#fucked up drawing ideas brewing up

[cosmicdenro]

getting a lot of evil-ish character arc ideas while valentines close wtf

[b4kuch1n]

siren

[fingerbiterfreak]

Oh my god I haven’t posted anything in over a year, let’s fix that

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors:)

Cursed Hours: You know what your boyfriend is? That’s right – horny. And, you know what, you are too. Jeon Jungkook is super mega ultra hot. (Facts.) But. Even you don’t fuck doing cursed hours. You try to delicately explain to your love that there are, in fact, suboptimal times to be asking for banging. (This conversation ends exactly in the way that everyone is predicting.) https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/727237944196333568/cursed-hours-m-jjk Touchin': Jeon Jungkook has got ten minutes and a hard dick. So he says. You learn you can’t trust everything he says though. https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/721978268910272512/touchin-m-jjk Last Christmas: Last Christmas, she gave you her heart, wrapped up with a note saying, I love you. She meant it. This Christmas, you give her back the stuff she left at your place and run into her next-door neighbor that knew all about your love. Somehow, you end up explaining why it went wrong. https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/704515975314391040/last-christmas-m-jjk Not Allowed: The date of Jeon Jungkook’s mandatory military service is drawing close. There’s a heart-to-heart… following by fucking all three holes. What? That harsh training is easier to endure when Jungkook has nice memories of his girlfriend’s sweet, sweet ass. https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/738121282845032448/not-allowed-xvii-m-jjk Sink: You left your hair tie, battin’ those eyes by the sink, you leave ‘em behind think I know why... https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/731946585290883072/sink-m-jjk Prisoners Of The Moon: Jungkook is the third and youngest prince to werewolf royalty. He is also a white wolf – the rarest of his kind – and a beacon of hope to his people when tensions are high in the forestlands. After decades of tyrannical werewolf reign, the forest spirits are desperate for change and his presence threatens the prospects of a new world order. So, as part of an age-old tradition, they gift you as a tribute of the fairies to the young prince in the hopes that you’ll be the key to a brewing revolution. Unbeknownst to you, you hold the key to so much more. https://archiveofourown.org/works/33945859 Devil In A New Suit: Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do. That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/632978831885598720/masterlist-devil-in Lost Stars: Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn't expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. https://www.tumblr.com/yoongiofmine/679078722079424512/lost-stars-series-masterlist?source=share Rebound: After being dumped by your boyfriend of three years, your best friends decide the best way to get over someone is getting under someone else. A dingy dive bar in the middle of nowhere is the perfect place to find a rebound. But what happens when you end up on the bed of a punk-rock lead singer who can’t seem to get enough of you? https://yoongiofmine.tumblr.com/post/687877308271443968/rebound-jjk-mini-series-masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

hi!!! i literally started reading your blog and FR YOU HAVE TALENT. Got me giggling and kicking my feet cus of that girl dad!tf141 fics.

I was reading one of the links you put in for prompt ideas and I read that one six words sentence from link five: "I can't risk losing you again." hello?? potential angst to fluff?? I couldn't get it off my head and i was wondering if you could write something from it :>

Thank you so much! That's so sweet of you! I'm so glad you enjoyed reading the Just Like Dad stories. I had a lot of fun writing them.

"I can't risk losing you again" is such an open-ended prompt. There is a lot you can do with that. I hope my humble offering is enough. I certainly went more angst than fluff on this one, but I really do love sad things with twinges of hope thrown in.

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, mild blood, non-graphic mentions of violence, angst, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications

Simon "Ghost" Riley: An enemy of Simon's harms you, forcing Simon to make a tough decision. (wc: 315) Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: Kyle decides there is only one way to keep you close. (wc: 323) John Price: Price worries after you tell him you're pregnant when the first pregnancy had complications. (wc: 329) John "Soap" MacTavish: Johnny learns that falling in love with a teammate can only lead to sorrow. (wc: 542)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Busted door. Shattered glass. Overturned table.

The lights aren’t working and rain enters through the open patio door. You are safe and whole and far from this. But is it enough? Will Simon be able to keep you safe?

What was once doubt is now cold truth.

It’s not your trashed home but the state Simon found you in. It was your heavy-lidded eyes and bruised face. It was the pools of red that Simon didn’t know belonged to you, the dead man facedown in the carpet, or both. It was your smile of relief when you realized it was Simon drawing you into his arms.

