shaking your head looking down at your lap. “I don’t…I don’t know why I did that. I mean, I know why, but I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I have no idea what came over me. You were out there on stage and you touched yourself like that — I don’t know! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Fuck, I’m sorry.” You ramble so much, you don’t give him the opportunity to say anything in response, but his hands still hold onto your shoulders.

“You…” Seunghyun begins to speak but he trails off for a moment, and you can hear him pull in a slow breath. “I touched myself on stage, so you kissed me?”

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, your skin flushing and the weight of his hands now becoming unbearable. You shove his hands off of you and stand from the sofa, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. “My mind started to just…wander,” you continue, pacing back and forth as you still refuse to look at him. “I don’t know why; I can’t explain it. I watched you touch yourself like that, and I wanted to know…what you would feel like, and what you would taste like. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. If I could not feel like this, I would. Trust me. I don’t like to feel out of control like this. Now, all I keep thinking is how I want you to talk dirty to me, like you could say whatever you want, I wouldn’t care. I need it to be nasty. I shouldn’t…fuck, I shouldn’t have said that either.”

You can’t stop yourself from rambling, not until you finally lay eyes on Seunghyun. He still sits on the sofa like he was before, his eyebrows furrowed — he’s confused. You pull in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try to stop yourself from shaking, which is a new development. You’d hoped that if you said everything you were feeling out loud, then you’d realize how it sounded and could just get over it, but now it’s worse. You feel like you’re going insane, completely embarrassed; you have to get out of this room before you do something stupid.

“I’m going to leave,” you say, taking a few hurried steps towards the door, but you feel Seunghyun lean to catch your wrist, stopping you. When you look at him, for a moment, he looks as torn as you feel, his eyes studying your face for something but then his expression changes.

“Lock the door,” he instructs. “Then get on your knees.”

All of the blood feels like it rushes between your legs, and you could realistically pass out. You lock the door quickly and move around to the front of the sofa to kneel down in front of Seunghyun parted knees. You’d never noticed how slender his fingers are but now as his hands unfasten his belt, you can’t help but pay attention. He keeps his eyes on you as he unbuttons his pants and drags the zipper down, untucking his shirt in the process. Seunghyun pushes the waist of his pants down enough so slip his other hand inside of his briefs so he can wrap his fingers around himself.

“You know that I’ve been seeing someone,” he begins, pulling his hardening length from the confines of his tight pants. “But you don’t care about that? You don’t care that I’ve been sleeping with someone else, do you?” He’s not really asking, but is almost degrading you for wanting to blow someone who’s taken. It shouldn’t be hot, but you love how his voice sounds.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, your eyes trained on his hand that slowly strokes his cock.

“Haven’t you been sleeping with someone, too?” Seunghyun continues, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a small smirk. “Is he not taking care of you? Is that why you’re crawling to me like this?”

“I can’t…” You shake your head, unable to come up with any response that will be remotely reasonable.

“This is all you can think about?” Seunghyun nods his head towards his lap, and you immediately nod. Of course he smirks at your response — why wouldn't he be amused when you’re this pathetic?

Seunghyun keeps stroking over himself, making sure you keep your eyes on either his erection or his face. You can actually feel how wet you are and your first instinct is to touch yourself but that’s not really what you need. All you want is to feel him in your mouth, so maybe if you tell him that, along with some other stuff…

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste it,” you mutter, and you swear you can see Seunghyun falter just a little, his hand stuttering in one of his strokes. That’s when he stops, beckoning you over with a crook of his fingers; you don’t think twice, inching forward until you’re between his spread knees. You need to get a better view, a better way to get a grip on him.

The tremble in your hands is noticeable as you reach towards the waist of his pants. Your fingers curl around the fabric near his hips, catching the elastic of his briefs as well and tugging; Seunghyun lifts his hips enough to help you pull the material down to his thighs.

You start with his balls, massaging them gently for a moment before you wrap your free hand around him, near the base so you’re able to angle him just a bit. You drag your tongue from the base all the way to the head of his cock, the tip of your tongue taking special care to tease the dip where his shaft meets his head. He sighs, spreading his knees just a little wider to welcome you in.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his member, before you spit over him carefully so you can get him slick. You stroke slowly at first, your hand enveloping every inch as your other hand sets on his thigh. You flick your tongue over him to get a taste of his precum and already you feel yourself desperate to go faster to get to taste even more. You take his tip into your mouth, sucking on his gently, your hand shifting to massage his balls softly again.

“Fuck,” Seunghyun mumbles, so quietly, you almost miss it. You lift your gaze to meet his, blinking as innocently as you can manage while you take him just a little deeper into your mouth. His gaze is unflinching, focused on the way his cock enters your lips.

Your hand moves higher now, wrapping around the base of his shaft again and slowly stroking to meet what you don’t take into your mouth. It feels so good to have him in your mouth, listening to the way his breathing changes as you quicken your pace just a little — so you whine.

