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dearru · 2 months ago

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holiday festivities | ft. hq boys

pairings: suna rintaro, miya osamu, and hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, idk how to write for suna or how to snowboard, osamu's part is kinda suggestive (#freakmas), reader implied to be shorter than osamu, shoyo is a sweetheart, not proofread | genre: fluff | wc: 1762 | masterlist

synopsis -> enjoying various holiday festivities with the hq boys!

❀ SNOWBOARDING w/ RINTARO SUNA !

“I’ll strap you in, okay?” Rintaro says, bending down to adjust the bindings from the snowboard his cousin had loaned you snug to your boot. His hands, large and efficient, work quickly but gently as they clip the equipment into place. The board itself is scratchy and faded from years of wear, evidence of the Suna family’s years-long tradition of snowboarding every Winter. You look down as he adjusts the straps, trying to focus on him instead of the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

It would be a nice sight, him on his knees for you.

If only you weren’t currently on the verge of a breakdown.

Looking downhill, you realize that you might have bit off more than you could chew when you agreed to accompany him. The height from the top of the hill seems daunting, and you’re not sure why anybody in their right mind would do this for fun.

“It’s the bunny slope,” Rintaro had told you on the ski lift up, His voice casual and cool, “Babies do it.”

The babies that do this must be pretty remarkable– because you, at your big age, are currently shaking from fear as you stare at the bottom of the hill.

“All done.” Your boyfriend's voice rings clear in your ear, snapping you out of your frenzied thoughts. He brushes snow off his gloves, eyes flickering to your figure, “You good?”

You muster the largest smile you can and nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

Rintaro hums in reply, moving behind you to reposition your form. His hands settle on your waist, a comforting and familiar touch. It almost quells the anxiety you feel. Your body warms when he leans into you. Softly, he presses his lips against your ear and whispers, “You’re shaking. Nervous?” His tone is resonant and raspy, accompanied with a hint of amusement.

Your heart drops. Does he think you’re ridiculous for acting this way?

Jumping slightly from the feeling of his warm breath, you shake your head– but the way you stare down the bunny slope like you're about to march to your death betrays your attempt at nonchalance. Cheeks warming from embarrassment, you look down at the floor and mumble, “‘M not, Rin. Swear.”

He snorts, dropping his hands from your waist. You shiver and feel a strange emptiness from the ghost of his touch still lingering on you.

“Want me to hold your hand or somethin’?” He teases, tilting his head.

You groan, shifting your weight from side to side. Your gaze fixes downward. The snow is smooth and powdery and you wish it would swallow you whole. Squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers dig into the palms of your gloves, the rough feeling of the material sobers you, but doesn’t make the anxiety any less prominent. The desire to turn around and run away is as strong as the sting of the cold air on your skin.

You can’t leave, this is important to him. You’ll have to find a way to bear it. You’ll have to figure it–

Your thoughts come to a halt when a warm, gloved hand envelops your own. Startled, you look over at Rintaro in awe. The weight of his grip grounds you, allowing you to breathe for the first time since you’ve gotten to the slopes. He’s adorning a faint smile now. It’s light-hearted and gentle. He offers you a reassuring nod, squeezing your hand.

“We’ll go on the count of three.”

❀ BAKING COOKIES w/ OSAMU MIYA !

The smell of sugar and molasses wafts through the Miya family kitchen, adding to the already festive ambiance that envelops the home in a cozy glow. Osamu’s mother always had a knack for decoration, her ability put on full display during the holiday season. Room buzzing with warm energy, your eyes dart over to Osamu, who’s humming a tune while balling the malleable mixture with diligent care. He places them delicately on a buttered tray, a content smile on his face.

Nudging his shoulder, you call his name out softly, “‘Samu.”

He hums.

“Let me try some,” You giggle, reaching to dip your finger in the bowl.

“Ya gotta wait” He chides, snatching the dish away, but you’re too distracted by the dough to listen. The raw mixture’s enticing scent overrides your capacity for logical reason. Tilting your body forward, you try your luck again and swipe your fingers at the dish.

Chuckling at your desperation, he shifts the bowl out of reach again. “Be patient,” He says, lips turning up into a teasing grin. His eyes taunt you as much as the dough in his hand does.

“But your cookies are so good,” You whine, “Can’t I have a taste?”

You feel his palm rest on the top of your head, laughing heartily at your antics, “I’ll give ya the first one after they're baked. Don’t want ya gettin’ sick.” His eyes gleam with a soft affection, but you don’t give in.

The compromise isn’t good enough. Pouting, you fold your arms and look at him with mock indignation, “Please?”

You see him debating something within himself as his gaze searches for any reprieve to your plea. Sighing, he rolls his shoulders back and scoops one of his fingers into the dough. Waving it in front of you like a white flag, he offers you a taste of the batter.

Squealing with delight, you take his finger in your mouth, savoring the sweetness as it melts on your tongue. It’s rich and spicy. Humming in satisfaction, you smile triumphantly at your boyfriend, “Tastes good.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, warm hands wrapping around your waist. He pulls you in and kisses you. Giggling, you lean into his touch, returning his sweet kiss with one of your own.

Pulling away, he licks his lips and whistles low. He grins softly and says, “Ya taste like cookies.”

You chuckle, feeling a surge of affection at his remark. Letting your head settle in the crook of his neck, you breathe him in. He smells like flour and chocolate chips. His thumb brushes idly against you, hands lingering on the small of your back.

The moment is gone as quickly as it came when a horrified voice cuts through the air.

“What the hell?!”

Startled, you and Osamu turn to see Atsumu– white-faced and disgusted– standing by the doorway.

“Yer fuckin’ gross. The both of ya!” He shouts, pointing a finger at the two of you like he’s caught you committing a crime.

You can’t help but laugh.

❀ WRAPPING PRESENTS w/ SHOYO HINATA !

“Teach me how to wrap presents, please!” Shoyo exclaims, holding a cardboard box up for you to see. His eyes plead with you, expression contorted into an adorably desperate look. Your boyfriend, while talented in many respects, wasn’t the most detail-orientated individual. He was rough and often rushed delicate tasks. It makes sense that he’s not inclined towards wrapping gifts.

Laughing, you smile at him, “You want me to teach you?”

He nods excitedly, “Yeah, you’re really good!” His voice is breathy and reminiscent of when he was younger. Shoyo has changed in many ways since High School, but in others he’s remained exactly the same. Right now, he has the same eager look plastered on his face as he did back then, hungry for information– for a chance to grow.

How could you deny his request?

Taking the box from his hand, you saunter over to the makeshift wrapping station in the two of your’s apartment. Humming thoughtfully, you pick out some ribbon and giftwrap, careful to ensure they match. Shoyo watches your every move intently, drinking in your apparent wisdom.

“First,” You say, placing the box delicately atop the wrapping paper, “You measure out how much you need.” Eyeing him, your voice drops to a low warning, “Try not to be wasteful, okay?”

He leans slightly into you, holding on to every detail. It makes your heart warm at how much this matters to him. Minutes pass, and you continue to walk him through the steps of giftwrapping. You delicately fold the paper in place, press tape to the box when needed, and tie a cute bow as a finishing touch.

“Ta-da!” You sing, holding the gift up proudly.

Shoyo’s eyes glimmer brightly, in awe of the present. He takes it in his hands, observing it closely, like if he looks hard enough, he too will become a master at wrapping presents.

“Okay,” You chuckle, “Your turn now.” You run to grab another unwrapped box, placing it in front of him. He looks at you with too much determination for this mundane of a task, but it makes you smile regardless.

Getting started instantly, he bites his tongue in concentration. His face scrunches cutely, and he manuevers his body to shield you from his work.

Raising your eyebrows, you snort, “I can’t watch?”

“It’s a surprise!” He answers, and he looks so sweet that it’s impossible to deny him the pleasure of amazing you with his gift. Relenting, you resign yourself to scrolling on your phone until he finishes the task at hand. You can’t help but steal glances every once in a while, smiling as he fumbles with the paper and grunts in frustration. Dutifully, his rough hands fiddle with the gift and you can tell he’s trying his very best. It’s sweet.

After a while, he approaches you, eye glimmering with pride. And you can’t help but feel excitement to see what he’s accomplished.

“Done!” He beams, “How’d I do?”

Looking at the gift, it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.

The paper is misshapen and wrinkled, like he had to fight to get it to bend to his will. Twine is littered about the gift in a way that feels intentional, but falls short of being aesthetically pleasing. Eyes softening, a smile captures the entirety of your face.

“It looks great.”

You can’t tell him the truth. You don’t have the heart to.

Grinning widely, he starts to ramble about how hard it was to remember all the steps you had given him, and that he’s relieved it all worked out. It’s so endearing that you can’t help but press a kiss to his cheek.

In response to your display of affection, he tilts his head at you curiously, and you chuckle.

“It looks great,” You repeat, “But maybe I can wrap the rest while you hand me the tape?”

He nods dutifully, “Okay!”

Smiling to yourself, you decide that Shoyo may not be the best giftwrapper, but his undying enthusiasm and desire to please you is the greatest gift you’ll ever have.

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate :3 also, i do have a part 2 ready to go so expect that soon LOL. shoutout iris ONCE AGAIN for helping me brainstorm @cherrysurf i would be nothing without u.

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chxnsgirl · 2 months ago

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방찬 ─── christmas love

⋆｡ ˚༘ ♫ christmas love - stray kids

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ none ♡ synopsis ៸៸ you and chan have been friends for a while. this holiday, he chooses to spend it with you. [ semi - proofread ] [ 3.3k words ]

you were incredibly nervous. it wasn’t your first time spending time alone with chris–you had been alone together plenty of times. but tonight seemed different. the way he asked you.. his demeanor was off, but not necessarily in a bad way. he seemed.. nervous. bashful.. you have always had a little crush on him since you started your job working as an intern at jyp. you started a little less than a year ago. thinking back, it was insanity. you started this internship being somewhat aware of stray kids, and now you’re spending the night at chris and jeongin’s dorm on a holiday. it started out with you being starstruck and in awe of them, now you’re best friends with the leader.

the idea came to chris when he was working a couple weeks ago. he was up late at the studio, working on songs for an upcoming album, when he just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. it was about 3am, which he would have thought you’d be asleep. so instead of calling you, he decided to send you a text. you were up, but you weren’t exactly doing anything productive. you were laying on your bed, watching crash landing on you on your laptop. you weren’t surprised that chris was awake, but you were surprised that he decided to text you.

you two texted until around 6am, and finally, christopher had the courage to call you and ask if you wanted to spend the holiday together. he figured since he didn’t have time to go back to australia, and you didn’t have time to go all the way back home to your family either, that the two of you might as well have a ‘friendsmas’. that part didn't exactly catch you off guard, the part that did was when he asked you if you wanted to spend the night christmas eve. you had been to the dorm a few times, even when it was him, changbin, han, and hyunjin living together, but he was always more private and reserved about his personal space. you had only actually been in his room once, and that was the first time you had gone to the dorms.

you were painfully unaware of how chris truly felt about you. you were the only female friend he allowed at the dorms–and lord knows he has plenty of them. he trusted you. you had seen him at his most vulnerable moments; from stress-induced breakdowns in the studio to his depressive episodes. on top of that, you took such good care of the rest of the members. the day he realized he had feelings for you was when he overheard you consoling jeongin when he wasn’t feeling confident in his voice. you were just so caring and genuine. it was impossible for him not to catch feelings eventually.

that’s why he needed to make this night perfect. he had everything planned out. the plan was to take you to see seouls christmas lights. since you had only been in the country for less than a year, you had just missed them when you arrived in the spring. after you two walked around, you’d go back to his place. he picked out a ton of your & his favorite snacks to munch on throughout the night. he even got matching onesies to surprise you with, yours being a reindeer onesie and his being an elf.

he was so excited and so nervous. and you didn't even know it. he didn’t even know how you felt about him either; which made everyone around you get frustrated at times, especially changbin, who was the member you were the second-closest to. you’d never say anything to him directly or initiate anything, in fear of ruining the amazing friendship you two have together. everything was perfect, why change that?

you and chris had finally gotten back to the apartment after walking down a long sidewalk in seoul, marveling at the christmas lights and goofing around. truth be told, the outing ended early because chris noticed that you hadn’t worn your gloves, which resulted in your hands turning bright pink from the chill. it was oddly cute how concerned he was about your warmth, so you didn’t complain much.

while sliding your boots off, you took in the apartment chris and jeongin shared. it looked the same as it usually did, except there was a white christmas tree in the living room decorated with black and silver ornaments. it was gorgeous, and you wanted to get a better look at it. chris hung your coat next to his before chuckling at your expression. “you like the tree?” he walked with you to the living room as you stared up at it. “it’s so pretty. did you two do this?”

“ah, just me. jeongin was busy with his friends the day i put it up. i thought the white and black fit the vibe of our place more, y’know?” he looked up at the tree as well, satisfied with how pretty it turned out. “it really does.” you smiled up at him, nudging his arm after. “so what do you have planned for us to do here?”

you stared at the onesies for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. “you got these just for tonight?” you asked, looking up at him. he stumbled on his words. “uh, well.. yeah?” he cleared his throat after in an attempt to hide his slight embarrassment. “i thought it’d be funny to wear them while watching our favorite christmas movies and making cookies.” his ears turned a dark shade of red as he looked down at you, awaiting your approval, almost seeking it out from any part of your facial expression or body language. your lips curled into a smile as you lifted up the reindeer onesie. “where do i change?”

he let out a small sigh of relief as well as a chuckle at your acceptance, and gestured to the hallway. “you can use the bathroom. second door on your left.”

while sitting on the couch in your onesie, you heard light shuffling coming from the hallway. you perked up and there he was, waddling out in his onesie, ears dark red and a goofy, shy smile on his face. his onesie came with an elf hat, which was horribly cute on him. you couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance. “you look.. adorable.” you gestured to the onesie he was wearing. “oh, yeah? adorable hm?” he chuckled as he stood before you, hands on his hips. “stand up, lemme see yours.”

you did just that, even giving him a little twirl and a slight shake of your bum to show off the tail on the back. he let out his squeaky giggle, clutching his stomach. “ah! i forgot it has a tail.. oh my god.” he let out a string of a few more laughs before finally calming down. “it’s actually really comfy.” you laughed, running your hands on the sleeves. “it looks like it.” he stepped forward and felt your sleeve as well, the material being plush and extremely soft and warm. “oh, you didn’t put your hood on.” he stepped even closer, using both hands to pull the hood of your onesie over your head, making the limp antlers flop around as you moved. he smiled down at you as you stared up at him, admiring how attractive he was—even in a cringey elf onesie.

“i think you’ve got me beat.” he smiled even wider. “what do you mean?” you adjusted the hoodie so you could see him better. “i mean, you definitely look more adorable.” he laughed and pulled his phone out of the onesie pocket. “we should take pictures.”

a deep blush ran across your face at his words. maybe he was joking around, maybe he wasnt. your brain couldn’t help but romanticize things like this because, well.. despite the uncertancies gnawing at your mind about him and how he felt about you, you still had hope deep down. secretly wishing he was subtly flirting with you.

after a while of being lazy, catching up with chris, and warming up in front of the electric fireplace, you and chris finally decided to get up and make some christmas cookies. “nothing better than making christmas cookies at 10 p.m., right?” he chuckled, setting the ingredients you needed on the counter. “10’s nothing for you, is it?” you teased, rinsing your hands off in the sink after washing them. you couldn’t help but grin at him, noticing how comfortable he looked in the kitchen, like he belonged there.

chris grinned back and raised a brow. “nah, 10’s light work for me.” he gave you a wink as he pulled open a cabinet and grabbed the cookie cutters, giving you a quick glance as he set them on the counter. his movements were casual, but there was something in the air that made it feel like more than just a simple cookie-making session. you stepped closer, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest as you peered at the ingredients he’d set out. “guess that’s a good thing,” you said. “i'm afraid your insomnia is contagious.”

chris chuckled softly, his voice low. “insomnia.. contagious.. are you hearing yourself?” he teased, tapping a spoon on the counter. he took a step closer, just enough that you could feel his presence, his warmth. “i think you're just making up an excuse to cover up the fact you're so eager to stay up with me.” you met his gaze, biting back a smile as you thought of the many times you'd tried to play it cool in front of him. “you think you know everything, huh?”

“maybe just a little,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of something more serious behind it. he reached for the flour, brushing past you again as he leaned into the cabinet. the brush of his arm against yours was almost accidental, but the small contact made your heart beat faster. “so,” you began, trying to distract yourself from the slight tension that was building between you, “what’s the secret to making the perfect cookie?” chris looked up at you, eyes twinkling. “the secret is... not telling you,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

“oh, i see how it is,” you replied with a mock pout. “no hints, huh?” chris shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "oh please, you act as if you've been baking all your life." you looked up at him through your eyelashes, a sly grin on your face. he tongued his cheek and nodded, finally looking back down at his hands while they were working. "you see, what you dont know is that i actually bake as a hobby." he said sarcastically, raising his brows and masking his comedic sentence with a semi-serious tone. "oh, is that so?" you handed him the measuring cup, not wanting to be totally useless during this cookie-making endeavor. "mhm. i even bake more than lix, if you can believe that."

you choked back a laugh, pressing your lips together. his lip twitched into the tiniest grin when he heard. "what? don't believe me?"