Simon knows the man who did this—no. He knows who fucking ordered it.

And when he finds Makarov, he’ll show that fucker just how trigger-hungry he can be. The lead will burst and fuse to his lungs, and Simon will bathe in the aftermath.

All that’s left is your safety. If Simon knew that his career would lead to this, he would have taken steps to protect you years ago. You are always his one bright spot, that candle in the dark that is his life.

With you, he became more than his trauma. More than his guilt. More than his past. With you, he found peace. He found happiness. You are the sugary candy that sticks in the teeth but is too addictive to give up.

Departing is agony. The return is his reward and his longing.

You are everything.

And that is why he let you go.

Why he said, “I can’t risk losing you again.”

He put his head in your lap, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs and failed to push down the tears.

Laswell will take you far away. She will keep you somewhere safe.

Makarov won’t find you.

And maybe—perhaps in the future—Simon can return to you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is a nervous wreck.

The tiny box sits heavy in his pocket, burning an invisible hole. His plan is not the most romantic, but the two of you aren’t the type to go big. It’s all subtle, and Kyle only wants this moment to include the two of you.

This is his last chance.

Kyle’s final opportunity.

In this relationship, Kyle has kept you second. Not on purpose but out of habit. Work is his lifeblood. It drives him, and every successful mission is a point of pride. But in keeping up with that, Kyle left you behind.

His absences lengthened, and over time, he noticed you were pulling away, closing off. But that isn’t your fault. Kyle created the perfect brew for you to drink. These are the consequences of his actions, and he needs to make it right.

There was a time when Kyle nearly did lose you. When he came home and thought you had packed up and left without saying a word. That broke him. Made him realize just how distant he’d become.

Change is difficult.

But Kyle did it. Slowly.

Your smile returned, and when he comes home, your greetings are full of passion.

I can’t risk losing you again.

Kyle takes a deep breath as the deadbolt on the front door disengages. There is a slight tremble in his hands. Kyle is never nervous. Never. But fuck—taking this next step is driving him up the goddamn wall.

He pushes off from the couch, turning just as the front door swings open.

You step inside, face turned away as you go to shut the door. When you finally glance into the room, all the nervousness inside Kyle’s chest evaporates.

Your smile is so sweet, and you don’t hesitate. Dropping your bag, you rush toward him, and Kyle cannot help but meet you halfway.

He’s making the right choice in asking you to stay with him forever.

John Price

“You’re not happy.”

John is happy. He is. But old worries bubble up, seeping into the joy. It’s tainting everything, and that is clear by how your smile starts to fade.

“I am happy,” he says, but his mouth is a hard line. John knows he’s frowning.

You shake your head, one hand resting over your stomach. “Don’t lie, John.”

This is supposed to be a happy moment. He should sweep you up in his arms. He should kiss you until you’re begging for air. But all John can think about are all the doctor appointments he attended with you, and the grimness of what might not happen.

From that came a daughter. John loves her. Adores her. But bringing her into the world nearly killed you. He grappled with that stress while being as present as possible with you. Growing your family has always been a dream, and John doesn’t fault you for a second. There is no family without you.

John grasps the sides of your face and moves into your space. Your own hands close over his, keeping him from retreat.

“I am happy,” he reiterates. “But we both know what it took to bring our daughter into the world.” John shakes his head absently and breathes deep. “Don’t do this for me.”

“John—”

“I can’t risk losing you again.”

This time, your smile returns. There is a hint of sadness lingering behind it, as if you too are reflecting on all that happened.

“Everything will be fine.” You release his hand and gently cup his cheek.

John kisses your forehead, his thumb absently tracing your jaw. “Are you sure?”

The decision is ultimately yours, and John will respect whatever you decide.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he nods.

John pulls you in, lips finding yours. When you melt into him, accepting all that he’s giving, a wave of peace settles over him.

This is right.

And whatever happens, the two of you will face it together.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny drips water all over the floor. He is soaked through. Shivering. But he could give a fuck.

“Where is she?”

“Soap—”

“Where the fuck is she, Price?”

Captain Price sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “She needs rest.”

Johnny swallows down his retort. He’s not upset with Price, and shit like this happens all the time, but he needs to know if you’re okay.