“Is this turning you on that much?” Seunghyun asks, his hand cupping your jaw to lift your head up, causing him to drop from your mouth. Your hand picks up the slack, stroking him fully at the same pace but adding in a small twist with each pump. “You were moaning on my cock,” he says, his thumb rubbing over your lips. “You didn’t even realize it. You’re strung out on a little bit of precum, and you’re hungry for more, hm?”

“I love giving head,” you say, slightly breathless as you gently bite the tip of his thumb. He smirks, pressing his thumb between your lips and past your teeth; you keep your eyes on him as you suck softly on his thumb, all while you still stroke your hand over his length.

“I think you just love having something in your mouth,” Seunghyun suggests, and you grin around his thumb. He pulls the digit out of your lips with a pop, and you tease the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around slowly.

“The feeling of a big, hard cock shoved into my throat, making me choke on it,” you press, an animalistic feeling overtaking you. “It’s like a fucking gift. I feel like I’m being rewarded.” You notice the way Seunghyun’s thighs clench when you speak so you keep your eyes on him, slowing down the movement of your hand and instead leaving kisses nearer the head of his cock.

“Is that what you want right now?” he asks, voice low and raspy. “You want me to reward you?” It makes your mouth go dry, the lazy way he speaks, so you swallow hard, which you’re certain he notices.

“If you think I deserve it,” you respond, placing another kiss to the head of his cock, just to tease him. Seunghyun lets out a huff of breath, breaking eye contact when he closes his eyes.

You take the opportunity to slip him back into your mouth, taking him deeper this time. Your mouth begins to do most of the work, bobbing up and down so you can take him deeper into your mouth. Your hand strokes what you aren’t what you’re not prepared to take yet. Seunghyun lets out a small groan, slightly strangled like he’s trying to keep quiet. That’s not what you want; no, you have to hear what you’re doing to him, you need his moans.

Your hand on his thigh shifts between his legs, massaging him again, and you feel him fucking twitch in your mouth. It makes you moan and that does it; he starts to groan deeper in his chest, the sound coming through clearer this time.

“You love giving head, hm?” Seunghyun asks, his voice deeper now but shaky as he tries to stay composed. “Are you already wet just from having me in your mouth like this?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, and his hips twitch involuntarily, shoving them upwards so he forces himself deeper into your mouth. When you gag around him, Seunghyun takes hold of your head, pulling your head back so he can peer into your eyes. “Fuck, don’t make me stop,” you plead, panting and desperate. “I was just getting to the good part.”

Seunghyun smirks at your words, and brings his hand to your jaw again, slipping his thumb between your lips and past your teeth. You take the hint and open your mouth for him, awaiting your next instruction.

“Wider,” he mutters, and you listen, feeling yourself get wetter from the tone of his voice alone. “Wider. If you want it deep, you’ll have to make room for it.”

God, why does that make you whimper? Was it even sexy, or are you that overwhelmed with desire? That’s for you to figure out later, because now you have to open your mouth as wide as you can for him, sticking your tongue out. Seunghyun places his hand on the back of your neck, near the base of your skull, urging your head down to his cock again.

You take him into your mouth, not quite all the way, but you hold him there for a moment, hollowing out your cheeks. You slowly pull back, applying the same amount of suction as you go until you only have his tip left.

“You were begging for it and now you’re teasing,” Seunghyun chuckles, breathlessly. You pull him out of your mouth and purse your lips to blow cool air over his tip just to watch how he reacts; his thighs tense and he lets out a huff of breath, giving you a warning glare.

As you move to take him into your mouth again, you notice a smirk on Seunghyun’s lips. You bob your head faster, taking him even deeper and deeper, your saliva dripping from your mouth and coating his cock. You didn’t realize that you were salivating like this for him, that you would be this pathetic when you finally got a taste, but right now, you don’t care.

When he starts to reach the back of your throat again, you moan in excitement, gently scraping your teeth over him just a little and he inhales sharply through clenched teeth. He grabs the back of your head, guiding you down to keep taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You gladly relax to be able to accept the intrusion he presents and take him over and over as you bob faster.

“F-fuck,” Seunghyun stutters, gripping your head firmer and pressing.

You take him deeper, the absolute most you can and fuck, you’ve never had anyone push your throat to the limit like this. You struggle to keep him there as long as you can, your gag reflex fighting against your efforts, but you grab his thighs, your fingers clenching as you struggle. Your eyes begin to water, feeling your limits begin to break, your gagging becoming more difficult to ignore.

“Jesus,” Seunghyun moans, still holding your head until finally you can’t take it anymore. You squeeze his thighs to signify for him to let you go, and he does, allowing you to sit up.