"no." you snorted, leaning on the counter, your elbow resting on the edge. "but ill take this as a chance to judge your baking skills." he lightly tapped the measuring cup on the bowl and chuckled. he reached for the bag of brown sugar, his face dangerously close to yours once again. "i'll take that as a challenge."

you felt your breath catch in your throat as you tried to keep your cool. he began measuring out the brown sugar, but his movements were slower now, more deliberate. he was playing, testing you, you realized. the air felt thick, and even though you were focused on the cookies, it was hard not to notice how close he was, caught in some quiet game neither of you were willing to admit.

“can i ask you something?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation onto something that didn't make the tension skyrocket. he let out a soft hum, nodding his head as he glanced at you. “sure.” you watched him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “what made you wanna spend the holiday with me? like.. just me?” your heart dropped as soon as the words left your lips. chris’s stomach whirled as well, trying to think of a way to answer. “well.. neither of us have family here for the holidays.” he began, stirring the ingredients together in the bowl, working carefully. “and, i like being around you.” he added.

your heart fluttered at his words, but you masked it with a small nod. “i like being around you too. sometimes.” you teased him, nudging his arm lightly. he breathed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “uh huh.”

a beat of silence passed before he spoke up again. “i dunno, i guess it’s like.. being around you helps me stay calm. i noticed my stresses from work and schedules aren’t as heavy on my mind when you’re around. and.. honestly, this holiday i probably would’ve been working if you said no.” his voice was softer now, and he was avoiding your gaze. “well. how could i pass this up? watching you bake cookies in an elf onesie? i feel like i hit the lottery.”

“tch, thanks.” his voice was sarcastically monotone as he tapped the spoon on the edge of the mixing bowl.

“all jokes aside, i’m glad i can be that for you. you deserve rest as much as anyone else. no matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise.” you nudge him, a small, fond smile on your face.

he didn’t say anything in response, he just smiled shyly, his ears never lightening from their favored shade of pink.

after indulging in one too many christmas cookies and watching a terribly long christmas movie, you were splayed out on the couch under one of chris’s plush blankets, so warm and so cozy. the ending credits rolled as you both sat there, and chris snuck a glance at you, smiling to himself at how cute you looked bundled up like a little burrito. you looked so comfortable, so sleepy.. but selfishly he didn't want the night to end so soon.

the ending credits began to roll for the movie, and he grabbed the remote and began to sing along to the song ‘all i want for christmas is you’, standing up and walking around the coffee table toward you, the burrito on his couch. your lips curled into a wide smile as you watched him approach you, singing the lyrics of the song beautifully. you sat up, and he reached his hand out to yours, waiting for you to take it. you raised a brow as you looked at him, and he raised one as well, not moving away until you finally took it. with a sigh, you took his hand and stood up, and he began to dance with you.

you felt out of place, dancing with chris in his living room, wearing a damn reindeer onesie, but the unease went away when he started twirling you around, making you squeal and his voice break from laughing at you. you couldn’t help but laugh, spinning in chris's arms as he twirled you around. his laughter was contagious, filling the room with warmth and making the silly moment feel surprisingly intimate. the twinkle in his eyes as he grinned at you made your heart race a little faster, the proximity between you both now feeling like a little more than just two friends having fun.

as he pulled you back into him after your spin, your body naturally pressed against his, and for a moment, you both just stood there, caught in the quiet rhythm of the music. his hand on your back felt like a steady anchor, and his other hand gently cupped yours as if he never wanted to let go. without thinking, you both moved closer, the space between you shrinking until it was just the two of you, swaying softly.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. his breath was warm on your skin, his scent—something familiar and comforting—filling your senses. the laughter from earlier had faded, and in its place was a soft tension, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. "is it weird that i don’t want this night to end?" chris whispered, his voice low and vulnerable, his thumb gently brushing over your hand. his words hit you like a soft wave, and before you could even process them, you felt the same way. the night had felt too perfect, too... easy.

you slowly lifted your eyes to meet his, your breath catching as you saw that same soft expression mirrored in his gaze. he wasn’t just looking at you like a friend anymore, not with that look in his eyes, the one that made you wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were. "yeah," you murmured, your voice quieter than you expected. "me neither."

for a second, neither of you moved. you were both standing there, your heart thundering in your chest as the music played on, filling the silence between you. you could feel the heat from his body, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that felt like it was testing something—something that had been building all night. chris’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you knew. he wanted to kiss you. the realization made your pulse quicken. you could feel the magnetic pull between you two, and despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you couldn’t seem to pull away.

he leaned in slowly, and your breath hitched, your body tensing instinctively. but he paused, just inches from your lips, and in that moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “is this… okay?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the music, the question soft but heavy with meaning.

you barely processed the words before you found yourself nodding, your own lips parting slightly as you tilted your head up toward him. “yeah,” you whispered back. “it’s okay.”

and then, finally, he closed the distance.

his lips were warm and gentle against yours, hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. it was soft, slow, as though he was afraid it might break if it went too fast. but when your lips moved against his, the world seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the warmth between you, the sweetness of the kiss, and the overwhelming feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be. chris’s hand moved from your back to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. you responded without thinking, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back, the sensation of his lips sending sparks through you.

the kiss deepened, and suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so alive, so present. everything else—the christmas cookies, the movie, the silly onesie you were still wearing—melted into the background. it was just the two of you, wrapped up in a world that felt warm and right and full of possibility.

when you finally pulled away, your breaths were heavy, your faces still inches apart, your foreheads resting together as you both tried to catch your breath. a shy smile tugged at the corners of chris's lips as he looked at you, and you couldn't help but smile back, the joy and nervous energy mixing into something you hadn’t expected.

“that was…” he trailed off, his voice a little breathless.

“yeah,” you agreed, not quite sure what to say either. but in that moment, words felt unnecessary. you both already knew.

and when chris pulled you back into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head, you finally allowed yourself to relax. the night wasn’t over yet.

please do not copy my work. see pinned for guidelines and requests.

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neos127 · 8 months ago

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SHOW A LITTLE LOVING — SJY

sim jaeyun x fem!reader; wc. 1.2k genre. fluff+ fake dating to lovers cw. none! just some kissing notes. inspired by the hot tub scene in tatbilb!!

you didn’t know what came over you. the idea was probably stupid, fueled by your best friend minji who was convinced that jake sim had fallen for you.

fake dating came with it’s difficulties, one being not knowing when to call quits. you were ready to break off your deal with jake to make his ex, minjeong, jealous, not wanting to be dragged along on your school’s ski trip and see them together again. but jake insisted, wanting to continue the charade a little longer. unfortunately you couldn’t say no— or else you’d have to explain that the reason you wanted to end things was because you had fallen in love with your fake boyfriend.

but despite your doubts, jake might’ve felt the same way, and you were ready to find out.

as you walked outside towards the back of the ski lodge, your stomach twisted uncomfortably. your mouth dried up and you fidgeted with your hands as the boy you were looking for came into view. just as your friend predicted, he was sitting in the hot tub all alone. his eyes were on the water, seeming bored as he made random small splashes with his hands.

as soon as you walked up to the hot tub, jake met your eyes.

“hi.” you said softly before taking off your slippers and climbing over the ledge. you sat on top of the hot tub, letting your legs submerge into the illuminated blue water. the lights of the tub reflected on jake’s handsome face and you felt your breath catch in your throat. it also didn’t help that he wasn’t wearing a shirt- it was the first time you had seen him without one.

“hey, y/l/n.” jake mumbled, a lazy smile appearing on his lips. a giddy smile came over yours and you looked down to avoid his gaze, feeling insanely flustered already.

“you totally ditched me this whole trip. could’ve taught me how to ski.” you spoke up after a few seconds, looking at jake’s face again.

“oh, so i’m supposed to be all friendly with you even though you didn’t even bother to sit with me on the bus ride here?” jake scoffed, causing you to wince a bit.

“you got to sit with minjeong. isn’t the whole point of us doing this fake dating thing is to make her jealous and bring you guys back together?” you shrugged, lightly kicking the water. jake lightly rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall of the hot tub.

“y/n, how have you not figured it out yet?” jake asked sounding slightly frustrated. your heart began to pound in your chest, the sound drowning out the jets of the tub. was he insinuating what you were thinking?

“what are you talking about?” you raised an eyebrow, watching as jake glanced over to the snow on the hill beside the lodge. suddenly he seemed nervous.

“i wanted to sit with you, y/n. i even packed those rice balls you love so much.” jake replied, playing with the water again. you mulled over his words, realizing what he had said.

“wait- you did? but the store they’re from is all the way across town.” you said, surprised that he had thought to do something so nice for you. he seemed to care way more than you thought.

“exactly. so if i drove all the way across town to get you something that you like then that means…” jake trailed off, moving his hands around dramatically.

that’s when it finally clicked in your head. holy crap, jake sim liked you romantically.

you bit your cheek to hide a smile, mentally reminding yourself to thank minji for forcing you to meet jake outside. you had finally gotten the boy even if it had taken a few mental breakdowns and a lot of sleepless nights. you wanted jake and he wanted you back— the feeling was euphoric.

“it means…that you really like salmon onigiri?” you teased, but jake was sure that you were one hundred percent serious. he scoffed and playfully splashed water towards you.

“you’re impossible.” jake groaned, shaking his head. you giggled, slowly moving your legs under the water.

“i’m sorry i didn’t sit next to you in the bus. i promise i’ll sit with you on the ride back.” you said after a minute, causing jake to look back up at you. his eyes were filled with such intensity that it scared you, but it also gave you the courage to make the first move.

you took off the jacket that you wore, the one that covered your sleepwear consisting of your tank top and shorts.

“i didn’t bring a bathing suit.” you mumbled once you submerged your body into the water, shivering slightly at the difference of temperature. the warm water felt amazing on your skin, a contrast to the crisp winter air. you swam over to jake, stopping when you were right in front of him.

“what are you doing?” he asked, a small smirk on his face.

“just want to be close to you, that’s all.” you replied, shrugging slightly. that caused jake to smile, the smile that you loved so much because it made his whole face light up and he just looked so pretty.

the boy brought you into his arms, lifting your body up to sit on his lap. you sighed at the contact, suddenly feeling even warmer then when you had first entered the hot tub.

“there’s no one like you, princess.” jake murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. you let out a nervous giggle, the action suddenly cut off by jake who decided to initiate the long awaited kiss. it wasn’t your first together, but this time it was real.

jake groaned into your mouth, the sound going straight to your gut. as you ran your hands through his soft brown locks, you came to the conclusion that you never wanted to let jake out of your life again. you would need to be six feet under to let minjeong try to steal him with her slimy hands— she simply didn’t deserve him. she never did.

jake tilted his head to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, forcing you to open your mouth up to him. due to jake being the first boy you had ever kissed, the feeling was very foreign to you but it sure did feel good.

as soon as his tongue began to trace the inside of your mouth, you let out a low whine before pulling away in shock. you covered your mouth with your hand and looking at jake with wide eyes. the joy laughed at your expression before taking your hand and placing a soft kiss on it.

“you okay?” he asked, looking at you with the most loving gaze in his eyes. minji had been right all along- jake really had looked at you as if you were his whole world. it was hard to believe that you hadn’t realized it earlier, you’d been oblivious for a while.

“yeah, im great actually. i definitely want to do that again—but not in a public place.” you replied, placing a hand over jake’s mouth when he leaned in to kiss you again before you could even finish your sentence.

“there’s no one around.” he said in a sing-song voice, nuzzling his forehead against yours. you couldn’t hold back your giggles, feeling insanely giddy and love sick at the moment.

“another time, jake. i promise.” you mumbled, looking into his pretty eyes. the boy nodded with a small smile on his face before quickly placing a kiss on your nose.

“you better keep that promise, princess.”

832 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 7 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + five

authors note: soooo, i both hate and love this one. can't tell if i'm just being super hard on myself, but it feels flat and a bit boring, but i also know if i keep messing with it, i'll never feel wholly satisfied, so here is the best version i could come up with!

it does include more of roman's background though so....there's that at least lmao

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

cw/tw: sexual harassment, language, violence, ptsd episode (dissociation, avoidance, breakdown), torture

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

masterlist

words: 8k

Solana has come to the realization that training isn’t entirely awful.

Or maybe it’s the fact that along with training, she’s allowed the chance to socialize, to be around other people and learn to not be so nervous all of the time. Naomi is a great person for that, bubbly and naturally personable. She’s created such a welcoming space that has left Solana feeling less and less nervous.

A couple weeks into training, Solana also feels like she’s growing more comfortable in her learning. It’s still the very basics, a lot of focus on flexibility, but it feels good. It feels almost relieving to be able to learn certain skills and tips that she can use to maybe one day defend herself.

To maybe one day be able to take care of herself.

Or maybe some dreams are just too big to wish for.

It’s the end of her session with Naomi, and Solana is in the women’s locker rooms, having just finished her shower. She’s in her head a bit, mentally going over what she’s going to make Roman for dinner.

He’s been gone more often than not the past couple weeks, and she’s torn on that. On one hand, it’s nice not to be around a man who she’s supposed to be figuring out a way to kill, a man whose presence alone creates an additional layer of anxiety on top of the pre-existing baseline that is her everyday anxiety

But…..

But, there’s also a part of her that….that wouldn’t be too opposed if he was around more. Being alone in the big house also creates a space of anxiety. If…if he was present more, maybe she could learn how to interact with him.

Could learn him.

It’s this strange thought process that’s so confusing and almost overwhelming for her that it keeps her from noticing the pending danger lurking just steps away.

“Hey, Solana.”

Solana gasps loudly, spinning around, her eyes widening at Austin Theory who stands before her with that same predatory smile. She opens her mouth to scream, but she’s too slow.

Austin backs her against the lockers and slaps his hand over her mouth. His other hand moves to pin her hands over her hand. Instantly, her heart is beating out her fucking chest, an intense weight of dread anchoring her down.

Solana feels paralyzed. She is paralyzed.

“Always so damn jumpy. All we wanna do is get to know you....”

It’s almost perfect timing when another man appears, Grayson. But, it’s when he sees Austin and Solana that he frowns, walking over, “man, what the hell are you doing?”

Austin rolls his eyes, laughing. “Come on, don’t be a little bitch. It’s just a little fun.”

“This isn’t funny, Austin. If Reigns finds out—”

“What the fuck is he gonna do, huh?” Austin scoffs, gaze returning back on Solana who has her eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to spill over. “And you’re not going to say anything to him anyway, are you?”

Solana gasps, breathing uneven as Austin lowers his hand to tug on the knot of her towel just enough to loosen it but not enough to undo it. Regardless, it’s that one act that truly immobilizes her because she’s no longer standing before this man as a grown woman.

She’s that 12 year old little girl completely unaware of what night of horrors is about to be unleashed on her, the way an unspeakable act of evil perpetrated on an innocent child is going to lead her down a dark, depressing path.

And she’s frozen, frozen in time, forever stuck in that state of suffering.

Grayson’s eyes fall on Solana, seeing that she’s almost no longer present, dissociating, and that seemingly freaks him out even more. He tugs on Austin’s shoulder. “You had your fun, mate. Let’s fucking go.”

Austin has never been one to listen to others. Ever. But in a testament to his cruelty, Solana’s lack of reaction, lack of struggling and displaying helplessness in front of him wanes the enjoyment. He doesn’t get off as much, doesn’t feel as empowered as he does by making people feel small.

So with a scoff and not an ounce of influence from Grayson in his ear, he releases her, stepping back with a smirk as she instantly moves her arms over her chest.

“Relax, Mrs. Reigns.” She’s anything but, and it brings a smile to his face. It’s so fucking easy to get her unnerved. “Just messing with ya, that’s all.”

There’s more distant talking, snickering and combatting with someone speaking quietly but urgently. Solana can make out part of that as she gradually returns to a state of awareness. Enough to where she’s eventually cognizant of the fact that they’ve left, that she’s alone, that they no longer pose an immediate threat.

But, they do. They do, because what if they come back?

Chest still tightening, breathing still erratic, Solana rushes over to the door, shaking hands managing to shut it closed and locked. But, it’s not enough to just be alone, to know that no one can come in and try to hurt her.

Because she still feels it.

Still feels hands on her, restricting her, bounding her, and it makes her sick.

Hand over her mouth, Solana does her best to push back the nausea, rushing over to the showers, turning the knob so that it’s at full strength.

And heat too.