You took a fucking bad fall, and Johnny couldn’t stop to run after you. The mission comes first, and it wasn’t his job. Other people stepped in and whisked you away. But from the height you plummeted from, Johnny feared the worst.

Still does to an extent.

If you were dead, Price wouldn’t hide that from him. But he might hide how bad you’re injured as a way to protect him. Price has always been fatherly in that regard. Right now, it’s driving Johnny fucking nuts.

“Captain. Please,” Johnny clenches his fists and then releases them. “Let me see her.”

Price’s frown smooths a bit and the middle of his brow wrinkles with concern. “For a few minutes. All I can spare.”

Johnny has to keep from rushing to the hospital room doorway when the words leave Price’s mouth. He has Johnny walk with him to your door. Thunder rumbles in the distance and rain steadily hits the large window at the far end of the hospital room.

Just as Johnny takes a step inside, Price’s hand is on his shoulder.

“She’ll make it,” is all he says before he shuts the door.

Johnny lingers right inside. All the lights are off except a small lamp in the corner. Your eyes are closed, and your face is peaceful. There is bruising. A few bandages. The machines next to the bed beep softly.

He was so eager—so determined to get to you. Now, Johnny deflates.

On quiet feet, he grabs a chair and brings it over to your bedside. You don’t stir. Simply sleep. Johnny eases down into the chair and leans forward, his forearms crossed as he rests them on the side of the hospital bed.

Still, you don’t move. And Johnny doesn’t dare wake you.

Rest is important, and all he wants is for you to recover.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “That I didn’t come sooner.” The rain picks up and Johnny smooths back his wet hair. “But I can’t keep doing this. Every time you’re hurt I—” He sighs heavily and rests his forehead on his crossed arms.

“I can’t risk losing you again,” he murmurs into the bedding.

It’s become too much. You’re not supposed to fuck your coworkers and you shouldn’t fall in love with them either. But Johnny did both. With you. And he cannot take that back.

He’d give anything if you’d set this all aside.

Your fingers brushing against his scalp startle him. Johnny lifts his head, only to find you watching him. There is a soft smile on your lips, and his instinct is to grasp your hand and bring it to his lips, kissing each knuckle and then your palm.

The moment your mouth opens to speak, there is knock at the door. Johnny frowns and looks up, finding Price in the doorway.

“Time’s up.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife

@miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff

@berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

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@suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty eight

authors note: the infamous "discussion" has arrived.....

cw/tw: angst, graphic scenes depicting pregnancy complications

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

***gif courtesy of the lovely @dejameflorecer ***

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 10k

There are a couple different ways Solana played out the moment she would tell Roman about her pregnancy. Several cute ideas she entertained to break the news him. A cake that was half pink, half blue. Taking drugstore pregnancy tests and presenting them to him. She even considered coming up with a drawing of some sort. Regardless, with all of her ideas, there was a major theme of happiness.

And special.

She wanted it to be special. 

However, there’s absolutely nothing special about how this has played out. Nothing happy about it. 

She feels awful.

Because not only has he found out about her pregnancy in the most inconvenient way, he's found the letter too.

It couldn't have gone any worse than this.

Sniffling, Solana struggles with just how to respond to his question. “Roman, I—” 

He lifts the papers, asking in a steel voice, “where did you get this?”

Silence.

For some reason, speaking is a difficult, tricky task that has her trembling and stammering. “I—” Pause. “I—” Another pause. “She—” Another pause followed by her shutting down altogether, eyes closing. 

“Solana.” Hate. She hates the way he’s saying her name right now, the almost distaste present in his voice and painted on his face. “I asked you a question.”

And, he deserves an answer. He deserves a lot of answers right now. Taking a deep breath, she manages to pull it together just enough to finally answer him. “Fetu…..she…..she gave it to me.”

“When?”

Eyes closing once more, Solana responds in that same, small voice, “when you took me to meet her…..”

It’s an answer, the truth, but it’s not anything that seems to chunk away at his anger. “You’ve had this that long?” Closing the door behind her, she finds herself moving towards him. “You kept this from me—”

She sniffles, stopping in the middle of the room. “Roman, please—I—I can explain.”

“Explain? What the fuck is there to explain, Solana?” He snaps, and she finds herself jumping as he throws the papers onto the floor. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I was worried about you, okay!” She cries, trying to find her own voice and way to explain her thought process. “You were in such a bad place, Roman. I didn’t know if—if it would make things worse!”