You cough, and swallow, trying to calm your reflexes but tears still trickle from your eyes. Seunghyun cups your face with both hands, tilting your head up so he can look into your eyes. He looks unlike you’ve ever seen him, overcome and desperate to find some semblance of composure. You breathe hard, trying to catch your breath but you get lost in his eyes for a moment, finding slow breaths even harder to reach.

“You’re sexy like this,” Seunghyun whispers, wiping some of the tears from your eyes. “On your knees, choking on me.” Your hand grasps his cock, stroking at the same pace as before, but you keep your eyes locked with Seunghyun’s, watching the way that he struggles to keep his gasps and moans quiet.

You sit up higher on your knees now, resting taking his hands and lacing your fingers together so you can pin his hands onto the sofa cushions. You open your mouth and flick your tongue over his tip for one more tease before you take him into your mouth again. This time, you go fast, using only your mouth and the motions of your head; you bob quickly, taking him all the way to the back of your throat each time.

You can tell he’s getting close. The way he can’t keep his legs still, his hips thrusting up to drive himself deeper into your mouth. His moans sound so fucking good, the sexiest noises you think you’ve ever heard. Your panties feel absolutely drenched, your nipples are fucking hard, your head spinning because, fuck, watching your friend fall apart like this for you is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You want me…fuck, where do you want it?” Seunghyun asks, his voice tight. You don’t answer because you need to keep him in your mouth. “God, you want it down the back of your throat? You want to swallow it?”

You hum an affirmative around him, and his grip on your hands tightens so firmly it hurts. You have to pull one of your hands free so you can touch him again, massaging him to help encourage him along. You feel the way he throbs in your mouth and you salivate even more in anticipation.

You quickly pump your hand over him, still sucking on what you can as Seunghyun’s moans grow louder, deeper, vibrating through his hips and into your mouth. Until he moans your name amongst a string of expletives, as he finally comes. You can’t help but moan because he taste salty, and sweet, and so fucking good. You keep working over him, pumping everything you can from him and swallowing every drop.

“Fuck, oh, my god,” Seunghyun groans, when start to slow to a stop. You pull your mouth from him, licking your lips as you look up at him. His cheeks are red, his eyes struggling to stay open, his hands in his hair; this is the hottest he’s ever looked.

You lick your fingers clean of what you didn’t catch in your mouth, savoring the taste of him one more time. You can see Seunghyun’s eyes following your movements carefully, the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath his silky shirt not slowing down. You grin, using the edge of the sofa to support your weight as you stand on your shaky legs.

You try to play it cool but you can feel how aroused you are as you walk towards one of the makeup tables to grab some towels. You wipe your face dry, trying to think of an excuse to leave because now you’re thinking about the conversation that might happen. You aren’t ready to discuss things; you’d rather savor the moment as long as you can and maybe never speak about it again. You’re not sure, but until you figure it out, you know you want to keep the upper hand — if you could call it that after how pathetic you acted. You move back towards Seunghyun to toss a towel onto his chest, then pull your phone from your pocket to pretend to read a text.

“You should get cleaned up,” you say, looking at Seunghyun. “Wouldn’t want that girl you’re seeing to find you like this.” He looks surprised, his jaw slack as he tries to think of something to say in response, but nothing comes out. “Thanks, this was fun,” you say, slipping your phone into your pocket again. “I’ve got to meet up with someone.”

You cross to the exit, disengaging the lock and pulling the door open without sparing him another glance. As you make your way through the building in search of the exit, you try to think of what outcomes you could face. A part of you hopes that you got this feeling out of your system and you won’t have to talk about this with Seunghyun again. But another part of you makes up a dozen different scenarios of what could happen the next time you see your friend. Either way, you know your next move is back to your hotel room to take care of this ache between your thighs before you change your mind and run back to that dressing room with Seunghyun to beg him for help.

#choi seunghyun x reader #x reader #t.o.p x reader #x reader smut

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rotagnus · 3 days ago

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love/self-growth in march !! 🫐

my usual pick a pile is here, darlings. pick just as usual--if it doesn't speak to you, don't force yourself to choose. there are messages for you that lie elsewhere.

this reading deals with both platonic, familial, and romantic love. don't expect to get a certain aspect of love or the result you want.

-1. ooouu you're a bright person. probably very creative with a tendency to get stuck within your own head. as for love in march, i think that this month will focus on a connection that already exists. maybe you've been working on self-love, and that's what's growing. for some of you, you've adopted a pet recently and that connection is going to grow stronger. if you're crushing on someone right now, there probably won't be any change except for your feelings growing stronger. my advice to you is to decenter this because if you focus completely on that, it'll be really terrible. you are so full of beauty and flame and wonder, and you should harness this energy and create beauty, not look for it elsewhere. time will bring you everything. you deserve a love which knows no bounds, and whether this person is it or not, you must first find that love within. i know a lot of you don't want to hear this, but it's the truth. i would highly suggest trying to talk to this person, though--to find out what they really are. ask deep questions if you're already on a talking basis with them, if not--try to make a friend.