Shoving the towel off her body, she steps under the scalding water and grabs the soap, immediately scrubbing at her body. It’s unnecessary force, unnecessary heat, unnecessary altogether, but it’s the only thing that gives her a faux sense of comfort. She needs to wash the feeling of them off of her, scrub until her skin starts to look wrinkled and raw, her complexion tinging with redness from the heat of the water.

Eventually, the scrubbing stops feeling like enough. Nothing feels like enough, and she falls back against the wall of the shower, sliding down as she pulls her knees to her chest.

And she cries, the water blending seamlessly with the tears that filter out the drain in a way she wishes the heavy feelings wrecking her body would melt away.

Safe.....

It's a dream that she'll never achieve.

A wasted hope.

A lie.

—-----------

“The RKO proposal is pretty decent.”

“But not good enough.” Roman’s dismissal is swift and to the point. “I want 75% of all profits.”

Rikishi presses his lips together, calmly reminding, “that’s gonna be a hard sell.”

“Orton is desperate. He’s an imbecile who uses more products than he moves and is running Bob’s legacy into the ground.” Roman is a man who prides himself on always being on the up and up. He makes it his business to know what’s going on with all competitors and even partnerships. “He should consider my offer fucking mercy. 75% or nothing.”

Rikishi sits back in his chair, a proud smile growing on his face. “I’ve taught you well, Uce”

There’s a modicum of truth to his cousin’s words, but for the most part, Roman has learned more on his own than anything anyone could have ever taught him.

“What’s the status of the imports from Columbia?”

Jey leans forward, answering without pause. “Scheduled to arrive just on time, assuming nothing goes awry.”

“Who’s managing?”

“Tama.”

Roman nods. “It’ll be fine.” His distant cousin, Tama Tonga is a bit on the……eccentric side, but he’s never failed to see a successful shipment through from beginning to end.

“If…..” Paul’s low but firm voice enters the conversation, Roman’s lazy gaze falling on the man. “If I may, my Tribal Chief?” With the nod of approval from the Head of the Table, Paul clears his throat. “By my calculations, there’s a way for us to improve on the total time it currently takes for us to move product by over 40% with some minor….changes.”

Jimmy, who sits almost bored at the other side of the table, feet propped up, asks in a suspicion tone. “What kind of changes?”

Paul clears his throat. “If we were to have access to the Eastern harbor—”

At that, both Jimmy and Jey land eyes on their cousins head counsel. Jey is the first to speak though. “You know that’s Nightmare territory, correct?”

Paul’s voice is surprisingly calm. “I do.” A nervous set of blue eyes settle on the man who sits at the head of the table, the primary one who needs to be convinced of the possible benefits of what he’s about to suggest. “If we would just consider—”

“No.” Roman’s rejection is loud and echoes throughout the conference room. “How could you even fucking suggest that shit?”

“My Tribal Chief, if you could please hear out my—”

Roman’s fist banging against the table sends an alert to all members of this current meeting that the Tribal Chief word is final and unchanging. “I said…..no.”

Rikishi shakes his head, thankful that a stern rejection is the extent of his cousin’s reaction. He can’t believe Paul could even be stupid enough to even suggest such a thing to Roman. Perhaps he could be swayed over to see the business and financial benefits, but Roman…..no, that history runs too deep and bleeds too much red for Roman Reigns to ever consider some sort of ceasefire or let alone alliance with The Nightmare Factory.

“Well, that shit got awkward real fast,” Jey mutters, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Even if it makes all the sense in the world. “How about that marriage life?

Roman shuts his eyes. It’s jumping from one annoying topic to another. “What?”

“Man, Big Dog living good over there,” Jimmy’s smile is wide as he rubs his hands together. “Lil Soso can cook her ass off!”

“Stop calling her that.”

“Speaking of ass, she pregnant yet?”

This is why Roman didn’t want to get on this subject, because he knew where it would lead to, another road he’s not trying to go down right now.

Rikishi chimes in, “their delivery is trash, but the question is still fair. Is there a chance she’s pregnant?” A sly smile falls on his face as he teases, “I know you well enough, Uce, that I don’t need to remind you of the importance of trying.”

Jey snorts. “That ain’t never been a problem for any of us. Especially Roman. Man, I still don’t know how you don’t have a gaggle of lil mean mugging ass kids running around here.”

The answer is simple, and Roman expresses as such. “Because I know how to fucking use a condom unlike you idiots.”

“Hey. I don’t know what you talking about. All my kids by Nicki.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

At that, Jey jumps out the chair, Jimmy rolling his eyes as Paul shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Ayo, you the Tribal Chief and everything, but you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife like that, aight?”

“Where did you sleep last night, Jey?” Roman’s tone is both bored and knowing, especially as Jey’s gaze drops the same way his ass does right back in his seat. “That’s what I thought.”

“Just…” Rikishi’s voice is louder, allowing him to realign the conversation. “Keep us updated, Roman. When she does get pregnant, you’ll need to up her security.”

“I’m aware.” Just like he’s aware of the fact that unless this girl is the virgin fucking Mary and will have an immaculate conception, there’s no need to worry about that right now.

Or ever.

His business phone lighting up with a familiar name across the screen is both a welcomed surprise as well as distraction for Roman. Without hesitation, he answers, watching the TV anchored on the wall light up.

Roman’s shoulder straightens as he leans back further into the soft Italian leather of his chair. “Dwayne.”

“Roman.” Dwayne removes the stereotypical dark glasses Roman always grew accustomed to seeing his cousin wear in any interaction. His smile beams. “Long time no fucking see, cousin.”

Roman shrugs, answering honestly, “been busy.”

“I saw that. Congratulations on the marriage. An invite would have been fucking nice.”

At that, Roman chuckles, calling out his bluff. “Like you would have come.”

Dwayne’s laughter echoes through the office. “Fair.” He then greets the rest of the men present, though it’s a surprise to no one that his initial exchange is solely with Roman. They’ve always had a great bond, even better business partnership, hence the position Roman has placed him in. “You know why I’m calling though”

And there goes the ‘fun’ while it lasted. Straight into business with his big cousin. He respects it immensely though. Dwayne is all about profit and efficiency and ensuring the smoothness of operations. “The same reason you always reach out, cause it’s not that often.”

“It’s been a couple years, cousin….”

“I’m aware.”

And he is.

6 years, to be precise.

“You need to fly out here.” Dwayne isn’t saying anything Roman doesn’t already know, hasn’t already heard. “They need to see your face.”

“They have you.”

Dwayne snorts. “They hate me almost as much as they hate you.” They being that other side of Roman’s family, the side that he could go on with the rest of his life without seeing or speaking to. The side that probably feels the same about him and his Tribal tattoos, long hair, and skin that is not like theirs.

Yeah….hate is definitely the right word.

“Do you care?”

“Hell no.” The answer is surprising, unlike Dwayne’s next statement. “But, I do care when shit starts to get more openly disrespectful.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re becoming bolder with questioning your leadership. Less subtle. More direct.”

At that, Roman’s attention is fully captured. He sits up in his seat. “Is that so?”

The twins, Rikishi, and Paul all exchange knowing glances, having been wisely quiet to allow the Head of the Table to conduct business as he sees fit. But this, they all know where this is going.

“Maybe it is time I remind them who the fuck is in charge here.” As much as Roman loathes the idea of having to be around and interact with these fuckers, nothing vexes him more than having his authority challenged.

Like he’s not the one, the two, and the three they’ve been looking for.

“I’ll see about flying out within the next week.”

Jey speaks up for the first time. “I can’t just leave on that short notice—”

“Did I say I needed you to come with me?” It’s a bit of a rhetorical question. “I can handle this on my own.”

As is his preference with most things, because in Roman’s opinion, most things are handled better and in the way that most pleases him when he does it himself. His expectations can only be set and maintained or exceeded by him.

“At least take Paul with you, Uce.” Rikishi suggests, and in the moment, it’s last thing he wants. Paul’s already pissed him off enough for the day. “They need to be straightened out, not taken out. Paul can help you keep that balance.”

Roman isn’t obstinate enough to disagree with that. Paul does have his uses, one of which being his ability to talk Roman down when the preference is to just kill motherfuckers the second he deems them annoying.

And that’s not the goal for this trip.

Not yet, anyway.

“Fine. Wise Man and I will go.” There are far too many other things on Roman’s plate for him to push back on a plus one. This is immaterial to the larger picture. “Dwayne, start the preparations.”

“You got it, brotha’. I’ll keep in touch.”

The screen goes dark as Dwayne ends the call. Roman reclines back in his chair, a mixture of muddy, dark, bleak emotions. The idea of having to be around his maternal family is quite literally sickening to him. He hates those sons of bitches almost as much as they hate and despise him.

But on another hand, the idea of getting away from all this, from this Solana dilemma, there could be some benefits. He’d be gone for a couple of weeks, perhaps even a month. Maybe in that space he’ll come back to a different kind of woman. A woman who knows how to fucking stand up for herself instead of being so scared all the time.

And as if reading his cousin’s mind, Jimmy breaks the silence, asking, “Ayo, Roman, you sure you should be leaving—”

A knock on the door seems to only exacerbate the tension as Roman snaps. “What?”

Alicia, his secretary, easy on the eyes and effective in what she does, opens the door just enough to stick her head through. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Reigns—”

“So why are you?” It’s well known that Roman is a man who hates interruptions, especially when he’s in the middle of a briefing meeting, and she knows this well. Might be time for a new secretary.

Alicia swallows and calmly explains, “your cousin, Nia, is on line one. She says she needs to speak to you immediately.”

“She can wait.”

“With….all due respect, sir, it sounds like an emergency. She’s been blowing up the lines all morning.”

Curious, Roman turns his personal phone over and sees his lock screen littered with missed calls, texts, and a voicemail all from one person.

Nia.

With a heavy sigh, Roman dismisses Alicia. “I’ll handle it.”

Quietly, she closes the door and he unlocks his phone to return the call. Nia never makes such an effort to get in contact with him. Some shit must have went down, though his mind still wonders what level of bullshit could have occurred that even she can’t handle.

Phone laid on the table, he dials and places it on speaker.

“It’s about fucking time, you asshole!” Her introduction is unsurprising. “I’ve been trying to call you for almost an hour.”

Roman is already tempted to hang up the phone and block her until further notice. “What do you want, Nia?”

“You need to get down here now.” He’s still not hearing anything that would warrant him moving an inch. “Your fucking Princess Peach wife—”

But at that, Roman’s interest is piqued. He sits forward in his chair. “What about her?”

“I don’t know, she had a mental breakdown or something and has locked herself in the locker rooms. We can’t get her to come out—”

Right away, Roman gets to blaming and accusing. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Nia can’t respond before he asks the next important question. “Where the fuck was Solo!”

“I didn’t do anything, Roman! And Solo can’t be with her in the fucking women’s locker room!” Nia’s defense is as sharp as his imputation. “I told you that girl isn’t made for this life. She’s a fucking problem! Come get her now, or I’m going to blow the damn doors off myself.”

Highly vexed with Nia’s smart ass mouth as well as the nature of the situation, Roman slams his finger on the end button and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders. “Fucking hell.”

Jey, just as confused as everyone else, decides to be the sacrificial lamb, asking, “Roman, what was that—”

“You two come with me. Wise Man. Rikishi. Finish and send out the response to Orton’s proposal.” Roman issues out indisputable commands as he marches out of the room, the twins not hesitating to hop up and follow suit. Confused or not, they know better than to question their cousin when he’s in one of these moods.

They don’t even say anything for the beginning portion of the ride to the Warehouse, a rarity for them considering they always have something to say. But this time, they wait for Roman to break the silence, and he eventually does, still just as angry.

“I don’t have time to be dealing with this shit!” To say Roman is pissed would be an understatement. He’s livid. For a lot of different reasons, really, maybe even mostly at the fact that his head counsel had the unmitigated gall to even utter Rhodes name around him.

Roman would see the entire empire go up in smoke and flames before he’d ever agree to any sort of alliance with that son of a bitch.

That only adds on top of the fact that the Italian faction of his empire seems to be questioning his ability to lead, as if the data doesn’t clearly support that business has never been better. The cash flow is endless. Numbers don’t lie.

But, Roman knows the real reason for their insubordination.

It’s because of his father, the Samoan blood that runs through his veins. His being afakasi. Mixed. They believe that following that night, the alliance between the Bloodline and the Guild, an alliance sealed by the marriage of his father and mother, should have been dissolved. That someone from his mother’s side, a full blooded Italian, should sit on that metaphorical throne.

But, that’s not the case.

Roman assumed power because it is his by birthright, and he’ll be damned if he lets some ignorant fucks try to take it from him.

So yes….there are a lot of different reasons for his anger.

But, it’s a lot easier to blame it on the reason he’s in an SUV now, heading to a place he didn’t even plan to attend today.

“I’m not going to keep dealing with this shit with her.” He’s not even entirely sure who he’s speaking to at this point, or if he’s directing his statements to anyone in particular. Just needing to vent and get it out.

“What do you mean keep dealing?” Jimmy is the first to pick up on his cousin’s wording. “Something like this happen before?”

The twins look between each other and then back at Roman who runs his hand over his face, realizing that if there’s anyone he can trust to keep this between them, it’s the twins. Annoying and sometimes dimwitted, they’re notoriously loyal and can sometimes provide sage advice.

“She had a complete meltdown on the wedding night. Panic attack, wouldn’t stop crying.” Roman conveniently leaves out the part of him talking her down from a panic attack. They don’t need to know that.

No one needs to know that.

“After ya’ll….”

“No.” He answers, honestly. “We didn’t even do it. She was too hysterical.”

“Wait a minute.” It doesn’t surprise Roman that Jimmy is the first to put two and two together. “So you ain’t even fucked her yet? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” He doesn’t need to be reminded of anything. Roman’s memory is long and sharp. “I also know what I do and don’t feel like dealing with right now.”

“Uce, the only reason you even married this girl was so that she could give you an heir. How the hell is that supposed to happen if she won’t even let you touch her?” As much as Roman wants to snap at his cousins, he can’t. He can’t because they’re right. It’s something he’s thought about on and off since the wedding night.

It’s painfully evident to him that Solana’s mental state is….fragile, to stay the least.

He doesn’t need fragility.

He doesn’t do fragility.

The same way he apparently can’t do her.

“Maybe you need to just annul the shit and cut your losses while it’s still early.” Jey suggests, and Roman can’t deny the idea has a level of appeal to it. Until the next part leaves his cousin’s mouth. “Send her back to her family.”

“No.” That’s an easy no. He’s not entirely opposed to the idea of annulment, but what’s not an option is sending her back to that house of horrors. The only way he can see himself doing that is if he’s put a bullet in both her brother and father’s head, which technically, is the plan anyway.

He would just be making some…..timeline adjustments.

“I won’t send her back there. That’s a death wish.”

Maybe set her up with some money and a house. Let her live out her days with her damn writing, reading, and cooking, the only three things she seems capable of doing without fear. But even thinking that, Roman wonders just how capable she is of living on her own.

Xavier kept the girl so damn sheltered. He’d have to keep a security detail on her at all times. Maybe keep Solo with her. She seems to have grown somewhat comfortable with him.

The same with Naomi.

Or, so he thought. People who are moving in the right direction don’t lock themselves in public fucking locker rooms.

Jimmy also points out, validly, “well, you obviously can’t keep her around if she literally can’t do the one job she has.”

“Let’s not be irrational, alright?” Jey, in a twist of faith, tries to be the voice of reason. “That girl can cook.”

Jimmy’s eyes light up. “Oh shit, I forgot about that.” Sure enough, he switches his tune. “Man, Soso ain’t even that bad, uce. You just gotta be patient with her.”

The change of tune doesn’t surprise Roman, but his suggestion is almost comical. If not for the fact that he’s already in a sour ass mood. “Do I look like a patient man?”

“No, but you do look like a man who could benefit from learning how to be patient,” Jimmy’s rebuff is quick and sharp. “That’s why you and Jey on high blood pressure medication right now. Both ya’ll hotheaded asses be getting yourselves all upset over nothing. Probably why you’re going gray too.”

There may be some element of truth to what he’s saying, but it’s also irrelevant to the issue at hand.

“I’ll figure something out,” he mutters, and it’s the truth, because that’s what Roman does. He figures shit out.

He always figures shit out.

The SUV is barely parked when Roman flings the door open, slamming it shut behind him, not knowing exactly what he’s about to walk into.

“What happened?” Roman’s demand is accompanied by his powerful stride into the Warehouse, Nia immediately rolling her eyes and pointing to Naomi.

“Ask her. She was the last one to interact with her.”

Naomi is unsurprised by both Nia throwing her under the bus as well as Roman directing his fury in her direction.

“What the fuck happened?”