His eyes widen ever so slightly. “How the fuck could a letter from my aunt who I just lost and didn’t get to say goodbye to make things worse?”

“Because I didn’t know what was in it!” She matches his tone and volume, unwilling to just let him explode on her without her even having a chance to explain. “Because Fetu gave it to me. Not you. She gave it to me and asked me to give it to you when I felt the time was right.”

“Yeah, because your judgment is so fucking good.”

Another pause. Hurt. She’s hurt by his cruelty in this moment. “That’s not fair.” Because it isn’t. Because she understands his emotions, but the way he’s expressing himself, the hurtful things that he’s saying are uncalled for. “That’s not fair at all, Roman. And you know it.” She shakes her head and gestures to herself. “I did what I did out of love and concern.”

“And this?” Solana stills as he reaches for the sonogram, holding it up between them. “Was keeping this from me out of love and concern?” Her eyes shut once more, emotion building, tears brewing. “I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only.” It’s just a second of a delay, but it feels like an eternity. “Are you pregnant?”

Excited. Nervous. Relieved. Happy.

These are just a several of the emotions Solana expected to feel in the moment and space where she shared this life changing news with her husband. There was even a part of her that anticipated him having not much of a reaction, because she knows feelings are hard for Roman. Knows that him learning to love and be okay with loving her took some time. Thus, him needing time to process this news was also a potential outcome. So, yes, she didn’t have this fantasy of this being the perfect moment.

But, this……this moment is the last thing she expected.

The last thing she ever wanted. 

Eyes closed, heart breaking, Solana answers, “yes.” Her chest feels tight, her stomach in all kind of knots. “I’m—I’m ten weeks.”

Silence

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t necessarily have to because the moment Solana reopens her eyes and sees him, that’s all she needs to see.

He looks gutted.

It must be a good minute or two before he asks in a low voice. “How long?” Her lack of an immediate response prompts him to ask again. “How long have you known, Solana?”

God, she feels miserable. Fingers grasping with the material of her dress, she stammers, “I–I started to suspect a couple weeks—”

“Weeks?” Again, another wide eyed, floored expression. “You’ve known about this for weeks and you didn’t say anything?”

“I—I went to Dr. Michaels and asked for a pregnancy test, because I didn’t—I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.” She adds on, almost desperately, “because I know how hard it must have been for you justifying and defending me not being pregnant yet.” Sniffling, her mind goes back to that night that was the perfect, heartbreaking combination of joy and devastation. “But, the same night I got the results back was the same night I got the call about Fetu, and it just—it was all just so much.” Because it was and still is. Solana’s voice cracks as she shares, “it felt wrong to tell you we've created life when you just lost it, Roman.”

The shattered expression on her husband’s face, however, is unchanging as he asks, “you told my doctor before you told me?” For all her efforts to be completely honest and forthcoming with him in this moment, it seems like every response she gives only digs the hole deeper. “Who else have you told?”

“Nobody!” She answers, desperate for him to know that despite how bad this situation is, this isn’t something that she’s been spreading and sharing freely. “I told your doctor, and he gave me the referral to the OB. And……and I had to tell Dr. Stratus—”

Roman stands up from the bed, his back toward her as he paces in a focused area of the room. “All these fucking people…..”

Solana hugs herself tighter, a slight attempt to self-soothe as she can feel her anxiety increasing by the second. “It’s only been the medical professionals, Roman. I haven’t said anything to Bayley, to Naomi. I just—I wanted to tell you first!”

“But, you didn’t, Solana.” He snaps, piercing gaze on her. “You kept me in the dark!” It’s taking everything in her to not break down in front of him, to not let the weight of the situation overwhelm her, because again, his emotions are valid. But his communication, so harsh, is crushing. “You kept the letter from me, you kept your pregnancy from me, what the fuck else have you been keeping from me!”

“Nothing!” She shouts back, her feelings shifting yet again from hurt to angry. Frustrated. Solana feels so damn frustrated. They can talk, they can argue, but she cannot handle this accusatory tone he’s taken. “You get to be angry with me. You have a right to be angry with me. But, you don’t have the right to yell at me and act like I did what I did out of spite. I was worried sick about you and didn’t know what else to do, okay?”

And that, along with everything else she’s said thus far is the God’s honest truth. She didn’t know what the hell to do, so she did her best and what felt the best option in the moment. 