-2. now baby tell me why you've given up on love. it seems to be a sour topic for you that you shy away from. you've done a lot of self-growth in the past ~6 months, and you're farther along on your self-discovery journey than either of these two piles are. for you, you try not to love. a lot of the times, you feel like you are still unseen. this month will bring change to that. i'm not sure what kind of change, i can't exactly tell, but you'll feel a bit more seen than you did before. this may be to personal circumstances, or maybe another person does something--even a simple action--and you realize that, damn, maybe i really am seen. this month will deal with opening up a little bit more to let the love flow in. lol, for pile 1, it's not really time for love, but for you it is; but you've closed all doors to any possible encounters with love. 🤣 listen, i highly suggest doing some exercises for your vulnerability. it's a great step forward, and i think that it could benefit you. if a person comes into your life, let them. but don't be scared to set boundaries and not settle for less.

-3. you have rose-colored glasses, darling. now, don't take this the wrong way. it can be a very great thing, being idealistic--you at your heart are a ruthless optimist and honestly, a little bit naive. you've been dealing with both ups and downs, this past couple of months. there's been some trouble in your family, and in your love life. you're always the one making ends meet in order to benefit mass sums of people. you're awfully responsible and confident, but you're still...you. you still need rest. i feel like most of you are women--babies, you do NOT need to be the men in the relationship, if you're a masculine woman, disregard this. but for a lot of you, you're stuck in this disbalanced masculine energy. i don't really like talking about the divine feminine and divine masculine and whatnot, but for you i feel like it's important. girl, put yourself FIRST. i promise you there's a man/woman/person out there who's gonna bring you flowers every damn day of the week, you just gotta put yourself first. start to say NO. you might meet someone new in march. someone unexpected. i know you've been taught that change is bad, but in this case, just wait a little bit. baby steps, darling. baby steps.

#love reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #pac reading #pick a picture #tarotblr #divine guidance #intuitive reading #intuitive readings

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uldahnights · 2 days ago

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Thanks @freyasfolly for the tag! You know what, let's have some fun and answer these: 1. Given the reputation of the Warriors of Light as battle-hardened adventurers, most people are downright surprised by Isaiah's earnest and patient nature. Time has made him wiser over the years, but not quite bitter, thankfully. 2. Ul'dah. He started ARR on the wrong carriage, intending to travel to Gridania. Beyond that... I'll make the story publically available someday. ;) 3. Rhalgr, the Destroyer, as is his family's tradition. He is none too pleased with the association (although a meeting in person after Endwalker provided him with some peace in that regard.) 4. Formerly three, currently one. Isaiah is the last surviving male child of his family, the others lost at the Battle of Carteneau in 1.0. 5. Yes, but as he grew older he began to realize how much he learned of what not to do from them. More on that later. 6. No. Isaiah is rarely the public-facing member of his Light Party (that honor falls to @soothinghymn's Rehma and @tsubakay's Lina), but he is often tasked with smoothing out conflicts within groups. When it comes to peaceful resolution, you can count on Isaiah. 7. He's a carpenter! Not an amazing one, mind you, but he gets the job done. Aside from that, he's the resident doctor of Pearl Lane, and an enthusiastic trainer of new "sprout" adventurers. 8. His combat style is a combination of staff-based fighting, martial arts, and defensive magic - all drilled into him through a brutal training regimen in early ARR by his three fellow WoLs. 9. Ul'dah again - he's a proud Flame Captain and an honorary waiter at the Quicksand. 10. Letter writing! A good way to ease a nervous tick from childhood into a useful habit. 11. He has one - a Lesser Panda named Cinnamon who lives in his bag and eats everything in sight. "Woo." 12. Isaiah is a welcome liason for all Allied Societies of the realm, but his closest ties are with the Amalj'aa of Thanalan. 13. Both brothers and the health of his mother, while he was failing his training to become a knight. 14. Lots of small details, with the greater narrative surviving intact, just with a lot more events. The biggest change for Isaiah personally would involve a certain member of the Convocation and the feather of a phoenix, but that's not a story for now... 16. Good question. I think the sin eaters suit him even better than primals. 17. All I can say is this: wolshipping Minfilia unlocks an absolutely unhinged version of Shadowbringers that's half "widower struggle" and half "romancing a ghost," but man, when that accidental narrative hits, it hits good. 18. He's tried it with every single arc villain so far! It's one of his charm points! 19. He's finally pointed in the right direction. Now he just needs some time to sail. He'll get there. 20. One - and he skipped to the teenage years with her. In Isaiah's own words, Ryne is the best thing that ever happened to him. 21. Being forced away from the work desk by his friends and family. (God. Fiction really does mirror reality...) 22. The better, for sure. 23. "Not a thing. In this work of ours, we are tasked with remembrance. The responsibility ought weigh heavily." 24. He gets dragged there by a certain Summoner. Thankfully, saving the realm five times over gets you free play tokens. Occasionally. 25. Semi-canon - I presume the organization exists but plays a role of downplayed importance. 26. Wind - to his patients, Isaiah's healing often is experienced as a cool, rippling wind. 27. Charon - a grumpy, yet enthusiastically social Ancient, obsessed with all matters of the aetherial sea. Notably, one of the few Ancients publically opposed to the sundering. 28. "Gracious, that prospect sounds downright... Ascian. What's past is past, and there's no bringing it back in the way we might wish. (That being said, I would have a stack of complaints for the Allaghans a malm high...)" 29. He loves them, but not as much as Ysayle. I mean, who does?