As someone who’s been involved with the Bloodline and their family members for over a decade, she’s used to both Roman’s anger as well as being on the receiving end of said anger. So, her response is calm and to the point. “Like I told Nia, we trained, and she was fine. She actually did well today. I had another training session after her, so we agreed on the next date, and she left for the locker rooms. That’s it.”

Naomi’s answer is unhelpful, but he believes her. Knows she’s being honest. It’s just that her honesty doesn’t do shit for him.

“Clear the place.” It’s directed to Nia even if his focus is still on Naomi.

Nia steps forward, irritation undeniable. “Roman, seriously? We have matches lined up—”

“I don’t care. I want it cleared now, Nia.” She’s about to protest again, but he lifts his hand, warning, “I’m not in the mood, so don’t fucking test me.”

Nia isn’t stupid. She might be able to teeter the lines some days with her cousin, but this clearly isn’t one of those days. Grumbled protests stay within the confines of her inner dialogue as she turns on the edge of her heel to start emptying the Warehouse.

The twins step forward, asking, “what you need us to do?”

Nothing. He doesn’t want anyone to do anything aside from leaving him the hell alone, but that’s not an option. So, he moves quick to find a task for them. Naomi as well. “Check the cameras. Something happened, and I want to know what.”

“What if—”

“Check the cameras.” At this point, Roman’s about to kick them all out if people keep questioning him like he isn’t the fucking Tribal Chief.

Control has always been a big thing for Roman.

When one doesn’t have much, or any, as a child, they overcompensate, and then some, as an adult.

He recognizes that fully.

As all parties move to follow through on his orders, Roman heads toward the locker rooms, ignoring the complaining of the gym goers having to prematurely leave against their own volition. He’s not focused on that, just on the panel near the doors, a panel he’s never had to use until this day.

A panel only he can operate and use as its his biometrics and only his. Again, a man who likes control.

It takes less than a minute for him to gain access, the door automatically opening. Roman steps in and closes it behind him.

“Solana.” He’s certain she won’t answer him, won’t magically do a 180 and feel well enough to step out, but he does feel like at least making his presence known to her will minimize her fear and surprise.

Because one of the first things he notices and hones in on is sound, listening for any and all sounds that could lead him in her direction, and it’s a bit on the easy side considering there’s only the sound of running water coming from one area. And if he had to guess, one specific shower stall.

Carefully, his steps take him from one end of the room to the other, moving in the direction of the woman he needs to find.

And he does find her.

He finds her sitting on the floor of the shower, naked, enclosed in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, staring like she’s in a state of shock, like she’s not aware of where she is or what she’s doing. Like she’s not aware of the heat of the water bearing down on her body.

“What the hell?” Roman’s first reaction is a modicum of shock, the heat from the steam alone almost instantly suffocating him. Naturally, he moves toward her, to cut it off, but her scream of terror stops him prematurely.

“No!” It’s been a while since Roman has heard that level and depth of fear in someone’s voice, in the hefty depth of their sorrow. She’s petrified. “P–please don’t.”

It’s for that he actually hesitates, doing his best not to shout at her because that’s clearly the last thing she needs. “Solana, I’m not gonna fucking touch you, but you’re burning yourself!”

While he does his best to keep his eyes focused on non–inappropriate areas, he can already see the reddening of her arms and back. If she already hasn’t burned herself.

Again, he tries to reason with her, which is such a strange experience. Roman doesn’t negotiate with people. He does whatever the fuck he wants and cuts down anyone who has something to say about it. But this, this is a completely different experience he’s not entirely sure he knows how to navigate in a way that won’t fuck this girl up even more than she already is.

“I’m just going to shut the water off.” Announcing his intentions seems like the next best thing, even if it seems to do little to calm her. So, he bites the bullet and moves fast enough to where she can’t protest until it’s already done.

Which is exactly what happens.

“No! I—I need—I need to get clean. I need—” She starts crying again, hugging her legs closer to her body. “I can still feel—their hands—”

“Did someone touch you?” Interrupting her isn’t a good idea, especially with the way anger naturally floats into his tone. It’s almost impossible for it not to. If someone fucking touched her….“ Solana….what happened?”

She gasps, shaking her head, pleading almost. “Please….please don’t m–make me t–t–talk about it.”

There’s a distant look in her eyes, one that’s both uncomfortably but extremely familiar to Roman. He knows what it looks like for someone to be physically present but mentally elsewhere. That’s what Solana is right now.

She’s not talking about today but something else, something much darker that whatever happened today only triggered.

Roman slowly starts to crouch down in front of her but she jerks back. “I’m not going to touch you, Solana,” he again reiterates. “But you can’t stay in here.” He starts to remove his jacket, reaching it over to her. “We have to go back to the house.”

Again, she’s panicking, protesting. “I can’t—I can’t go out t–t–there.”

“I had the place cleared,” he explains. “There’s no one out there except for the twins, Naomi, and Nia.” Truthfully, he’s starting to wonder if he should have asked them to leave too. He didn’t know she'd be this frazzled.

“Come on," he encourages.

Eventually, she accepts his jacket, and Roman stands back up to his full height, turning around and allowing her the privacy he’s sure she’d want. She steps forward, Roman seeing she’s hugging herself keeping his jacket covering her body.

She keeps her head down, obviously still shaken up, still messed up from a lot of things. He honestly doesn’t know where the trauma stops and ends with this girl.

Roman directs her. “Get dressed. Meet me outside.” He looks down at her, needing some level of acknowledgement. “Okay?”

Solana surprises him by glancing up, nodding softly, walking away to what he would guess is the locker where her clothes are.

Pleased that she’s at least well enough to be left alone to follow through on a simple task, Roman exits the locker room. He approaches the desk, the twins immediately standing up. It’s not lost upon him that Naomi and Nia are nowhere to be seen. If he had to guess, Jimmy sent Naomi home, not wanting her to bear anymore of Roman’s wrath. And Nia left to avoid unleashing her wrath on Roman, neither of which he’s entirely upset about.

He has no interest in seeing either of them right now.

Jimmy speaks first. “We found something.”

“Send it to me.” Roman is smart. Always has been. It’s not difficult for him to connect the dots to see that someone clearly fucked with Solana. And he’s almost certain whatever footage the twins found will confirm and show exactly how she was fucked with. The same way he’s entirely certain that managing his anger seeing as such is damn near if not wholly impossible.

And she doesn’t need that right now. She’s already a hot mess. Being exposed to his explosive temper will only exacerbate that, so being sent the footage for him to view when he’s alone and can respond as violently as he wants is the best route.

Especially with his next order.

“Whoever it is, bring em’ to Asylum.” He adds, as if it needs to be specified. “Tonight.”

Jey nods, and Roman notices there’s an edge to his voice. The same way there’s an edge in Jimmy’s expression. They seem pissed. “You got it.” And for some reason, Roman has a burning guess that it has to do with whatever they found rather than it being directed toward him.

Waiting for Solana to exit the locker rooms, Roman blows out a deep breath and scratches his beard. This day has been a shitshow for a variety of reasons, but this reason in particular, this thing with Solana, it ranks pretty high up there.

He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing to do with this girl.

“Jimmy.”

“Whassup?”

“Text Paul. Tell him I want Solana’s medical records. All of them.”

Roman knows now he needs answers, specific answers regarding exactly what he’s dealing with. And Solana is clearly in no position to share these things with him, not that he’d even want her to.

She’d probably have to be admitted somewhere if he tried that shit.

Jimmy looks understandably confused but affirms, “I gotchu.”

And with that, Roman also pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, selecting the thread and typing out a message he doesn’t really think twice about.

Roman: Dwayne. Change of plans. I’ll come when I can, but now’s not a good time. I have shit here I need to handle first.

Roman: In the meantime, take my name out their fucking mouths.

————

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

And just like that, Solana knows that he knows what happened. Knows about Austin and Grayson.

And it turns her stomach.

Roman took her back to the house. He left her alone, giving her time and space to come down from her breakdown. And even in sitting in her room, writing out her feelings about the day's events, she knew. Solana knew that it wasn’t that simple. That Roman wouldn’t just leave what happened today at that.

That he’d want to know what happened, what triggered it, but naively, she tried to convince herself he’s too busy of a man to deep dive and find out on his own. To push her for answers.

She’s wrong.

She’s wrong because that’s the first thing to leave his mouth when he finds her in the kitchen.

Roman’s question, however, is valid and understandable, even if just the thought alone of having this conversation makes Solana physically uncomfortable.

Still, given everything that’s happened today, she can’t blame him for wanting answers.

She just doesn’t have them to give.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” His tone is full of mockery and frustration that she also can’t blame him for but physically finds herself feeling unsettled. “Bullshit. I want an answer, Solana.”

Her skin feels hot, stomach starting to knot. “I just—I don’t—”

“I can’t handle problems you have if you don’t fucking tell me that you have a problem in the first place.”

“I’m sorry—”

At that, Roman snaps, unintentionally, but also a build-up from all of the day’s events. “Stop fucking apologizing!”

What he doesn’t expect is for her to jump back away from him, so much so that she falls to the floor and hurriedly moves back against the cabinet, as she shouts in a panic, “I’m sorry!” Her arms are crossed in front of her body, a defensive position, like she’s waiting, bracing.

Waiting for him to hit her.

Roman’s been in this position countless times. Standing before people as they begged for mercy, begged for him to not enact his vengeance, to rule out his judgment as judge, juror, and executioner. And it’s always been a thrill for him, a boost to his ego, a reminder of his power.

And not once has he ever felt bad for causing such a reaction.

Not until this moment.

With slow, careful movements, Roman also moves to the floor, one leg outstretched, the other hiked so his foot is planted on the ground. His arm casually resting on his knee. “Solana….do you remember what I said to you that day at your job?”

She's still waiting for the inevitable, waiting for him to lash out, for him to hit her. But, she’s confused by the fact that instead of him doing so just yet, he's sitting on the floor opposite of her. And somehow, she finds it in her to focus on his question. He said a couple of noteworthy things that day, but somehow, she knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“My…..my clumsiness.” Clumsiness he told her she wouldn’t have to worry about, but she’s been more than worried about it, more waiting for it, expecting it at some point or another.

“And I meant that shit.” His head is leaned back against the cabinet, and Solana suddenly feels even worse. He seems so stressed out from all of this, from her. “You’re my wife now. I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you. Not your dad. Not your brother. Not fucking Theory and Waller.” There’s a bit of a pause as he adds, almost quietly, “and especially not me.”

Solana is unsure what to make of what he’s saying to her. Not sure how to process and take it at face value. It’s hard for her to digest the fact that one of the most dangerous and violent men in the country wants her to believe that he’d never put his hands on her. That he’s not someone she needs to be scared of.

And she doesn't understand it, can’t comprehend how he can not be like every other man in her life. “W–why?”

“Cause unlike your piece of shit family, The Bloodline has morals. I’m not a good man, Solana, and I don’t pretend to be. But, I’ve never hit a woman, and I never will.” Roman never pictured himself having to explain to a woman why he has no desire to beat her. Yet, here he fucking is. “Real men don’t do that shit.”

Solana doesn’t know what to say to that, is still not sure what to say to any of it. But then, Roman is speaking again.

“It’s no secret. I have a temper, and that’s not going to change. I’m not going to change. Not for you, not for anyone.” Solana knows this, knows this very well, and understands it just as much. She would never expect him to change his ways, especially for the likes of her. “But, I—I’ll try to be mindful of it around you.”

That…..throws her for a loop. Why? Why would he do anything for her? What has she done to make him even feel like he should? Except stress him out and cause him unnecessary problems.

Roman continues, asserting, “but, you’ve gotta start fucking telling me shit. I need you to meet me halfway here. I need you to communicate with me. You can’t spend the rest of your life writing what you refuse to say out loud.”

She licks her lip, a nervous action, replying as best she can, “I’m not—I’m not used to—” She’s not used to people caring about her, caring about her wellbeing, and maybe that’s too strong and too inaccurate to describe what Roman is saying. It’s certainly how it feels though. “I—I’ll try.”

He seems pleased by this, probably not fully satisfied but enough for him to drop the subject. And she appreciates that, and is thankful for it. This day has already been a lot, too much. She’s so fucking tired.

Roman says nothing else, not that she needs him to, not that he needs to. But, as he stands up, turning to leave, she finds herself asking him, “where—where are you going?”

His answer is simple but ominous. “I told you. No one lays a hand on you.” He grabs his jacket off the sofa, sliding it on as he vows, “I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

—-------

Asylums, historically, have been places of horror. Where the lives of so many end in cruel and undeserved ways. Screams and pleas falling on deaf ears, memories of terror forever etched in the walls and halls of a building that’s only seen suffering.

It’s a fitting name for Roman’s location for interrogation.

Torture. Because there is no being interrogated by the Tribal Chief. It’s just straight up, unadulterated torture. And truth be told, it’s a bit of a last, or maybe second resort. Killing someone in the moment is much easier, preferred. A shot to the head, a knife across the throat, even the snap of a neck. All much easier than methodical, drawn out ending of lives.

But some instances, some circumstances call for something more, something sinister, something lasting.

And that’s exactly what Theory and Waller are going to get.

By the time Roman walks into the building, sliding and tossing his jacket to the side, the twins have done a decent job roughing them up. One of them—he could never tell the difference—nor did he care or will it matter in a few hours, has a black eye that’s swollen shut. The other’s nose is crooked and bleeding, most likely broken. Their clothes are already stained with sweat, blood, and dirt.

They’re both tied down by their wrists and ankles that he can see have started to dig into their skin. Their chairs are situated opposite each other. Good. That’ll make this even better. Calmly, Roman walks over, snapping his finger as Jimmy and Jey step back, visibly pleased with their warm up.

He crouches down between them, looking back and forth between both with a smirk. “Gentleman, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” One of them, the taller of the two looks scared shitless while the other is glaring with idiotic defiance. Like he clearly thinks he and his friend are going to leave this building alive.

They’ll leave.

Just in pieces.

“I’m Roman.” His voice is slick ice. “Roman Reigns.” There’s a rush of adrenaline that soars through Roman’s big body seeing the fear flash in both sets of irises. Good. They should be fucking terrified. “But, I do know someone you have met.” His voice goes cold again. “My wife.”

“Actually, I saw you meet my wife, but you didn’t just meet her, did you?” Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Naw man….ya’ll did a hell of a lot more than that.”

Roman doesn’t need to have footage of just what happened in that locker room. He can paint the image all on his own, and it’s an image that makes his blood go cold. The footage of them in the hallway was damning enough. “You cornered her, didn’t you? You waited until she was alone and vulnerable and you harassed her. You sexually harassed her. My wife.”

Roman shrugs, looking between the two. “What ya’ll think should happen?” Their mumbled and grumbled voices are incoherent against the gags in their mouths. Laughing quietly, he continues, “now, now, I’m a fair Tribal Chief.” Roman stands up, walking over to the wall of tools and weapons laid out. He settles for the hunting knife. “So here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna let you tell me which body part goes first.”

He motions for the twins to remove their gags and upon that removal, the defiant punk is the first to speak, “what the fuck is wrong with you!”

The other one, however, is damn near in tears. “Pl—please. We–we’re sorry.”

“Shut up, Grayson! He–he’s bluffing.” Theory, he thinks, decides to prolong his torture even longer by reiterateing, “we didn’t even fucking touch her. The bitch is ly—”

Roman sees red, again, most likely a buildup of the day's events. But, it’s pure rage that fills him as he slams the Buck 119 down against Theory’s left hand, cleanly slicing off four of his fingers.

Theory’s screams fill the room as the twins chuckle, Jey taunting, “who’s the bitch now, huh?”

Roman grabs his chin, vowing, “I’m gonna make you suffer the longest.”

“We didn’t hurt her, I swear.” Grayson is now crying, clearly ready to beg, plead, and whatever else it takes to get him out of this hell. “Austin just—he had her up against the locker, he–he pinned her, but we didn’t rape her. I swear!”

Grayson unintentionally paints a picture in Roman’s head of what he already figured is what happened, what he figured is what sent Solana into her traumatized state.

Big mistake.

Roman brings the knife down on both of Grayson’s thighs, intentionally aiming for near the top of his knees, his quadriceps, effectively rendering him permanently paralyzed. His screams of pain are music to Roman’s ears. Roman grabs him by his jaw, screaming, “who the fuck do you think you are! She’s mine! You hurt her and think I’m not gon break every bone in your fucking body? You don’t ever fuckin touch what’s mine! You understand me!”

The younger man is practically hysterical at this point. “Please….” Roman looks down, hit with the stench of urine, seeing that the one with the accent has pissed himself. Disgusted, he backs away, hitting the pathetic son of a bitch with a blow across his cheek that sends teeth flying out his mouth.

He turns back around, eyes focused on a now teary eyed Theory. “I was going to be fair, let you decide in which order I dismember you, but now…now I’m just gonna make you watch as I kill you both, piece by fucking piece."