Clearly…..very clearly, she was wrong.

“Ro…..” Solana continues, pleading almost, “you were in such a bad place, I felt like I had no other options.”

His eyes tell all the story. “And what do you think this puts me in, huh?” He looks just as frustrated as he speaks more to himself than her. “I started…..started to suspect that you were, but I pushed it away, because I knew—I thought you would tell me.” Another look of disdain and disgust. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

There’s something about his words, about all of the words and statements and accusations that causes Solana to lose the already grip she had on her emotions. It’s not really until this second that she allows herself to freely express how she feels versus focusing on helping him understand. 

“Do you think I liked keeping this from you?” A whispered, rhetorical thing weighed down by weeks of pent up emotions and hidden struggles. “Do you think I liked hiding the fact that while you’re working out or handling business or sleeping, I’m hunched over a toilet puking my brains out because I’ve had terrible morning sickness? Or the fact that I had less than an hour to be happy about my pregnancy because right after I found out Fetu was dying? That I liked being alone at our babies’ first appointment?” At this point, she’s no longer focused on him, on his reaction, because this is her space to now to speak freely and openly about all the things she’s been experiencing the past few weeks. “I’ve hated every second of this, Roman! The lying, the secrets, all of it! It’s not me, and you know it, but I did it because I was looking out for you! Because I was trying to do what’s best for you, because I fucking love you! Sometimes more than I love myself!” She throws her hands up, tears flowing freely. “And you want to talk about keeping things from people?” Anger is imbued in her voice as she demands. “Roman, how many things have you kept from me? Huh? How many times have you lied to me?”

His voice is slightly calmer and quieter than it’s been the entire conversation. “That’s different, and you know it.”

“No, it’s not!” Scoffing, Solana is no longer interested in trying to explain her reasons when it’s obvious he’s not interested in listening to her. “You keep things from me all the time because you think you’re protecting me, like—like I can’t handle it!”

“Because you can’t, Solana!”

“That’s not for you to decide!” It never was. “Don’t you realize that the more you hide from me, the more I worry? Like your blood pressure. Roman, I asked you about that, and you lied to my face. You lied to me.”

A slight pause. “How the hell do you know about that?”

“Why does that matter?” Her eyes widen at the fact that that is the question he decided to ask versus focusing on the issue at hand. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

He runs his hand through his hair that’s down and hanging as he shouts, “I didn’t want you to worry!” His voice is slightly lowered as he adds, “I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t, and that was the problem!” Her volume increases as she covers her face with her hands, feeling so overwhelmed by all of this. “You try to handle everything on your own, and you can’t and that’s okay, because you’re just a human being, Roman. But, what’s not okay is to keep lying to me. Yes, I kept these things from you, but I’ve been honest about everything else. You have a pattern of lying and not telling me things not just because you don’t want to worry me, you do it because you don’t trust me!”

“That’s not—”

“Why don’t I know where my own medicine is, huh?” Because the minute they returned home from Fetu’s place, the medicine, her medicine, that she’d been administering to herself the whole week they were gone was now nowhere to be found. Only for it, her exact morning dosages, to be ready and waiting on her nightstand the next day. “Why have I never been able to drive myself to my own therapy appointments? Why did my husband’s doctor have to tell me the truth about your blood pressure before you did?”

He closes his eyes, fingers pressed to his temple, “Solana, stop.”

“Just admit it!” She can’t be quiet, even if she wanted to, because it’s all just too much. It’s all come to this very moment where everything is laid out on the table. Where all of the feelings, both pregnancy and life fueled, cause her cup to spill over. “You don’t trust me, Roman, and you can say it’s because of the pregnancy and Fetu’s letter, but we both know the truth. What it really is.”

And, it’s the flash in his eyes, something a mixture of something she can’t identify but understands that is her confirmation. “Just—just say it!” She’s a crying, shouting mess, a perfect correspondence to the weight of the tension that fills the room right now. “Say—”

“Fine! You want me to say it, I’ll fucking say it!” He finally breaks, voicing the words he’s clearly been suppressing for months. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you tried to kill yourself! When you tried to leave me!”

Silence.

It’s that piece. That one piece that’s needed to complete the puzzle, to finalize the picture, to fill in the blank. But, it’s a completion that crushes her. The fact that he’s finally acknowledged it, the pain in his voice, the hurt on his face. 