I decided to make a very in depth and fun ffxiv oc question meme! (Feel free to steal and use)

#oc: isaiah byrneshaw #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv

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sugurusladyknightt · 1 day ago

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you're ill.

it's really not common occurrence for you to be looking so small, so pitiful.

the worst part of it all being that you hadn't said anything about it, to either of your lovers. you've been toughing it out, simply brushing aside how you've been feeling.

last night after you'd gotten home from work, you looked uncharacteristically tired. once again pushed off to the side as fatigue and results of build up from the last few weeks.

they know you've been busy.

coming home later, staying up at home to finish or continue on work, getting calls early in the morning and later in the evening, even getting called in on weekends. suguru and kento, as they always do, did their best to take care of you. suguru made you your breakfast and lunches, kento baked your favourite goods, they worked together to help each other with making dinners. both doing their best to ensure you were eating breakfast (skipping meals in this household is intolerable, but breakfast especially. it is the most important meal in this household), reminding you to stay hydrated, gently pulling you away from your work when things get out of hand, pulling you into their arms and leading you to bed.

suguru had half a mind to show up to your place of employment and stick one of his expensive kitchen knives straight through the head of the one responsible for your stress.

a flat "no" came from kento's lips, as he continues to arrange a sandwich for you using bread hed just made, while awaiting the water to boil. suguru, who's sat at the counter, sticker covered lighter discarded nearby, his long dark hair falling down his back and over his shoulders. he deflates.

and it's comical.

"ok ok" raising his hands in surrender, "but what about, an anonymous phone call." he hums, not entirely pleased but satisfied with the counter offer he's provided. "hmm... what do you think? i'll be very very polite while telling that ass to back off our lover."

yes his voice was calm but man that poor cigarette trapped between his fingers, being squished harder and harder as he spoke. surrendering to the pressure of his thumb and fore finger, its nearly disfigured now. the way it bent out of shape a reflection of the emotions being felt by its torturous captor.

(suguru really is very bothered by all this.)

he turned to kento to look at him with those incredibly kind violet eyes of his, flashing a soft smile to the other man, with the small tilt of his head, "please."

he's good. really good.

now, just so we're clear, having the ethereal man that we have the pleasure to know as geto suguru, look at you oh so sweetly, to like at you like with eyes that would make you believe anything he'd say and do anything he'd ask. he's pleading, ever so sweetly, in that incredibly soft voice of his, there's a slight rasp to it from the cigarette that was beth's lip's earlier, and you have to then go on to reject him?

it was no easy task. a nearly impossible feat if we were being completely honest. this isn't even something worth trying to lie about.

kento, however, prides himself for having an incredible amount of self control. he can handle suguru.

he grabs the whistling kettle, the thick heavy watch that usually occupies the same is gone, his usual attire as well, swapped out for more comfortable clothing. kento fills the three mugs he'd set out earlier with the boiling water.

(mugs you guys made and painted for each other on a pottery date, they weren't perfect yours specifically, you hated when they use it. the one you'd made. but it was so so important to them.)

kento sweetened yours and his own with honey. suguru preferred his without. he took your mug and suguru's. handing suguru his with a kiss on the temple, "no." another to his nose, then his lips before he pulled away to look into his lovers eyes, softly speaking. he's just close enough to suguru's lips that he feels his breath, "that won't help anything at all." another kiss to his nose before he pulled away and went on to find you.

kento imagines your hunched over your desk, with a few candles going

(you've complain that the lights are too much. too bright. why would you need them anyway when you have two suns all to yourself.)

leaving behind him a flushed suguru watching his back profile, he's got to pull his eyes away from kento's form, turning his head towards the now empty kitchen space. mumbling a soft "ass" to himself as the hot tea he's sipping soothes his throat and warms his heart.

looking back, kento should've taken up suguru's thoughtful and frankly, far too kind proposal. anything anything over seeing you this way. anything over this.

the day started of beautifully, with kentowaking up on his precious day off to suguru's alarm. your sleeping form sandwiched between their warm bodies and the heap of blankets.

safe, soft, and warm.