He looks over at his cousins who seem completely unaffected and almost indifferent to the gruesome scene unfolding before them. “Jimmy.” Roman doesn’t hesitate, a sadistic smile on his handsome face. “Give me the saw.”

—------

Blood is such a pain in the ass to get out of almost everything.

Roman showered a good twenty minutes before leaving the Asylum, and he can still see specks of dried blood, or maybe it’s bone, or flesh.

There’s a sense of satisfaction that fills him though, that almost calms him as he imagines the look of pure terror and fright on their faces as he methodically took their lives, piece by piece. Well fucking deserved in Roman’s opinion.

And he’d do it all over again if he could.

Minus the blood and guts and shit, because that's just fucking annoying. Roman readies to take another shower, hitting the light switch near his bedroom door when he immediately notices the brown journal sitting in the middle of the bed.

There’s a second to pause and another second for him to realize he’s seen a similar book before. Solana. He’s seen her writing in one very close to the one on his bed.

Less apprehensive, Roman walks over to see it’s open to a page filled with neat writing he knows must belong to Solana.

Lifting it, he reads what she’s written.

Roman,

I know you don’t want me saying sorry anymore, and I know you want me to talk to you, but it’s really hard for me. I’m not used to this. I don’t know how to talk to you.

And I know you said I can’t write, but writing has always been the only way I can express myself, so I will try to talk to you more, but….until then, can I just write?

Solana

Right off the bat, Roman’s first and initial response is no.

Because why the fuck would he write like something out of a damn movie when she could just fucking talk to him?

But, that’s the thing, that’s exactly what she’s trying to express to him, that she can’t, that it’s too hard for her. Right now, at least. Because there’s also a promise, a promise to try to transition to more verbal communication, Roman’s preference.

Granted, he hates talking to most people in general, but it’s preferred over writing damn letters like the 1700s.

And then he thinks about it, recalling earlier today and the pure terror in her voice, the fear wracking her body so much so that she didn’t even realize she was this close to third degree burns. He has to be realistic here, realistic about what she is and isn’t capable of.

As frustratingly slow as it is, she is trying, in her own way. He can’t fault her for that.

Regardless of how he feels about it, this is the best she can do. For now. And he’ll hold her to working towards that, because growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. She has to get used to being uncomfortable with new things. That’s just how it is.

But this….he can meet her halfway.

Grabbing a pen out his nightstand, Roman writes out his response, taking and laying it out on the kitchen island for her to see first thing in the morning.

Solana,

I recognize communication is challenging for you. If this is what works for you, I’ll do it. For now.

Do you work this weekend? If so, call off.

I’m taking you somewhere.

Also, there's nothing you can't tell me.

I promise you that.

Roman

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

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finniestoncrane · 4 months ago

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Farrell!Penguin x Plus Size!Fem!Reader, word count: 8.5k commission: i am an oswald cobblepot fat girl lover truther, and i am always so so so so overjoyed when i get to write him loving on a big girl!! this is a sweet commission i got for a slightly shy and maybe a bit insecure and nervous plus size reader going on a date with oswald and then having some dessert afterwards... 💜🐧 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: weight/insecurities mentioned, passing up food, awkward dinner date, penetrative sex, there's a magnum condom for my monster dong moment in here so you better at least giggle and blush for him

It was a fairly typical Saturday for you, with the exception of the evening’s plans. The minute that five o’clock had hit, you were rushing up off the sofa to start getting ready. Not that you had been doing anything except sitting in silence and waiting all day. Every time you tried to read or work on your latest craft project, or even turn on the TV for some mindless, numbing background noise, you had been immediately distracted by your nerves. And worst of all, those nerves had now made you ever so slightly behind your own schedule.

You ran quickly from the bathroom of your small apartment to the bedroom, abandoning the towel as it fell from you, but catching it in your hand to drag it along behind, and hoping none of your neighbours happened to peer in through the blinds at that moment. Standing in the corner of your room, you wicked away at the droplets of water on your body, watching your thighs jiggle as you rubbed them down. If you spent too long on this, the painful ritual of doting on your body, you might not want to go out at all, and you couldn’t risk any kind of delay-inducing breakdown. This was too important. How often was it that people were invited out on a date with Oswald Cobblepot?

A lot, actually, you imagined. He was handsome, charismatic, powerful, and of course, rich. A fact which you didn’t find important, but which he had flaunted anyway by sending you an outfit to wear for your dinner with him. You didn’t even recognise the name of the boutique on the packaging it arrived in, that’s how fancy it must have been. And you had immediately felt out of your depth, knowing that Oswald was more fashionable, more in the know than you. About everything, it seemed.

Well, maybe not everything. You weren’t quite sure how certain he’d be that he’d made the right move in asking you out once you had the dress actually on. It felt too tight, and like it highlighted every part of you that you were entirely self-conscious about. Every lump, every bump, every asymmetrical curve that you found on the sides of your body, the way your stomach and back both protruded somehow. This dress found a way to highlight it, like it was set out to disappoint you. An enemy. But you were already running dangerously behind schedule, and while that of course would usually send you over the edge and into a pit of nerves, this was only amplified by a thousand, made exponentially worse by the fact that you were potentially going to be late for a date. A date with none other, and you hated to repeat yourself, Oswald Fucking Cobblepot. There really was no time for you to let in the nagging self-doubt, not tonight. If you didn’t look directly at it, then you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

You quickly tidied up your hair, letting it fall into a slightly neater version of your usual style, and added what little makeup you were willing to wear, knowing that your nervous sweating was liable to have it all sloughing off within minutes anyway. Your concerns about looking absolutely perfect for Oswald were no longer a priority, or even a possibility. All you needed to be at this moment was presentable and on-time. And those concrete needs were slipping out of your grasp with every minute you spent panicking in your apartment. With a final deep breath and a quick check of your bag to make sure you had everything, you gripped the door handle and headed out.

Surprisingly, the forecast had been relatively pleasant for the day, and you found this to be accurate when you were out in the mild, thick air of Gotham. No rain, no wind, just a grey sky and an above average temperature for what seemed like the perpetually dismal and gloomy place you called home. Still, you carried your umbrella in your bag anyway, not trusting anything about the city. Umbrella, pepper spray, spare cell phone battery, mini first aid kit. The essentials. As you walked down the steps to the subway station a block away from your home, you wondered how many other cities necessitated this level of preparation and protection from its citizens. Surely, any other city, any normal city, even those without their own vigilante figures of justice, would maybe, at a push, carry some pepper spray. But, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Without the risk, there was no reward. And if the risk was a cavalcade of gimmicky, but dangerous, villains, the reward was Oswald Cobblepot. He was very much worth it, in the grand scheme of things.

As you waited on the platform among the throngs of other commuters, you tried to soothe your nerves by reliving the moment Oswald had approached you. Out alone, stood up by a blind date, filled with nerves about whether or not he had seen you and decided he wasn’t into ‘big girls’ and then left without a single word.And just as you had decided that the drink in your hand would be your last, your senses were overwhelmed by a presence that made your heartbeat quicken. There was a distinct warmth, a deep, almost sweet scent, and a feeling of safety that enveloped you as a figure sidled up beside you at the bar. They asked you a question, a simple one, almost cliche.

“How’s someone like you drinking alone, sweetheart?”

When you turned to answer, you felt yourself wobble on the bar stool, body threatening to faint as you recognised Oswald Cobblepot, smiling at you, his gold tooth glinting in the dim lights of the bar.

Initially, you thought it was a mistake, and had turned to see if there was someone prettier sitting behind you that had caught his eye. But he had placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, turning you back around to meet his eye. A confident move that, had it been executed by anyone else, you would have been quick to beat them off and leave angrily. But this was Oswald. Fucking. Cobblepot. His charisma and reputation let him get away with a lot of things in Gotham, a bit of forceful flirting was definitely one of them.

He had asked your name, placed his hand high on your thigh as you spoke, and then apologised for having to leave so quickly. But he took your number, gave you his, and told you to be ready on Saturday, because he was taking you out to make up for whatever ‘dumb, rat bastard’ had stood you up. You had expected it to be an empty gesture, one meant to placate a damsel in distress. So when the text came in the next morning, you were giddy beyond belief, and then had to sit down and practice your deep breathing to prevent a panic attack. Then the call came, and you worked out the details together. Or at least, you agreed with every aspect of the plan that Oswald told you.

And then yesterday, the dress had arrived.

The box it came in was itself more extravagant and beautiful than anything you’d ever even treated yourself to after a long time saving up. One of those boxes you knew you were saving, because it would definitely come in handy somehow. And the ribbons it was tied up in, the bow on top so perfect, the tissue paper the dress was carefully nestled within, all of it was too good to toss away. Plus, it had been hand-delivered by the courier of whatever high end store Oswald had purchased it from, the logo of which you didn’t recognise even, so it was all pristine. Your excitement was only dulled when you finally dared to open the box, very carefully, and found within it that the dress was definitely far more revealing than anything you had ever owned or even considered owning.

The low, scoop neck, the thigh high slit on the side, the tight, silk material, the thin straps, the sleeveless and backless style. None of it was your preference. And you’d known from the moment you tried it on that you’d be uncomfortable in it all evening. But it didn’t seem like there was any validity to the option of not wearing it. You might as well have spat in the box and sent it back to Oswald. No, you had to wear this dress. For him.

The next problem, once you had accepted the fate of having each one of your curves and rolls, your arms exposed, your breasts and cleavage, albeit sagging with weight, on display, was that you had nothing to wear with the dress. You had no spare cash, and not even anything in your savings, that you could part with in order to procure some accessories or a pair of shoes or a handbag that did the dress justice. And it was winter, which meant that you would have to wear your same old coat over the top on the journey to the restaurant where you were meeting Oswald.

“Like slapping makeup on a… yeah.” You thought it to yourself, cringing at how cruel your own words could be, but frowning at the truth. The nicest things you owned would have to do, and luckily, they were neutral enough, in silver and black, that they complemented, or at least didn’t clash with, the deep, shimmering and almost pearlescent purple of the silk fabric that made up the dress. All in all, you didn’t hate how the look had come together, but you were happy to wrap your body up in your almost ankle length puffer jacket as you thought about being viewed in public. Beneath the thick coat, no one would know, and that suited you perfectly.

As you grimaced at the harsh wind that bit at your cheeks, oddly grateful for the way it had distracted you from your almost forlorn thought spiral, you noticed the slight rumbling of the train that signalled its arrival at the station. Jostled from side to side by other commuters desperate, for some reason, to be the first on the train, you finally found your way inside and scoped out the carriage for a seat.

Looking to your left, you caught the eye of a woman with a seat next to her, who looked down to your shoes and back up to your head with a look of vague disgust, one you were familiar with from some people. She looked to be making herself as small as possible in her seat, as if she thought you might crush her when you sat down. You decided you’d rather stand quite happily than let her judge you so extremely, and karma served her quickly as a kid wearing headphones which were blasting tinny music sat down beside her and spread his legs apart, taking up the space she had so graciously provided him, much to her chagrin.

Smiling a little, trying to keep it to yourself, you saw there was now a seat to your right, and when you looked, the man beside the empty spot smiled and shifted his bag onto his lap. With gratitude, you smiled at him as you sat down, holding your own bag in front of you and keeping yourself busy by watching your reflection in the window opposite you. It was there that you spotted the man at your side stretching his neck, trying to gaze down the front of your jacket, which had come unzipped slightly, exposing your bare neck and the deep cleavage the dress provided. Just as you prepared yourself to cough or make it known that you were well aware of what he was doing, you felt his body lean into you, far too close for comfort, and he whispered in your ear.

“Y’know, I like a big girl.”

That was enough to have you standing up and walking away to the door of the carriage. You were only one stop early, you could walk to the restaurant. Anything was better than sitting there being judged or ogled. Usually, you could shrug these gazes off, the cruelty, the fetishisation of your body, but today everything just seemed to weigh that much heavier on your mind, with no pun intended.

Once out of the station, you looked at your phone and began pounding the pavement, realising that because you had gotten off a stop earlier, you might be a few minutes later. The world felt like it was closing in on you, a catastrophe of epic proportions which would set the entire date off on the wrong foot.

“Hey, gorgeous. You rushin’ to see someone special?”

You were in no mood now, and what little bravery you could muster was quick to come out as you turned to scold the sleaze who was trying to hit on someone who was so obviously busy. Luckily, before the tirade of venom spilled over your plump, pouting lips, you recognised the face, the smile, leaning out of the extravagant, deep purple and gold car’s window.

“If you’re goin’ my way, I could give you a ride?”

Oswald winked, leaning over to the passenger side and pushing open the door. The restaurant was minutes away, but you got in anyway, not wanting to make things awkward by refusing a ride. With his hands on the wheel, thick fingers, gold rings on them curled around it, he took off for the short journey. As he drove, you could feel your upper lip sweating, unsure about what to do or say now, but you managed to spew some words out.

“Mr Cobblepot, it’s nice to see you again! At least I don’t have to worry about how to find you when I walk in the restaurant.”

“Oswald, doll. We’re on a date, it’s not a formal affair.”

Cursing yourself, feeling your cheeks flush a little, you let out a soft laugh.

“Oswald, thank you for the ride.”

“No problem, glad I could be of service.”

Within a few minutes you were pulling into the parking space at the front of the restaurant, one you were sure had been kept empty by the poor waiter standing out in the rain. They really rolled out the red carpet for Oswald Cobblepot around here, evidently, and the thought made you nervous. What if they were shocked by his choice of date? Confused, enough to whisper about you, to mention it to him when he got up to go to the bar alone for drinks. Maybe he’d change his mind about you if someone told him he could do better? You had to toss those thoughts to the side for now. You were on a date with him, and that was enough. If this ended horribly, if he never wanted to see you again, at the very least you could be grateful that you got this sweet taste of the good life for one evening.

You smiled towards Oswald as he held the door open for you, trying your best to look confident, and to pretend that you weren’t terrified to enter into the building first. Already, you could feel eyes on you. These kinds of people could smell on you that you didn’t belong there. It was obvious to them. But when Oswald stepped up behind you, every lingering stare was quickly averted, no one daring to make any judgements while you were on the arm of someone so powerful. It was an interesting feeling. Safety, for one of the first times in your life. Even standing next to him felt like you were being held in a warm embrace of comfort. He just exuded a confidence you couldn’t quite find, and he seemed to have plenty to share.

Pushing ahead of you, Oswald followed the waiter to your table and pulled your seat out for you, taking the seat opposite and moving it around to sit closer. With a snap of his fingers, the wait staff rushed to move his place setting around in front of him, murmuring quiet, sincere apologies as they did so. And before you could let that inherent egoism of that power move to settle uncomfortably on your mind, he opened his wallet and passed each of them a crisp, hundred dollar bill, patting them on the back and offering his deepest gratitude. He was generous, a gentlemen, and he was kind to everyone on every rung of the ladder, it seemed. He really was absolutely perfect.

Lifting the menu, hiding your blushing smile behind it, you studied the plentiful options and felt the drool collect against your cheeks before you reminded yourself of who you were, where you were, and who your company was, at which point you flitted your eyes to the lighter options and settled on a bland salad.

“What’re ya havin’, kid? Remember, this is my treat.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Co- Oswald. I was actually looking at the garden salad, it looks very nice.”

“Huh… sure thing.”

He seemed disappointed in your request, and you wondered at what point you’d gone wrong. There were a multitude of possible answers to that question though, of course, so instead you tried to steer the conversation on to another topic.

“So, do you come here often? The staff seem to know you.”

Lowering his menu, Oswald flashed you a grin, his tooth glinting as he winked.

“They know me everywhere, doll.”

As you tried to struggle out of the whole it felt you were digging, he laughed heartily, placing his hand on your knee for a brief moment before removing it again.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just joking. I mean, they do know me everywhere, and I mean everywhere, but I’ve been comin’ here since I was a young man, just making my way in the world. This food’ll keep you right, keep you good on the path to success, ya hear?”

“And I ordered a garden salad. Fuck.”

“It sounds wonderful, Oswald. What are you going to have?”

Before he could answer, an old man, who you assumed was the owner, approached the table with a notepad, slapping Oswald on the back before greeting him.

“Mr Cobblepot! Nice to see you again, and with a date this time! Lucky you!”

You smiled, unsure if he meant either you or Oswald were the lucky ones.

“What can I get you, big guy? The usual?”

Raising his hands, Oswald shook his head.

“Uh, no, not tonight friend. We’re gonna have the nicest bottle of red you’ve got, and two garden salads, thanks, chief.”

“If you say so, Mr Cobblepot.”

With that, the ticket was put in, and your meal was prepared. There was a surge of disappointment coursing through you, but considering what other limited options you had, you felt you had done the right thing. Although, you couldn’t help but feel horrendously guilty about the fact that Oswald had felt as though he couldn’t eat what he wanted. You supposed there was some unreconciled double standard there, one that was enforced by society but ultimately upheld by your own self-doubt. But you had to commit now. That was at least a concrete plan while you got through the rest of the meal.