Nodding to herself, Solana is finding it even harder to put words together that accurately describe what she’s feeling in this moment. “It always—” Her voice cracks, crumbling under the tonnage of devastation. “It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?” He says nothing nor is he looking at her, his gaze instead focused on the ground. “It doesn't….it doesn’t matter what I do, the work I’ve put in, how many times I’ve apol—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob. A deep, heavy breath followed by a heartbreaking question. “Roman…..what kind of marriage can we have if you don’t trust me?”

To be fair, she’s not sure what kind of response she was wanting from him. What would have been comforting or even helpful for her to hear. But, that’s irrelevant and immaterial. 

It’s irrelevant and immaterial because he doesn’t say anything.

And that….that has to be the most heartbreaking thing to come out of all of this.

Wordlessly, Solana turns away to walk out the room, silently hoping—praying—he calls after her, that he moves quick enough to gently grab and turn her around. That he so tenderly cups her face and kisses her forehead, telling her that they can figure this out, that they can work through this. 

But, none of that happens. 

He says and does nothing. 

Just lets her walk out.

————

Years.

It’s been years since Roman has felt this overwhelmed. Since he’s felt so out of control. 

Since he’s felt lost.

And it’s the first time in a long time he’s not been able to go to his aunt for advice.

Fingers gripping the steering wheel, he easily switches from one lane to another, speeding past the fucking Honda in front of him that doesn’t seem to understand what a fast lane is.

It’s a silly, minimal thing to be irritated over, but he’s him, and he’d gladly welcome anything other than what he’s feeling right now. 

To push away the sight of Solana’s devastated expression when he finally admitted his not trusting her. 

A surprise to himself, in some ways.

He’s always thought his refusing to allow her access to medication, not letting her drive herself to therapy and other acts were done out of love. Came from a place of protection and rightful due diligence. And all of that can be true along with the fact that, again, in some ways, he doesn’t trust her.

Doesn’t trust that she won’t try to hurt herself again.

That she won’t try to leave him again. 

Arriving at his destination, a lookoff about twenty minutes from the house, a secluded place that allows for a safe sorting of all his thoughts and feelings. Roman puts the car in park and hits the lights before shutting off the engine. 

Eyes closed, head back against the headrest, only one word comes to his mind: fuck. 

The past two weeks have been some of the hardest of his life, and the fact that losing the person he’d normally confide in about how fucked up he feels just makes things infinitely harder.

He hates every single part of this.

Hates how hard he came at Solana, how she kept these things from him, how he has been keeping things from her.

It’s all just so messy and complicated. Some of it of his doing, some of it of hers.

But, what he’s realizing he hates even more is not knowing everything that she’s been dealing with while pregnant. 

She was pregnant when he hit her.

She was pregnant when he left her to go to Italy, even after she begged him to stay and work things out.

She was pregnant when he destroyed Fetu’s house in his state of grief and rage, a mess she had to clean up.

She’s been pregnant and apparently sick from said pregnancy while comforting and taking care of him.

It’s all been on her, and she hasn’t said a word because she’s been trying to protect him.

Yet despite all that, he’s still hurt. Hurt that he wasn’t the first person she told about them expecting. And logically, it makes no sense. He knows his wife. Knows why she made the decision she made, even with the letter.

Fetu giving it to her, leaving it up to her to decide when to give it to him, makes all the sense in the world.

Especially given the content in said letter.

But, it still fucking hurts.

Hurts that she’s been going through all of this alone. Because he’s only ever wanted to help and support her, and in a time where she’s probably needed it more than ever, he’s been MIA.

Too lost in his own feelings and grief to pay attention to what was happening before his very eyes. 

And then brings on the guilt. The guilt of not supporting her the way she’s been supporting him, of not trusting her the way that she trusts him.

That’s something else he can’t not think about and focus on.

Trust.

Up until this point, he thought he’d “moved past” her suicide attempt. Thought whatever feelings that still lingered there were inconsequential. Though that is clearly not the case.

He still very much has not fully processed it, and it’s been prevalent in all the ways Solana pointed out.

He does hide her medication from her, hides all the pills in the house, and he doesn’t allow her to take herself to her own therapy and psychiatrist appointments. And to some extent, administering her pills came less from a place of what he was told by Stratus and more from a place of his comfort.