the glow of the morning reflected on your face, as the two exchange sleepy smiles and the first kisses of the day. while, of course, remembering to pepper a few on your face as well. your temple, your eyelids, your hair, lips, nose, wherever. you're perfect everywhere to them. the two share one last kiss, before suguru is off to freshen up and prepare to head out for the day ahead.

you and kento would be home all day, and he figured you needed the extra sleep. gazing down at you with fond eyes, you looked serene. the traces of exhaustion still etched into your face, but they've been greatly softened by the rest you've gotten. you looked ethereal, hair practically formed a halo around your head.

it's difficult for him to look away. do people just look like that as they sleep? kento gets up to make suguru breakfast and pack his lunch while he's getting ready, the question still lingering in the back of his mind.

your still asleep after the last "see you later kiss" is shared at the door. looking over to the clock, kento is thinking he'll slip out to grab some ingredients for a nice dinner. after all his darling deserved only the best. he'd missed spending time with his lovers. time that wasn't plagued with exhaustion, when you all weren't drained or busied by one thing or another. a nice warm meal, his darlings and him, in your shared home. kento couldn't dream of a better evening if he tried. so he's getting changed himself, leaving you a note at the counter, and he's out the door.

when you wake, your incredibly cold and the there's a slight tremble you feel through out your body. the home was quite, missing the strong though comforting presence of your beloveds. your bones feel heavy, eyes still tired, and breathing felt far too difficult. despite having just woken up, you fee tired still, far from refreshed. and so you figure a cold shower would do you well, movements sluggish and heavy as you make your way to the bathroom.

fresh out of the shower and your still exhausted. you feel worn. to the bone. it's as if a flesh eating beast had just finished taking all that your body had to offer.

lifeless is how you feels right now.

so you slip on a shirt and a pair of your boyfriends boxers. your not sure whether it's kento's or suguru's before you make your way to bed. your still damp hair splays over the pillows, and the last thought you have before your drifting of i how upset suguru would be to see you treating the hair he cares for so meticulously in this way.

upon kento's return, he calls out to you. it's almost noon, you're likely up by now. closing the door behind him with his foot, strong arms busy holding groceries that would otherwise take multiple trips to carry in.

he calls again. still asleep? setting down the keys and and the groceries on the kitchen counter, he ventures further into the home to find you.

"y/n?" he finds you in bed still, letting out a breathe he didn't even realize was begin held in.

continuing into the room he notices your wearing different clothing , suguru's shirt sits inside out on your body. your cheeks flushed, and hair a damp mess on the satin pillow cases.

you're very flushed.

he's closer to you now, hearing that your breathing comes out as short and laboured. kento places one of his hands to your forehead to feel your temperature. his eyes go wide, your so hot.

you, suguru, and kento as well, are all the kind of people how cant quite handle being cared for and can't handle not caring for those you love. kento however thought he had the skill to detect when something was wrong, even when you'd do your best to camouflage it. he's never seen you like this. his hand moved form your forehead done to hold your own, usually cold hands. they're burning and it's a scary feeling for kento.

he felt himself start spiraling, his eyes started to wet, and his hands shaking. shit, this is not the time. what happen to self control. he doesn't have any. ugly thoughts of self doubt and guilt begin to swim around in his head, their speed escalates quick. because here you, are in bed, skin flushed, sweaty, and breathing heavy.

he reaches for phone to call suguru (the contact name in his phone is "sexy bangs." no that was not a dare from gojo. he did not do it because he thought it was cute, he did it because of gojo and his stupid dare and swore to change it the next day. though he never did.)

suguru picks up quick. before he could greet his lover, he hears him say words that make him freeze for a moment, eyebrows furrowed with worry and confusion, his body frozen in place.

"come home now. please. we need you."

"i'll be there. wait for me." always, nanami wanted to say "be quick" and be safe. and the call ended. your sweating now. kento thinks he might be too.

he takes your hand in his once more, holding it to his lips planting a soft kiss before bringing your hand close to his heart. like a wet kitten he'd find alone in the rain on a walk back home. hoping to provide you with some comfort. some refuge. some relief. and selfishly hoping to feel some too.

he's resting his head the edge of the bed now. it's just a cold most likely, a little bit of a fever. he knows that much, but still he's quietly praying your back up to your normal self soon. it's not really about the cold. he feels he's let you down. failed to see, to understand how you were feeling and if not to prevent it than to help fix it. there were signs. there must have been. there had to have been some, and still he missed every one. he's revisiting the past few weeks and finds himself overthinking and analyzing every little moment. what else could be ailing you that he hasn't picked up? something beyond physical symptoms. what about suguru? what if he's been feeling unwell and just hadn't said anything. what if kento failed to have catch on to the things he worries the most about. is he failing to be there for the most important people to him when you need him most? what a joke.

suguru gets home, frenzied. rushing in through the door, impatiently removing his shoes as he's calling out "kento!y/n!" a quick peek into the living room before hastily heading to the bedroom. suguru pushes the door open with far more force than necessary, his hair a mess and skin sweaty from the rush he was just in. he finds you, his only loves, worried eyes meeting with the blonde man's. his sweat turns ice cold and it's a mix of relief and greater worry. his eyes then shift to you, and he stumbles in, putting together the pieces best he can.