You tried to keep your eyes on Oswald, focusing on him as he spoke. As much as you didn’t really want this date to be something you had to “get through” that was, unfortunately, how it felt. To you, this was a chore for Oswald. Something he had committed to, and had to carry on with until he was done and could say goodbye to you. An embarrassment, in the dress he hadn’t yet commented on, which of course meant he hated it. Ordering a stupid salad and making him feel bad about whatever it was that he wanted. The sooner it was over, the better, at least for him. And it meant you could stop trying to pretend like you couldn’t see the prying eyes of the other tables, looking over at you, judging your clothes, your looks, the food you might eat, the company you were keeping.

Still, you managed to find some energy to maintain a conversation. It would have been impossible not to. Everything Oswald said, every polite, interesting question he asked you, every kind word he had commanded your attention. So much so that the time it took you both to place your forks down felt like it had gone in miraculously quick. Which it likely had. You didn’t want to look at your watch, but you imagined that given the fact you were both picking at what you would usually have considered a pretty small appetiser, that barely any time had passed at all. Not exactly value for his money, you cursed inwardly.

Looking to your plate, you were pleased, in a cruel and self-hating way, to see that you had managed to even leave some of the salad uneaten. The fear of eating in front of people not conquered, but at least bypassed, skillfully sidestepped for another evening.

And then your stomach rumbled.

You might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t also looked straight up and into his eyes to make sure he didn’t notice, but he did. Completely embarrassed, you made a move to excuse yourself, but he raised his hand and shook it, sighing as he spoke.

“Listen, kid… you gotta tell me. Why didn’t you just order what you wanted?”

“I… uh, I did, Oswald.”

“Look, either you’re lying to me, because I don’t think you did. Or, you’re not the kinda gal I thought you were. I can’t tell which is more disappointing.”

“Well, I’ve fucked this up. I might as well be completely honest.”

You took a deep breath, emotions running high enough to give you not a boost of confidence, but a complete lack of ability to hold your tongue.

“Ok, fine. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted the burger. The big, fat, greasy burger. With everything on it. And a side of the truffle fries. And the garlic bread. I don’t know why that was all on the menu, this place seems too fancy. I guess they have it on there for people like me. People with an unrefined palate. People who are greedy. People who are f…”

You trailed off on the last word, very aware that not only were you dangerously close to insulting yourself, but Oswald also.

“I’m really sorry, Oswald. It’s… I should have been honest. It’s difficult for me to… I don’t like eating in front of people, usually. Not in public, and not anything that isn’t… y’know… healthy.”

Oswald wiped at his face with a napkin, and sat still for a few seconds, scrutinising you, looking to see if your words were truthful, although your shuddering breath and wet eyes suggested they were.

“Thank god for that, baby. I was worried I’d picked wrong. You shoulda just told me! You think I ain’t got a lil bit of that no good self-confidence block sometimes? I ain’t exactly the picture of a slender physique, y’know?”

He patted his stomach, smiling wide enough to pull a grin from you in return.

“I figured we’d eat together, keep each other company. I don’t date anyone I think can’t match me. You have no idea how worried I was when you were picking at that salad! You still hungry?”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded gently, averting your eyes from him.

“C’mon then, lemme take you out for dessert.”

Oswald stood up from the table, offering you his hand to help you out of your seat. As he led you to the door he called out behind him.

“Thank you fellas, charge it to the card!”

You stayed mostly silent in the car, worried that Oswald was still wrestling with his opinion of you. Lying, pretending to be someone you weren’t, making him think he was wrong. Those all felt like cardinal sins of dating someone as amazing as he was, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he bought you dessert and then took you home. In fact, you expected it at this point. Though you weren’t sure what you thought would happen. It seemed unlikely that you’d get anything more out of him, he had been a complete gentleman the whole evening. No overkill on the flirting, kept his hands, and his eyes, to himself. Maybe, if you had been lucky, or hadn’t messed everything up, he would have given you a goodnight kiss. But now, you felt like it was a miracle he would even give you a ride home.

“Wait here, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

The car was stopped by the curb next to a little bakery you had walked by maybe once or twice on your way into the nicer side of town. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed. From the window, you could see Oswald, laughing and talking to the woman behind the counter. He seemed to know everyone. Or, he was so personable that everyone he met instantly liked him and felt like they had a rapport. You wondered why it was so difficult for you to feel like that, though you did feel comforted by his presence. You chalked it up to your own insecurities, convinced you’d never be good enough for someone like him.

As he exited the building, he smiled, holding up two small, white paper bags and handing them to you as he got in the car.

“What’s this?”

“Cream donuts. Best in town. Best on this coast. Best in the world maybe. They’re my favourite, and I thought you’d like to try them, since you’re sweet, and round yourself.”

Blushing, you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the high pitched squeal that threatened to ruin the cool exterior you were clinging onto.

“Thank you, Ozzie.”

“Ozzie?”

“Sorry! Oswald! I didn-”

“No, no, I like that. Sweetheart, you can call me whatever you like, I ain’t complaining.”

With that, he pulled out into the road and headed to your apartment, following your directions as he made the quick journey through the dark streets. When the car was stopped, he got out and opened the door for you, walking you up the steps and stopping at the front door. He was standing too far away for you to lean in and kiss him, as you were so desperate to do. It felt awkward, but you persevered. You had to speak. Without risk, there was no reward.

“Well, this is me. Would you… like to come in? I can make us coffee and we can eat our cream donuts?”

“Nothing has ever sounded better, toots.”

You smiled, unlocking the heavy front door and considering what that meant. Did he really want to spend more time with you, or was he just being polite? You couldn’t tell with him, he seemed so nice, so sweet. It wouldn’t surprise you if he agreed to marry you, and have kids with you, and retire to the Italian coast with you just out of his desire to be polite. Alternatively, it meant that he was coming into your apartment, fully aware of the implications behind that as an after date activity. So it really seemed, even though your brain fought against it, that he was into you.

Stepping in through the door, you held it open and stepped to the side against the wall to make room for Oswald. As you walked away, you tripped, feeling yourself being tugged back at your ankle by something that had latched onto your shoe. Stumbling forwards, you saw everything happen in slow motion, preparing to fall flat on your face, but instead found yourself limping into Oswald’s arms as he caught you. Looking up to him, his charming smile and breath of relief made your heart flutter more than the anticipation of the pain of thudding against the floor had. Looking down as you steadied yourself, you muttered your annoyance.

“Oh, shit…”

Oswald had caught you in time, making sure you didn’t fall and make a complete ass of yourself as you entered the building, but when you looked down to see what you had caught yourself on, you noticed that the little clasp on the strap of your shoe had bent backwards, snagging on a loose nail in the wall.

“Aw, I really liked these.”

“Wait there, sweetheart, lemme get that.”

It took you by complete surprise as Oswald knelt on one knee on the filthy ground, tarnishing the suit pants that you were sure cost more than a month of your rent plus utilities, just to help you out. It was incredibly chivalrous, dauntingly romantic, and yet managed to be so endearing and adorable. His fingers betrayed his cool, confident exterior as they trembled when they made contact with your skin. With one hand on your ankle and the other lifting the toe of your shoe, he lifted your leg up, balancing the sole on his other knee, and began working on the buckle.

“Musta got bent when you got knocked into the wall, toots. I can fix it though, gimme a sec.”

Still shaking, with what you could only assume were nerves, Oswald bent the little piece of metal back into shape and pulled the ankle strap back through the buckle. He gazed up at you, a question on his lips, but was stopped by his inability to form a coherent sentence. From this angle, you looked… he couldn’t really find the words, not even in his own mind. There was a noise akin to a pained groan filling his head, a desperate need to scream out, which he was sure would only translate to a pitiful whine if he dared try to say anything. You stared down at him, eyes wide as you waited for him to finish, or to speak. His hands held your lower leg, palm holding onto your soft skin as he stared back up to you. From down here, you looked angelic. The ceiling lights of the dingy entrance of your building, irritating and far too bright usually, seemed like a halo, an aura of beauty surrounding you. Your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, all of them more pronounced as your leg was hitched up into them. When you smiled, a look of slight concern, he watched as your cheeks pushed into your eyes, your double chin more pronounced as you leaned back. It had him struck completely dumb.

Trying to maintain his gentlemanly approach that he’d upheld the entire evening, he averted his eyes from your body, trying to push the thoughts of how each of those curves and soft protrusions would feel weighing down on him as he held you in bed, but for his efforts, he was only punished further. Out of the corner of his eye, and pulling his gaze in like a trap, he noticed that the way your leg was balanced on his mean that the slit of your dress was pulled wide. And from that exact angle, he could make out the front of your underwear. They covered everything, but that didn’t stop him from indulging in thoughts of a more carnal nature. How those thick, plump lips would feel around him, how soft your chubby mound would be against his nose as he dove in for a taste.

Clearing his throat and wobbling slightly, he lowered your leg to the floor and steadied himself, cheeks red as he chastised himself for taking such a long look at what was below your dress.

“There you go, doll. Good as new. But lemme get your size and I’ll have a new pair at your door by tomorrow, ok?”

You giggled, knowing there was no point in refusing his gesture, and took his hand as you guided him towards the stairs to your apartment. Taking it slow, so as not to rush Oswald given that his leg brace meant he was at a slightly slower natural pace than you, was actually pleasant. It meant you weren’t having to rush to pretend you could keep pace with ‘fitter’ people, and you didn’t have to hold your breath for fear of sounding like you were struggling. Everything felt right, like you were at the pace you should be at with Oswald.

Oswald, though, was more than happy to trail behind you as you made your way up the four flights of stairs to your apartment. Sure, his leg was getting a bit sore, his knees stiffening up, but it was worth it for the view. All evening, he had managed to steal glances, sneak a little peek at your body as you leaned in to speak to him, or shifted in your chair, or leaned back in the passenger seat of his car. How your lips had closed around your fork, how your eyes instantly shot to his as he spoke to you, how your cheeks puffed up when you smiled. The way your breasts spilled ever so slightly up over the top of the dress, the way your thighs spread out on a surface, the way your stomach hung and moved as you bent over. Only brief glimpses, but he had seen so much. And now, he had a free show.

Holding your coat in your arm, since it wasn’t needed for the brief ride home, you made your way up the steps in just your dress. The fabric clung to every curve, every protrusion of your soft form. Each stair you climbed, each move of your legs, your thighs jiggling, brushing against each other. The way your ass bounced, tightening and loosening as you stretched the muscles to carry you. By the time you both had reached your floor, he was having to try and picture some of the more horrific crime scenes he’d been a part of just to keep himself from going over the edge. If he got any stiffer, he wouldn’t be able to walk to your door.

With great effort, and with all of the strength he could muster, he managed to suppress his cruder instincts and desires and shuffled to your door, following you through it and sitting down on the sofa when you offered him a seat.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Beautiful place you got here, you got it lookin’ nice, real nice.”

You were hanging up both of your coats, but you turned to question his sanity, knowing that he likely had storage closets in his home that were bigger and better decorated, when you noticed that he looked a little flushed.

“You ok, Oswald? You look a little-”

“Nah, nah, I’m fine sweetheart! Just came up those stairs a little too quick is all, I’m not no spring chicken remember! And it’s hot! Or is it hot in here?”

“I haven’t had heat in here for a week, landlord is putting it off. But… I can open a window?”

Oswald nodded silently. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was making him nervous, the looming threat of having to kiss you. Or… the anticipation of kissing you? He’d come all the way up here, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes fell on your body, flitting away when he thought you were about to catch him, not realising you already had. The thought alone made you blush, so you turned from him quickly, opening the window above the sink and picking up the bags from the bakery as you took a quiet breath to calm yourself.

“Dessert?”

“Thank you sweetheart, you’re a doll.”

Oswald took his donut with a smile and a gleeful sigh, and you giggled as you pulled yours from the bag. It looked amazing. He’d definitely picked right. And the way he tore into it, devouring almost half of it in one bite with a soft moan, eyes rolling back in his head, you realised how silly you had been earlier to be embarrassed in front of him. You’d only made him feel worse, clearly. Oswald had no issue making a mess of himself in front of you, and he waved his hand, encouraging you to eat, which suggested he had no issue with you making a mess either.

Having been given the permission to do so, you indulged yourself, taking a large bite of donut and with a full mouth, moaning a note of satisfaction. You savoured it on your tongue, and without intending to do so, ran your tongue seductively across your lips to ensure that nothing went to waste. But you were quick to pop it back into your mouth when you noticed Oswald gazing at you intently, his eyes unblinking.

“It could mean anything… it could…”

But you could sense something behind the gaze, something definitely in tune with how you found yourself looking towards him over the course of the evening. Enamoured, potentially even filled with lustful thoughts as he watched you. But the intensity of his stare slowly dissipated, his lips curling up slowly into a gentle smile. The change in expression concerned you, but not enough that you didn’t smile back, finding the bravery to try and ascertain what, exactly, was on his mind.

“What’s up?”

Oswald let out a soft chuckle as he looked to you, covering his mouth as he finished the bite of donut he was working on. The laughter worried you, more than putting you at ease, and you only got more flustered as he reached for you.

“Hang, on sweetheart, you got a little something…”

“What? Oh, shoot, have I made a mess?”

You attempted to wipe at the corners of your mouth, worrying that you were making more of a fool out of yourself the longer it stayed. Taking his thumb, a sweet, mischievous smile on his face, Oswald stroked your cheek, removing the dollop of cream that had found itself there. He held his thumb out, displaying the offending smear to you. Without thinking, and in a move that still confused you even afterwards, when you had time to consider what possessed you to follow through with the action, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his thumb, licking the cream from it and sitting back. As soon as you had swallowed the sweet flavour on your tongue, you realised what you had done. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink almost immediately, and your eyes widened, threatening to prickle with tears as you watched Oswald stare back at you in the same silent shock.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

His face was still, mouth straight, eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t quite read his tone. You had to say something, anything, to fill the silence. It was too quiet, and the longer it went on, the worst it would be. So you conjured up some words of apology.

“Oh my god, Oswald, I am so sorry! It’s just…”

You weighed up the options before you, and decided to cut all your losses and try making a joke. Be yourself, be goofy, be ‘unrefined’. Be. Yourself.

“... it’s a good donut.”

He laughed, his eyes bright and his smile wide and sincere, soft and gentle, filled with genuine happiness. You were finally getting comfortable around him, and as arousing as it was to have you sucking on his finger, he found it even more tantalising knowing you were finally opening up to him.

“You got more, toots. Hold on, lemme get that. Just a second…”

He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a purple cotton handkerchief, monogrammed in gold, and wiping his brow on it. Sitting down on the sofa, he took a deep breath as he wiped the streak of cream from your cheek, not really listening to you as you spoke.

“Oh, you dropped something, Oswald. Let me get it.”

Bending down to reach for the small, glinting square just below the sofa, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

“... lemme get that…”

You’d been so hopeful that he was going to lean in to kiss you, or, if you could really imagine something so bold, to lick the sweet, sticky mark from your flushed skin. It was beginning to feel like the intentions were never there. He might be attracted to you, you could concede to that by now, but he seemed to be far too much of a gentleman to take things further, especially on the first date.

But just as you silently prayed that there would be a second date, and a third, and, dare you dream, a fourth, your fingers tapped on the metallic wrapper under the chair, picking it up and turning it around as you brought it closer to you.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am… so sorry. You can just give that here.”

Your heart skipped a beat, enough that you found yourself struggling for a breath. Between your fingers, with Oswald reaching for it desperately, you held a condom. It wasn’t exactly a definitive symbol of intent, but it was enough to give you hope. You never imagined that the glint of the golden wrapper could have aroused you so quickly, but it had. And as Oswald took it from you, you found yourself smiling slightly in return to his nervous grin.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, toots… I am so sorry, really.”

“You didn’t mean anything by that?”

Stuttering, letting you see him truly nervous for the first time that evening, he tried to respond.

“Well, uh… n-not nothin’, kid. I mean, it’s there, isn’t it. It was in my pocket. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who walks around with one ‘just in case’.”

“So there was… intent?”

So bold, but so nervous, and yet you kept prodding him for more information. The way his cheeks and nose had begun to turn pink let you feel an ounce of control, like you were finally able to take charge.

“So… a gentleman like you doesn’t carry them around for nothing, but he’s smart enough to be prepared on the off chance…?”

You spoke so softly, so slowly, sultry and sweet, enough that Oswald’s smile began to spread out, realising that you weren’t put off by his little faux pas. Regaining his composure, he returned to his usual, composed self and shuffled forward on the sofa towards you.

“I do like to plan for every eventuality. I go out on a date with a beautiful dame, I don’t expect anything in return. But I’d be damned if I showed up to your place and had to turn down any opportunity.”

Your own confidence was dwindling, if only slightly, and you broke the facade of the flirtatious tease to beg for some reassurance, as subtly as you could.