The same way counting her pills does.

And all of that very much does come from a place of trust. A lack of trust. 

A lack of trusting her to not try to take her life again.

To not leave him. 

Because that’s what it boils down to. His fear not just of losing her, but of her leaving him.

The same way his family did.

But, in a cruel twist of fate and potentially irony, as he sits in the car instead of being at the house with his wife trying to actually talk through these things, Roman realizes he does the same thing.

He leaves.

He left he when he was trying to figure out whether to tell her about Xavier being behind her rape and her mother’s murder.

He left when he accidentally hit her and couldn’t stand to be around her, to be reminded of the pain he’d inflicted on her even when she tried her damn hardest to help him not feel so guilty.

He tried to leave, in a sense, when he kept pushing her away in her attempts to help him process Fetu’s death.

And he’s left just now when the very thing he should have done is stayed.

Sure, in one of those examples, he left to receive clarity. To pick his aunt’s brain over what he should do, but in the rest, he left because he was avoiding things.

The same way he’s avoiding things now. 

And it doesn’t work. 

It never has, and it never will.

Beyond that, it’s messing with his marriage, forming cracks that will continue to grow until it all comes down, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Roman can’t have that.

He won’t.

Because as fucked up and confused as he feels right now, it won’t get better by sitting in this fucking car. 

This can only be fixed by talking with and to the one person he keeps walking away from.

His wife.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to start the car back up and get right back on the route that took him to where he ran away to in the first place. The drive back to the house consists of him mentally going over what he wants to say, how he wants to say and what he wants to tackle.

And at the top of all that is an apology. 

She deserves that and so much more.

But, the minute he steps into the house, the plan is shelved. Tossed to the back of the line, because he’s barely in the doorway when Dulce is moving her little self down the steps, whimpering along the way. 

Roman frowns. “What’s wrong?”

She reaches the floor and runs up to him, hitting his legs, barking at him followed by more whimpering. And when she turns around to return up the steps, looking back at him as if to make sure she’s following him, he knows.

Knows that something is wrong. 

“Solana.”

And just like that, Roman is following this little dog who is clearly hellbent on guiding him somewhere.

Or to someone. 

On the second floor, Dulce is panting as she runs down the hall to the master bedroom, Roman right behind her as she rushes into the room and makes a right for the master bathroom where she stops. 

Roman is standing in the doorway of the bathroom when he freezes, partially incapable of processing the scene before him.

“No….”

Solana is on her knees on the bathroom floor, hunched over, dressed in only her bra and underwear. She’s trembling, one hand on her stomach, the other hand planted on the natural stone flooring. Flooring that has bright red liquid glistening off of it, liquid that’s dripping down her inner thighs, a large splotch of red covering the crotch of her underwear. 

She’s bleeding.

Dulce sits besides her, whimpering and attempting to lick her arm. 

It’s only when the shock of the visuals wear off that he becomes tuned to the fact that she’s crying and hyperventilating, stammering, “I can’t—I can’t lose them.”

Them

The babies. 

Roman takes a few steps back into the room to shout out the open door, “get the car ready!” He grabs a random jacket out of his closet and moves back over to the bathroom.

Placing the jacket to the side, he’s on the floor, by her side, “Solana—”

Gasping, she shakes her head, looking at him with puffy, teary eyes. She's a mess. “I’m—I’m s–sorry. I—” 

“Shhhh,” he comforts her, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright, okay?” 

She’s crying even harder as he moves to stand her up, but she’s shaking her head, clearly not thinking straight, as she seemingly protests. “I—I can’t—please—” She cries out in pain again, almost falling over, but he’s quick and has her in his arms. Solana’s head is against his shoulder as she grasps at his arm. Roman is uncaring of the blood on her palm that’s now on him. 

It’s not important.

What’s important is getting her help.

And fast.

“Solana, listen to me, I’ve gotta get you to the hospital, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she cries into him, Roman suddenly having the hardest fucking time holding it together in a moment where he absolutely has to be the sound one here. “I’m sorry.”

Roman kisses her temple. “You’re gonna be fine.” One arm supporting her, the other reaches for the jacket to place it around her. Once she’s covered up well enough, he’s gentle and careful in the way he helps her stand only to quickly pick her up bridal style. 

“Stay,” he directs the command to Dulce who lays on the bathroom floor with her ears down, still whimpering. 