"shit. shitshit. is she okay. what happen" taking his place next to kento. one of his hands finds its way to your face, brushing the damp hair from your feverish skin. the other finds nanamis face. his thumb brushing his under eye ever so gently, before kissing away the tears that threaten to streak his face following the path left for them by their now dry predecessors. "she's warm", suguru speaks into kento's skin. hand moving from his face to the back of his head and tangling into his blonde hair. suguru brings the younger man closer to himself, to rest his head onto his firm chest and kento can't bring himself to resist.

"she'll be okay. a few days at most and it'll be gone." he reassures.

suguru is incredible at expertly concealing his own anxiousness and worry using the calm of his voice, kento crying was rare sight after all.

(ignoring the times you bring him just because flowers and making love, or when baked and burnt his favourite bread for his birthday as a surprise, or when you or suguru being a little too mean to him in bed, or-)

if there is anything suguru does not play about, it's the health and happiness of his beloveds. he shouldn't have consulted kento at all and just gone through with the stabbing. at least he shouldve made that phone call. suguru's hand is still on your face, stroking gently, as the other continues to hold kento close to his chest.

your eyes flutter open, eyes slowly adjusting to the light. the first thing you see is suguru and kento. kentos crying? you sit up immediately and move to comfort your lover. before you get there though, two pairs of disgustingly attractive eyes find you and you freeze. they looked worried.

worried and relieved. you look the same. mirroring their worry and your own confusion. suguru smiles at you softly, though it looks pained as he says, "don't worry love, we've just been worried. how long have you felt.." a pensive pause before he continues, just say it like it is he decides, "sick"

as soft as his voice is and despite the kind smile on his face, his words feel strangely menacing. it's hard to hold eye contact with him for too long, you feel small and the urge to flee crawls into your lungs. it's suffocating to breathe, so you hold your breathe. it's hard to hold the connection, so you look away. "not long" and god your throat hurts so much.

suguru figures he'll interrogate more later, for now he's focusing on tackling more pressing issues. "have you eaten anything today?" no response. he figured. he looks down at kento, still in his arms though eyes now fixated on you. he looked at you with relief. and so much guilt. his eyes reddened by the tears and lashes crumpled together, his lips a bright red from how he's chewing on them. you could feel cracks forming in your chest, the sound echoing off of your ribs.

kento felt like that because of you.

suguru interrupts you and kento when he asks that kento comes to help him in the kitchen. the younger man nods. suguru extends his hands to him and helps him up. both coming to you to plant a soft kiss on your temples. one in each side of your perfect, pink, face. you could feel the wetness on kentos cheeks when his lips meet your skin, along with it comes a painful churning in your gut. the two men leave the room and your left alone once more.

in the kitchen a variety of fruit rich in vitamin c is being cut and arranged in a plate for you by kento. the kettle is on for tea. suguru is putting away the groceries kento got earlier, leaving out and grabbing from the fridge the ones he'll use to make some soup. they work in silence, it's not tense or awkward, but the air is filled with something other than the usual ease that surrounds their silence.

kento is still in his head, cutting the fruit with far too little focus and far more force than needed. he's completely zoned out. the knife slips against the cutting board and slices through the meaty part of his hand. fuck, he blurts to himself under his breathe, dropping the knife while tryna save the fruit on the cutting board with his clean hand.

what the fuck was wrong with him today?

he's been different from his usual self, tasks that he weaved through with effortless grace, patience, and precision feel impossible. he's too far in his head and he knows it. cutting fruit for gods sake.

catching suguru's attention, who was previously occupied with the ingredients in his pot, he turns to see his lovers hand bleeding.

suguru moves quickly, he pulls kento's injured hand away from the cutting board and leads him to the sink where he runs cold water over it. he's about to turn to kento to ask what the fuck is wrong. cutting his hand? letting then knife slip? it's so unlike him it's frightening. as he's about to, he sees his lovers eyes beginning to wet once again, eyebrows furrowing and his lips caught between his teeth again and sugurus own lips quickly press themselves into a firm line.

not now, it's not what he needs now.

so he closes his eyes and releases a sharp exhale through his nose. purple eyes softening as they lock themselves on kento, who is doing his best to avert his gaze from the eyes of his lover and to hold himself together. he's ashamed. of himself. and admitting it to himself feels like a weight of his shoulders but it makes him feel so small at the same time. suguru's eyes make their way back to kento's hand before he closes the tap. the ribbons of red tinting the water as the flow down the drain make him feel a sick twisting pain in his stomach.