“And… you hoped for an opportunity… with me?”

You hadn’t known Oswald for very long, but it felt like he could read you like a book. He clapped his hand over his mouth and drew it down, shaking his head as he looked over your body.

“Are you kidding, toots?”

“I guess… I just wasn’t sure if I’d be what you… expected… or wanted…”

“We lookin’ at the same thing here? You think I wasn’t hoping for even just a chance? With that face? And those legs?And that ass? And that sweet, cushiony stomach you got? All wrapped in that fuckin’ dress? Oh, ho, ho, don’t ven get me started on the dress.”

Finally believing that Oswald had consciously and willingly chosen you, you decided to take what you wanted, or at least, ask for it nicely.

“Actually… I think I would like to get you started.”

With a coy smile, you batted your eyelashes at him, and he moved forward to the edge of the sofa, his hands lifting yours from your sides and kissing the knuckles.

“I’m glad you wore it. I didn’t wanna make a big deal outta it, felt like I was being controlling or something… And I knew if I told you how good it looked on you, I just wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t have been right for me to spend an hour of our date telling you how I liked the way the fabric hung on you…”

He pulled you closer, tugging on your hands, lifting them again and turning them over to kiss your wrists. One placed on each one, a shiver coursing through your veins.

“... how each little curve, each bit of you is highlighted, teasing me, begging me to run my hands over them and feel them…”

Oswald’s hands skimmed over the ridges and curves of your sides, palms pressing into each of the outward bulges of soft flesh as he moaned in appreciation. The sounds he made were muffled by your neck, where his lips were held in a flurry of passionate kisses, his tongue lapping over your skin as he tasted you, savoured you. Each pause to catch his breath he spent whispering his intentions and desires for the evening.

“... how warm you look, how you would feel…”

His hands moved around to your lower back, fingers hovering there before he let them slip down, palms over your cheeks, cupping at your rear. He pulled you slightly, knocking you off balance, stumbling and almost falling onto him, your breasts making contact with his face before you steadied yourself. But Ozzie leant forward, placing his prominent, distinct nose between your breasts, then his cheeks, moaning and sighing as the soft, gentle and ample tissue that comforted him.

The haze of arousal came over you, your body no longer being controlled by your overthinking brain, your desires free to rule, and your hands found his thick thighs, travelling up them until your fingers struck the metal of his belt buckle, quickly, but not effectively. Taking his hands from you, Oswald lifted yours from him, unbuckling the belt on his own. His eyes flitted up to meet yours as he unzipped his fly, eyebrows raising in a question. You answered with a smile and a subtle nod, trying to decide whether it would be polite to watch or look away, but found your eyes trained to the spot. Breath hitching. Mouth falling open ever so slightly as he took his cock out, average in length, but thick, already stiff in his hand.

Ozzie’s hands were back on you, his fingers tickling at the back of your thigh, gently edging you closer to him, pushing up the skirt of your dress, exposing more of your skin. Under the fabric, his thumb hooked onto the waistband of your underwear, teasing your panties down as he chuckled, lustfully.

“You wanna take a seat, let me see if you feel how I thought?”

Usually, you’d worry about the position, the weight, the worry that you wouldn’t look good in position, that having someone look up at you would only highlight your double chin. But, strangely enough, not only did you not care when those thoughts quickly entered your conscience, you got excited over them, the notion that your body would be there, viewed, and worshipped by Oswald Cobblepot, of all people.

As you began to lower yourself down, he motioned for you to pause for a moment, reaching to the other side of the sofa and picking up the condom. He pursed his lips as he rolled it down over his thick length, leaning back as you eased down onto it. The moment it touched against your lips, filling you, inch by inch, until your thighs were settled against his.

Straddling him, you felt his hands cupping at your thighs, caressing down your back, gently grabbing at you to pull you closer and assist in your movements. He couldn’t settle on a place to touch you, his hands taking in every inch of your body, fingers digging into your thighs and moving to your hips to cling to you, moving you back and forth as you rocked yourself on his cock. Each motion felt better than anything had before, each soft groan he made, the way his lips curled into a snarling grin with pleasure sending you further into ecstasy.

His hands travelled to the nape of your neck, curving round your shoulders and peeling at the thin straps of the dress, watching the silk fabric slip down over your chest, eventually exposing your breasts to him. With no effort to hold back his boyish glee, he threw his head back and moaned.

“Mother of god you look fuckin’ fantastic!”

While you rolled your hips forwards and backwards, relishing in the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you, Oswald’s large fingers pinched each of your nipples, teasing at them as he licked his lips, delighting in the way it made you whine, biting down on your lower lip, your smile still visible.

The movements between you were frantic, reaching the apex of the heated moment you were sharing. As the climax approached, you felt Oswald move his hand from you, bringing it down in a swift, sharp cracking motion against your upper thigh, his fingers settling on your rear as he gripped and winked.

“You think you can get a little bit faster, toots? A bit dirtier to see me through?”

By the time he was finished speaking you were already rutting into him, animalistic as you determined to give him what he wanted. He was hardly a gentleman now, as he smacked your ass, jutting his hips upwards, pumping his length inside of you as he wailed out.

“That’s it, baby… good girl, good girl, god, you’re such a good girl for me, huh? Oh yeah… fuck… fuck!”

He pulled you onto his chest, still inside of you as he thrust his hips up, firmly, but slowly, letting your top half rest against him as you felt him cumming, then relaxing, holding you on him, still inside of you. You had no intentions of moving, until he decided it was uncomfortable. You were content to be balanced precariously on his body, your toes pushing you up from the floor, face resting against his still clothed chest, listening to him hum in satisfaction as he caught his breath.

Letting out a soft chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your head, stroking your hair as he settled back down flat.

“Every eventuality, kid. As if this wasn’t what I wanted all along.”

#reeves!verse #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #the batman fanfic #the batman 2022 fic #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you

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wri0thesley · 2 years ago

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nat this is unfair you can’t be good at everything AND pretty, you have to share

waah anon shjdhjfh. I definitely do not think of myself as either good looking (I get upset about not being pretty or whatever regularly which is so silly, the concept of worth based on physical attractiveness or whatever is so silly! and yet i am constantly poking at my big nose and round face and round everything like >:( ) or particularly good at anything. I think i am lucky in that i can do several things to an okay standard, but im not a shining example of anything. jack of all trades master of none type beat!!!

#nat.txt #negative cw #just in case!#being ok at lots of things and also ugly to average is one of the reasons I never went back into theatre after my nervous breakdown tbh #BRUTAL industry if youre not either stunningly lovely or stunningly talented and esp brutal if u are fat and not cis but still femme #(and very very brutal if you’re fat with a classical voice like me!!! all the fat girl roles are for belters)#ok sorry i tangented in the tags

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lif3lessb0dy · 7 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹ ೀ lads boys; xavier & zayne

╰┈➤ headcanon/scenario; they saw how reader is struggling with her mental health

cw; self-harming(recovering), scars, depression in xavier's part, feeling not enough because of scars in zayne's part, cursing

a/n; if any of this topics is triggering you do not read! I kinda based some of this on my personal experience from the past so I did everything I could to make this accurate, if you feel like reading this will be harmful to your journey in any way feel free to skip it

i saw @chryssikyu 's post and decided that I can write something about it since I haven't found anything like that here.

╰┈➤ XAVIER!

you were a team so he could watch how your behavior is changing

he was really worried, he wanted to ask if everything is fine

he was headed straight to your apartment, prepared the questions in his head, he was afraid that it would seem awkward, you were just work partners after all

he knocked at your door

you opened but after you realized that it was xavier you just wanted to start crying again, you looked like a total mess, you didn't want to make him worry about you but it was too late

„can i... can i come in?” he asked quietly

„yeah, of course” you wiped your wet cheeks with your sleeve once again.

you were nervous asf

after some minutes of normal talk he wanted to just ask about his suspicions

you started crying and opened up about your recovery and depression episodes that lately hit you badly, you told him how you were feeling about your job, friends and life in general

he saw your old scars on thighs but didn't say anything, he waited to see if you would like to talk about it, he didn't want to force you to do this, especially now

you had such a bad mental breakdown that you have told him everything.

„(y/n) if you ever have such a bad time again that you want to return to self-harm, come to me. we don't even have to talk if you don't want to, if you ever feel like that again just come to me. or I will come to you, I don't want you to suffer in silence, it's not a shame to ask for help or support.” he looked at you „you are so much more than what you think, i don't want you to sit in the dark of your room crying and thinking you're useless, because you're not. I know you probably think my words are a joke, but I really... I really like you so I want you to be happy, I would do anything to make sure you don't experience these bad moments alone”

you didn't expect this. you expected disgust or laugh. why was he so nice and caring? in your eyes you were just a burden to him on a missions but he still cared about you.

„I also understand that you will need your alone moments, I just want you to know that you can count on me.” he gently grabbed your hand. „we're more than just a team, I care about you and wish you the best”

╰┈➤ ZAYNE!

it was your first date with him, you still couldn't believe that it was really happening

you wanted to dress nicely but after you saw yourself in the mirror you just started crying. no matter what dress or skirt you were wearing you still felt ugly. you felt like the scars on your body make you worse.

you called zayne and came up with some excuse just to stay at home. you really felt terrible, you just wanted to lay in bed all day and cry. you recently started therapy again because you knew that you were feeling worse and worse every day.

zayne knew that something was off. you were so excited, but suddenly you were sick and couldn't go? he knew that you were 100% healthy because he was your doctor after all, he didn't notice any signs of illness at yesterday's routine checkup

he decided to go to your apartment to see what was going on. he gently knocked and waited for an answer, after a while you opened the door.

„za-zayne?” he caught you off guard, you quickly pretended that you were coughing. „what are you doing here?”

„I wanted to examine you since you're not feeling well”

you felt guilty that you made him worry about you. you sighed and knew that you needed to tell him the truth.

„zayne... listen, i-i'm...” you started whispering.

„not sick?” he raised an eyebrow. „can I come in?”

you nodded twice. you felt embarrassed because of your lie.

„what's wrong, (y/n)? did something happen? or you just... didn't want to go? yo-you could tell me if you didn't want this date” he said calmly, almost like he thought that it's all because of pity towards him, well, he was the one who asked you out, he was worried that you agreed because you didn't want to make him feel bad

„no! i wanted it, but... it's really complicated” you avoided his gaze, not sure how to say what you were thinking. „since you're my doctor you know that...” you paused, your psychologist helped you learn how to talk about your feelings, but you were still afraid.

„know what?” he came closer and grabbed your hand. „don't be afraid, (y/n), you can tell me everything and I will not judge you” zayne said sincerely.

„do you think i'm worse than others because of my scars? do they make me ugly?” you looked straight into his eyes

„what?” he was completely shocked. „I have never thought like that and I never will. these scars are a sign of how much you've been through, that's the past, we can't change it, but we can do anything so you don't have to make new ones.” there was no insincerity in his gaze, only pure love. „I don't only care about how your body looks like, I see you as a wonderful, brave person who has a good heart. you're so pretty for me, some scars won't change it” he lifted your hand and gently pressed his lips against it.

„I wouldn't want people to start talking bad about you because of my...” he didn't let you finish, he cupped your face and ran his thumb over your lips.

„do you think I care about what they think when I have you by my side? you're a wonderful person, everyone admires how nice and helpful you are, often after you visit me in the hospital, people would talk about how beautiful you are, (y/n), let me show you how I see you, don't look at yourself like you're the worst piece of shit. i know it's not that easy, i'm glad you're continuing with therapy, and if there's anything i can do to show you how much i care about you – i will do it.”

#im going insane #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace scenario

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starbluekindo · 6 months ago

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LOML (part 3)

synopsis: you and victoria are destined to meet, not to be together.

cw: victoria neuman × fem!reader, angust, traumatic past (quoted), red river (quoted), reader is a supe with necromancy, childhood love, character death, mentions of depression?, smut, nsfw…

part!1 part!2

a/n: this was longer than it should have been ;-;

english is not my first language and i don't have much experience writing, so it may contain errors.

you haven't had good experiences with your powers. being a five-year-old child and seeing all the dead people in a room and even more so talking to them, feeling them, was not a cool experience.

you spent years being haunted by the dead who seemed to haunt you every step you took, they seemed to take some kind of twisted pleasure in tormenting a child. that's what you thought for years until you discovered that most of the ghosts that haunted you just wanted the chance to tell their story, the chance to say goodbye.

and you stopped being afraid of them, after all they couldn't hurt you if you ignored them.

it wasn't an easy path to have the level of control you have today. pretending not to see the desperate child in the corner of your room begging for help or the woman in the mirror with sad eyes was painful for you and when you arrived at the red river... all those poor souls tormented you as you cried and begged them to shut up the fucking mouth.

but then you met victoria and it was like the whole world fell silent for the first time for you. she was your lighthouse, guiding you without even knowing it through the sea of souls that insisted on drowning you every day. losing her was like losing yourself, but having her back gave you life.

the following months were the best you could have in your entire life.

you had victoria by your side after years of waiting. years of forced separation, finally ending in happy moments with her. you and her went to bars, restaurants, museums and every art exhibition you could find, every moment unique and special with her.

it was an understatement to say you were happy, you were radiant.

“oh come on, she’s just a teenager, baby… she’s not going to kill you” victoria said in a carefree manner as she cut some vegetables for your dinner.

“vicky, we’re talking about your daughter” you were on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. for some reason you didn’t know, meeting victoria’s daughter terrified you. “what if she hates me and decides i’m not good enough for her mother? what if I mess up? and if-”

you didn't have time to finish your self-deprecating litany, not when victoria's lips were in contact with yours again, her body pinning you against the kitchen counter. her hands held your waist, pushing you onto the cold material of the counter.

“shh… what do you say we skip dinner and I feast on you?” she bit your earlobe, her hands moving to your thighs, playing with the fabric of your shorts.

“fuck…” you sighed and leaned your forehead against hers, closing your eyes as a small smile formed on your lips “i can’t let dinner burn again, vicky”

“we can always eat out, pretty girl” her lips find the skin of your neck, kissing, biting and sucking, each action designed to draw a desperate moan from your lips. her hands move to the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up. touching you, as if touching something fragile.

“such a beautiful girl” she whispers against your skin. fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and she pushes the fabric up, away from your body.

her tongue circles the bud of your breast before leaving a bite on the spot making you shudder, moving her lips to suck a bruise on the skin of your breast “good?” victoria's lips move to her other breast, her teeth lightly nibbling at the flesh, molding it into her mouth as she alternates between one and the other, her free hand making its way through the thin fabric of her shorts, her fingers slipping inside her panties to meet the wet heat of your sex.

the feeling of her fingers inside you, coupled with the way her mouth works on your breasts, is enough to make you squirm on the counter, your moans a sweet symphony that she is more than happy to lead.

“do you like this, love?” she purrs, her voice a seductive rasp. she removes her fingers, coated with your wetness, and brings them to her mouth, licking them clean, "so ready for me, aren't you?" you can barely speak, the sight of her being enough to make you moan again. she easily rips off her shorts in a simple and practical movement, throwing the rest of the fabric to the floor.

she pushes your panties to the side, her fingers replacing them, sliding in and out of you, her thumb rubbing your clit in a slow, sensual rhythm. her lips leave your breasts, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, your body trembling with each touch.

“you’re my sweet girl,” she says, her voice low and possessive, as her mouth finds your sex, her tongue parting your folds to taste you. “you always have been and you always will be”

“so fucking good” you mumble and close your eyes as you throw your head back, biting your bottom lip to keep from screaming (and getting another complaint from your property manager). one of your hands finds its way between the silky strands of victoria's hair, encouraging the brunette to go deeper and your other hand rests on the edge of the counter, squeezing tightly.

her tongue works wonders on you, taking you to heaven with each lick, her fingers filling you in the way you needed her most. you squeezed victoria's scalp, her eyes fixed on you as her moans grew louder. “please vicky” you whimper and open your eyes looking for her, pupils dilated and pleading.

victoria smiles, her eyes fixed on yours, as she takes you into her mouth, sucking and licking you with a fervor that shows she is starving for you. her fingers continue their rhythm, her pace increasing as she feels your body contracting, your moans getting louder.

she knows that look in your eyes, the way you're begging for release, and she's more than happy to oblige. her tongue flicks over your clit, her fingers pushing deep inside you, the pressure building inside you like a storm.

“come for me, pretty girl,” she orders, her voice low and commanding, “let go”

and you do. you come undone, your body shuddering, your moans turning into screams as you reach that peak. victoria sucks and licks you, milking every last drop of pleasure from you, her own body trembling with satisfaction as she witnesses your release.

she pulls away, her lips and chin wet with your essence, a smile playing on her mouth as she watches your chest rise and fall with each ragged breath.

“good girl” she runs her tongue between her lips before approaching you and engulfing you in a passionate kiss letting you taste yourself in her.

you finally had it all again

until there's nothing left

things weren't supposed to happen like this, victoria didn't plan for it to happen, but hey... no one can control everything - not even neuman.

you blamed homelander for fucking up the perfect life you were having after years of fighting, that bastard had fucked up everything.

It was already the fifth call you made to victoria that she refused and it was driving you crazy. you felt like the red river again when she left. not even the traffic was cooperating with you, leaving you unable to leave the car.

you felt scared, you felt scared as hell about everything that could happen. you hated that bitter feeling in your mouth, you hated feeling like a child again. as soon as the light changed again you finally managed to leave the place, passing all possible red lights and at the exact moment you looked at the car's rear view mirror you saw her.

the woman with the sad eyes who haunted you during your childhood.

something really bad was going to happen, you knew it, she told you that.

as soon as you entered victoria's house it was like a part of you was broken, seeing her in such an emotional state made your stomach hurt and the only thing you could do was bend down to hug her, feeling the tears of her to wet your shirt.

even the strongest of soldiers could be shot down.

“you shouldn’t be here…it’s not safe to be with me anymore” her words left you in disbelief, but no real effort was made to take you away from her.

“where else would I be but here?” ‘safely’ victoria thought and bit her tongue to respond, hiding her face in her shirt.

you waited until she was a little calmer and listened to her carefully, you saw her completely lost and with little hope - something you weren't used to seeing in the brunette.

“we can leave the country, hide somewhere safe for a while… just until things get a little better” you suggested as you stroked her scalp, keeping her in your arms to convey warmth and security to her.

“i can't do this to zoe, i can't do this to you” she murmured and closed her eyes. she had the feeling that her body was heavier than normal. “i would be putting you both in danger and i wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you or her.”

“nothing will happen” you both knew that was a lie, deep down you both already expected the worst. lying to yourself was the best way to stay confident - and at the moment it was all you needed.

“i need you to promise me that you will take care of zoe if something really bad happens”

“vicky, nothing-”

“i need it” her voice was more serious now, her eyes were still filled with tears and she was looking at you in a way that left you no choice “please… we both know that you are the best between the two of us who can keep a promise”

"i promise”

her lips met yours in a desperate kiss, as if it were a silent goodbye between you. you reciprocated without even thinking, your hands holding her face to pull her closer, not wanting that moment to end.

“i have to go” victoria whispered as she separated her lips from yours, her forehead touching yours “i have to try to do the right thing at least one last time”

she barely lets you protest, giving you another goodbye kiss, taking longer than last time to pull away “just wait for me”

and it was with those words that you lost her again. It was as if the entire world came to a standstill when the news announced that the vice president-elect had been assassinated just hours after being revealed to the world as a super.

your pain is like a choked scream in your chest. each shared memory turns into an open wound, and absence spreads like a cold shadow, enveloping everything around it. knowing that you could, in theory, bring back your girlfriend, but at the same time being aware of the horror that would entail, is a torment that tears you apart inside.

you didn't even have access to the body.

the rage that consumes you is devastating. you not only feel the impact of the loss, but also an unrelenting rage against the world around you. everything you fought to build with victoria was brutally ripped away. your indignation against the forces that caused this separation is overwhelming, but the anger is also directed at yourself, for what she considers to be her own powerlessness. as a necromancer, the power to manipulate life and death is in your hands, but you are unable to change what matters most.

you find yourself in a months-long spiral of pain and suffering. the depression that invades you is as heavy as the darkness your power summons. at every turn, you are haunted by the vision of victoria, not as she was, but as a distorted memory that your power allows you to see, reanimating her in moments of despair. it consumes you in such a way that the line between grief and obsession begins to blur. the world loses all meaning, and you find yourself adrift, in a place where the shadows seem to constantly whisper, offering the temptation to bring victoria back, even though you know it would only be a cruel parody of what she was.

you couldn't cheat death, no matter how smart you were.

but you remember the promise you made and feel obliged to fulfill it. you finally left the house after being away from the sunlight for so long and drove to the damn place you swore you would never set foot in again, finding yourself facing your worst nightmare.

everything in that place makes you want to vomit, the same old ghosts that tormented you as a child were still there, with a smile that was almost too cruel for you. the sound of your heels hitting the wooden floor echoed through the hallway as you followed red river's new director to the wing where the children usually stayed.

and when you saw her isolated in the corner, away from the other children, it was like going back to the past again. you forced yourself to hold back the tears when you saw zoe's resemblance to victoria and she was... perfect.

you didn't say another word to the woman next to you and walked towards the girl, bending down in front of her and getting a suspicious look from zoe.

“you’re just like her…” you whispered and placed a hand on the girl’s cheek, her eyes watering to the point where a tear escaped “i’m going to take you home”

you would keep your word, you would keep zoe safe and you would hunt even in hell the person responsible who took victoria from you two.

#the boys x reader #victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #the boys #fem!reader #vicky your children miss you #come back pls

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cozage · 2 years ago

Note

OMG HIII I LOVE YOUR WRITINGGG this is gonna be my first request ever (literally having a nervous breakdown) but I wanted to request a fem reader who is the bio daughter of whitebeard and comes back after 2 years of shinobi training to meet the new crew member Fire fist ace! and can you pls make it a short fic (I cannot fathom the words of how obsessed I am with this man IFDFJDKDGJK) (also can she have a DF that's associated with lava? pls and thank you *literally bowing*)

A/N: God this was so adorable to write. I'm so obsessed with this fun little story. Literally once I started writing I couldn't stop. thank u

Characters: female reader, Ace, Marco, Whitebeard & Crew

Cw: alcohol, drunk reader

Total word count: 2.3k

Part 2 | Table of Contents | Read on A03

The Daughter’s Return Chapter 1: The Promised Position

The vivre card in your hand continued to move forward, but you could see the familiar outline of the Moby Dick ahead of you, and you grinned at the sight of being so close to your family again. You had been training for two years, and you couldn’t wait to catch up with your friends and your father after being apart for so long.

Your small boat looked even tinier as the giant ship loomed closer to you, but you weren’t concerned. Blue flames shot into the sky from the blue ship, and you sent out a stream of lava into the air in return. It was your code to the first division commander and friend, proof that you were who they were expecting.

You saw a creature with blue flamed wings shoot into the sky, and you gathered up your things. You only had a small backpack and a few bags of food, so there wasn’t much to pack up. You said goodbye to your small raft, thanking it for its usefulness during your journey.

Marco landed on your boat, and you squealed in delight seeing your brother again. He wrapped you up in a hug and spun you around, laughing gleefully at your return.

“Pops is going to be thrilled to see you,” he said, sitting you down. He ruffled your hair affectionately, smiling at you. “Missed you, kid.”

“Missed you too, Marco,” you said, grinning at him. You picked up a bag, handing it off to him to carry back to the ship.

“You’ve grown!” he commented. “I can’t look down at you anymore.”

You gave him a cheeky grin. “I’m stronger too.”

“You better be!” He laughed. “Pops didn’t smuggle you into Wano for you to come back the same!”

“Maybe he’ll finally make me commander now.” You stared up at the ship, thinking of the goal you’d been working towards since the beginning of your training.

“About that…” Marco trailed off, and you shot him a suspicious look.

“What?”

He sighed, deciding to prepare you. “Pop’s filled the second division commander seat, actually.”

“What?” you hissed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“With who?” you demanded. You refused to believe him. “I thought nobody wanted it.”

“It’s a new guy.”

“A new guy?” you scoffed. “You’re pulling my leg, Marco. It’s not funny.”

Marco looked nervous talking about it. “Let’s go see Pops, alright? He’ll explain.”

You scowled, and your stomach clenched in anticipation. “Yeah, let’s go. I have some words to say to him.”

Marco wrapped his arms around your torso and extended his phoenix wings. “I’m glad to see you’re still a hothead.” You could hear the teasing in your voice, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes anymore.

“Shinobi training can’t fix everything,” you grumbled. You could feel your skin getting warm, a sign you were letting your emotions get to you.

You heard a lot of low whispers and mumbling, but you paid the new recruits no mind as you stormed across Moby Dick. Your father wasn’t on the deck, so you continued on to the command room.

“DAD!” you screamed, and you could see some of the newer members slink away from you in fear. A part of you felt some pride to have such an impact, but you were too pissed to revel in it.

You slammed the command room door open to find your father speaking with another man you didn’t recognize, but you paid the guest no mind. You were too focused on settling the score of the second division commander seat.

Whitebeard smiled at you. “Y/N! You’re-”

“You bastard!” you shrieked. You pulled out a kunai, pointing it at your old man. “You promised!”

The unknown man threw a knife and knocked the kunai out of your hand, and you turned to glare at him. He was shirtless and was wearing an obnoxious orange hat, and he was returning your gaze with a look of equal irritation.

“Stay out of this, newbie,” you hissed at the man.

You reached into your pouch to grab another kunai, but he lunged at you, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I don’t know who you are,” the man said in a low, dangerous voice. “But you have no right attacking Pops the moment you get on our ship.”

“Stay out of my affairs,” you snarled.

You turned your wrist to lava rocks to burn his hand, but at first the man didn’t react. You frowned, turning up the heat to liquidize your arm into magma, and finally the man pulled away in pain. He looked down at his hand in shock, as if he wasn’t expecting to be burned. You couldn’t blame him. It’s not everyday someone’s skin turns into boiling liquid.

Whitebeard laughed loud and hearty, breaking the tension between you and the man, and you refocused your anger back to your father.

“Never a dull moment with you around, kid! It’s great to have you back,” he laughed, and your face flushed with anger.

“You promised me a commander position when I got back,” you yelled at him. “Who the hell did you give it to instead?”

Whitebeard laughed even harder. “That would be Ace.”

“Who the hell is Ace?” you hissed.

The shirtless man raised his hand. “Uh-”

“I said stay out of my affairs!” You could feel steam coming off your head. Sometimes that happened when you got too angry.

The man pointed at himself. “Me. I’m Ace.”

You could feel your insides turning hot, lava coursing through your veins.

“You’re joking,” you said. You glanced at your father, who was still smirking at the two of you. “He’s joking, right?”

You father raised his eyebrows, his gaze darting between the two of you, but he said nothing.

“Portgas D. Ace,” the man said, holding out a hand to you. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, facing your father.

“This guy?'' Your voice was full of skepticism.

“Hey!” Ace yelled from behind you. “Don’t underestimate me!”

“I could squash you like a bug,” you shot back, still refusing to look at him. “Dad-”

“The decision was made with good reason, my girl,” Whitebeard said. “You’ll be working alongside him closely in the second division.”

“No, I won’t,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at his suggestion.

“Yes, you will.” You could hear the seriousness in your father’s voice, the warning of consequences thick in his tone.

You decided it was best to not outright defy him, and you switched your tactic from stubborness to logic.

“I’ve always been under Marco,” you reasoned.

“You’ll be better suited in the second division now.” You could feel Ace smirking behind you, and you resisted the urge to turn around and punch his teeth out.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, trying to keep a level voice. “You give my commander position away and then tell me I have to work under the guy who took it from me?”

Ace laughed. “The second division position has been open for-”

You flicked a volcanic rock back at him, and he yelped in pain.

“Marco is a fire user like me,” you worked to plead your case further. “And I know him. I would work better under him.”

“The first division is a medical division now,” your father explained. You could see you were testing his patience, but you didn’t care. “Your talents are better served on the offensive front, which Ace leads.”

“But-”

“Plus,” your father added, cutting you off. “Ace is a fire user as well.”

You felt warmth spring up behind you, but you refused to give Ace the satisfaction of being acknowledged.

“Dad-”

“I’m not wavering on this decision,” he said with finality.

You felt your father’s conqueror’s haki spread out over the ship, and you knew that you had lost the argument. You could hear Ace stumble slightly behind you, and you resisted the urge to argue even further over the man’s weakness. At this point it would only make your father angry, even if you were right.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed, giving up. There’d be plenty of time to talk with him about the position and prove your worth. “Can we at least have a party?”

Whitebeard’s overwhelming presence disappeared and his jolly laugh returned in an instant, already forgetting your alls squabble. He stood up, wrapping you in a comforting embrace, leading you past Ace and out onto the deck.

“My daughter has returned home!” he shouted, and the crew cheered. “Prepare a feast!”

At least the party life on the Moby Dick hadn’t changed at all. You could still beat just about anyone in a drinking contest, and by halfway through the night, your mind was cloudy from the alcohol.

You took a step away from the party and the fun to get a moment alone with the stars. You took a drink of the ale in your tankard, staring up at the million lights in the sky and thinking about how different the constellations looked during your time in Wano. You were so close to that country and those people, yet so far.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” a male voice said behind you, startling you from your thoughts.

You glanced back to find Portgas D. Ace walking towards you, looking up at the night sky. He was attempting to be casual about the whole thing, as if he had randomly found you here, but you could tell that he had most likely searched you out on purpose.

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. He wasn’t even worth giving the time of day. He hadn’t done anything to prove he was anything special yet.

But Ace obviously wasn’t willing to give up that easily, because he came and stood directly next to you. His eyes were still on the sky, just like yours were.

“I just feel like since we’re going to be working together, we should probably get to know each other a little better,” he said.

You thought of plenty of snarky responses, but said none of them. You knew the silent treatment would be the best way to shut him down. Portgas D. Ace was not your friend. You wanted nothing to do with him.

“Are you happy to be back on the ship?”

Still nothing came out of your mouth. You didn’t even look his way, you simply took another long drink. But you could see him starting to pout. It was only a matter of time before he gave up and returned to the party. You just had to keep your mouth shut.

“All the guys said you had a pretty smoking ability. But I dunno, I think my fire ability is pretty hot.”

You scoff at that. “I’m hotter,” you shot back.

Damn him. He could rile you up, and he knew exactly how to. You could see him smirk in the corner of your eye, and you cursed yourself for being so easy to manipulate.

“That’s what they all said too,” he said quietly, a smile still lingering on his face.

You turned to look at him, your face full of frustration. “What do you want?”

He seemed surprised by your question. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you speaking to me?” you demanded. “What do you want?”

“Wh-No-I just-” Ace stammered, trying to find his words.

You stared at him, your scowl deepening every time he started his sentence over.

“You’re Whitebeard’s daughter, aren’t you?” he finally asked.

“Yeah. And?”

“I’ve just heard a lot about you,” he said.

“And?”

“I dunno,” he said. “You intrigued me.”

You scowled at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I dunno!” He let out an exasperated sigh, turning his gaze to the stars. “You were just this larger than life story people always told since I got on this ship. Everyone always had something to say about you. I guess I just wanted to know how much of it was true.”

“All of it is true,” you said.

Ace let out a laugh, and then clamped his hand over his mouth to stop himself. “I really hope not.”

Your eye twitched, and you could feel your skin starting to tingle. “If people are lying about me, they’ll pay for it.”

“Marco talked about you like you were this sweet little kid.”

“Marco’s delusional.”

Ace laughed again, and this time he didn’t stop himself. You found yourself smiling along with him.

“He definitely sees the best in people,” Ace said.

You shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You could see Ace tense. “Oh, nothing! I-”

You let out joyous rings of laughter now, and you see Ace give a strained smile, mostly unsure of how to react to your sudden friendliness.

“You’re funny, Portgas D. Ace.” You go to take another sip of alcohol, just to find your cup empty. You frowned at it, and turned to go find more booze.

“I’ll get it,” Ace offered, holding out his hand to take your cup. “I’m empty too.”

You nod, handing it off to him. The party was so loud anyway. You preferred the quiet atmosphere this late in the night. He strode away, and you watched him go, your father’s emblem displayed proudly on his back. He still wasn’t anything special, but at least he wasn’t scared of you like half of the crew.

You hadn’t realized how much alcohol you had drank throughout the night until you were alone, and suddenly the world was spinning. You laid down on the deck to get your bearings, and then found yourself stuck there.

When Ace came back, he found you sprawled out, staring upwards.

“You okay?” he asked. He bent down to look at you, his face obscuring part of the sky.

You giggled. “Your freckles look like stars.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No you’re drunk.”

He chuckled. “Your insults get worse as the night goes on.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and then patted the deck next to you. “Come lay down.”

He obliged, his head resting next to yours. “What are we looking for?” he questioned.

“Shhhh!” you hissed, pressing a finger to his mouth. “You’ll scare them away.”

You felt his lips turn upward against your finger, but he was quieter when he spoke.

“What are we looking for?” he whispered.

“Shooting stars!” you whispered back.

“Oh,” Ace whispered. “Of course.”

“Tell me when you find one,” you said quietly. “I’m going to rest my eyes for a minute.”

You’re not sure if he ever found one. You were asleep before he responded.

#im a sucker for stargazing SUE. ME!!!!#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x y/n #portgas d ace x you #ace x reader #ace x y/n #cozage #the daughters return #✧˚ace✧˚

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