suguru's face looked calm, if you manage to ignore the deep furrow sat between his dark thin brows. he's quite as he ever so carefully wraps kentos hand in gauze. a stray hair falls out of its arrangement at the base of sugurus neck and kento can't stop himself from carefully tugging it away behind his pierced ear with the unharmed hand.

their eyes meet, its soft. and it stings a little. kentos filled with guilt and sugurus with poorly concealed concern. kento's eyes looking into suguru's, looking form one eye to the other, fitting in a not all that subtle glance to his lips meanwhile. kento is nervous, but places a gentle kiss on the lips for suguru. he's relishing in it, his eyes fluttering closed. its grounding.

suguru's hand going up to his ear to hold kento's, a soft kiss on the knuckles of kentos opposite hand is delivered before his hand is carefully flipped and a soft kiss lands on his bandaged palm.

suguru then gets up and returns to the kitchen, washing the bloodied knife and cutting board. suguru thinks about how the two of them have swapped positions from when he shared the plan to get rid of your stupid employer, with him now standing in the kitchen and kento sat at the counter.

the kettle is done by now so he pours the water into the three mugs kento had set out earlier. suguru picks up where kento left off with the arrangement of fruit before he organizes two mugs, both sweetened with honey, and the plate of cut fruit on a tray before sliding it towards kento. suguru leans his body weight down on the counter and smiles at kento,

"would you take that to our ailing princess please?"

kento takes the treat big his hands with a roll of his eyes. he's putting up a front, but it's okay if that's what he needs right now. suguru once again is the one watching kento's ass back profile as he walks towards you, and once he's disappeared from view, suguru lingers, just for a few moments more, still leaning on the counter top before he returns to his pot, sipping on his own mug of tea.

kento knocks once on the door to your shared bedroom, carrying the tray in his uninjured hand, before he allows himself in when you voice emerges from the other side. he's putting didn't need to, he knows that, but felt like he did in that moment.

he feels out of place doing everything today.

"hi"

"hey"

your voice was still hoarse and his doused in hot honey. his steps were are quiet as he makes his way into the room; he's the wet kitten now he thinks. setting the tray of fruit and tea down on the night stand once he reaches it. is hand coming up to feel your temperature once again, still warm. shattering the hope to feel that you've cooled down.

you notice that bandage on his hand, on impulse you take it in your own. your eyes look darting from his own and back to his hand.

he doesn't pull away and he doesn't move his hand, he doesn't even want to. his eyes focus on yours, though they aren't looking at him now.

he could never pull himself away from your touch (to be touched by you was a gift after all, one he will never allow himself to become entitledto)

"i brought you tea. oh, and some fruit"

what is he talking about? fruit? tea? all nice things but what about his the bandages covering his palm?

he grabs the tray from the nightstand with his other hand, placing it in his lap, and he takes a piece of the cut fruit and holds it to your mouth.

and you open up to receive it, chewing thoughtfully. the juices burn you as they navigate their way down your throat.

he feeds you another piece and another after that. then he takes hold of the mug, blows on the steaming liquid and he touches the ceramic to his lips to check the temperature for you, once satisfied he brings it your lips and asks you to drink slowly.

you have questions, but the nervousness is leaving you and so is the urgency to receive answers.

they'll come.

when he's holding the mug up to you lips for the nth time and some slips out of the bounds of your lips the warm liquid streaking your face as it makes it way down your chin. kento's thumb catches it and licks it away.

and it's an odd feeling that follows. the reassurance that this is your home. here with him, and him and with suguru.

the tray is back on the nightstand, the two mugs now emptied and the plate is too. your asleep again, your head resting on kentos warm lap this time. bandaged hand running through your hair, and the feeling of dread that was so prevalent is leaving him slowly, with each stroke of his hand through your hair his chest felt lighter.

suguru peaks into the room, his hair now in a low bun at the base of his neck. he has clips in his hair, the glittering colorful kind he might be teased for by a certain blue eyed friend. they were a gift from some young girls once when he was volunteering at the elementary school one time.

his heart warms at the sight.

your head in kento's lap, bandaged hand in you hair and his glasses are perched low on his nose. how cute. kento's eyes aren't so red anymore, his eyes instead focused on reading the paperback book in his hand on a voice he can't hear from where he stands, he's sure you can though, even in your deepest sleep. he had a voice that was difficult to ignore after all.

suguru slips into the room and kento's eyes leave the words on the page, golden brown eyes quickly located the always welcome intruder. suguru smiles at him and kento returns it. he's about to close the book. to put it away when,

"will you read to me too?"

suguru's form next to those of his lovers, head resting on kentos lap, right next to yours. he touches his lips to your forehead, your still warm, but it'll pass.

a reassuring thought but an honest one.

there you all are, comfortably curled into each other as you rest in kento's lap. his low voice filling the room as he reads, the scent of suguru's cooking wafts through the house following in suit,

and this, well this is your home.

yours to love, yours to care for, yours to be cared for.

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