He’s carrying her out the room and down the steps to the SUV that’s already waiting for them. Bautista opens the back door, concern in his brown eyes as Roman instructs, “get in touch with the Bloodline OB. Have her meet us at the hospital.”’

There’s questions Roman didn’t get the chance to ask, questions such as the name of the doctor that Solana saw, but given that he does know she went to and received the referral from Michaels, there’s no doubt in his mind he sent her to the Bloodline’s OB.

He just hopes the woman can get there in time.

Roman doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything except his wife who clings to him, silently crying into his chest, continuing to murmur apologies and sayings in Spanish. 

A prayer, it sounds like.

And for the first time in a long time, he closes his eyes and mentally does the same.

————

Solana is taken back immediately, largely because Roman demands as such, and one only needs an order barked at them once from the Tribal Chief to know he means business. 

“Mrs. Reigns, can you tell us what’s going on?” Someone asks as he carefully lays Solana down on the medical bed, and the question instantly has him scowling.

“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” He snaps, cognizant of how Solana instantly reaches for his hand, holding it tightly. 

“I’m—I’m cramping bad and—and bleeding,” she answers through her tears, Roman unaware why hearing her state as such hits him so hard. It’s not like he can’t see what’s going on, but there’s just something significantly worse about her actually saying it.

It makes it that much more real.

“When did this start?” Another nurse or maybe doctor, shit should he know, asks as they start rolling her back. 

“Half–half an hour ago. I was going to take a shower when I first felt the cramps and then I saw that—that I was a bleeding—” She starts hyperventilating again, asking through infrequent breaths, “am I—am I having a miscarriage?”

Of all the things said and heard tonight, that…..that has to be the hardest of them all.

Roman doesn’t…..he can’t allow himself to imagine that could be what’s occurring, even if….if that’s what the signs point to.

An older nurse is the one to speak up, “let’s not go there just yet, okay, honey? Bleeding and cramping during a pregnancy doesn’t always mean a worst case scenario.”

The words are objectively reassuring but do little to abate the anxiety he’s masterfully hiding for a variety of reasons with the main one being he needs to maintain his composure for his wife’s sake.

Finally in the room, Roman watches closely as they work to change her into a hospital gown, hook her to an IV, and take her blood pressure, one of the nurses calling out, “140 over 90” followed by the older one advising, “Mrs. Reigns, your blood pressure is considered high for a pregnant woman. I know you’re scared and upset, but I need you to take some deep breaths for me, alright?”

And then someone has the fucking audacity to say to Roman, “would you like to wait for her in—”

Roman is briefly considering murder, on the verge of a vicious, verbal assault when Solana is the one to protest. Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand even tighter. “No! I need him!” Terrified gaze falling on him, she begs, “please—please don’t leave me.”

Moving his free hand to her forehead, he vows, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He’s partially relieved to see her relieved by this. Roman lifts his now hardened gaze to the staff, “where the fuck is her doctor?”

Because he’s almost certain, if the doctor who Solana saw earlier that day was present, his wife would have had a reaction of some sort. Or, at least the doctor would have addressed her differently.

And none of that has happened, so Roman is livid.

A brave—or stupid—nurse speaks up, “Dr. Sharmell is coming. She was in the middle of a del—”

“Do you think I give a fuck about that?” His voice is filled with disgust that matches the disdain written all over his face. “I want her here now.”

Another nervous clearing of a voice. “Sir, there is another OB on staff, Dr. Miz, but your wife’s chart says no men on her care team, unless—”

“No,” Roman shoots that down instantly. 

To be fair, if this was any other type of medical emergency, Roman might agree, might work to help Solana understand this is a necessity. And it’s not that they’re not currently in the midst of a medical emergency, because they clearly are. But, he knows his wife. She’s already freaking out, her blood pressure raised which is exacerbating the situation, and having a man evaluate her in that manner is only bound to make things significantly worse.

“Solana.”

A new voice enters the conversation, a middle aged black woman walking in, the group almost naturally clearing a path as she walks over to the bed. “It’s Dr. Sharmell.”

And the reaction Roman was anticipating finally occurs, Solana turning to her and crying again. “Something’s wrong with the babies.”

It’s this, this heartbreaking statement that confirms what Roman thought he saw in her sonogram photo but wasn’t entirely sure. What he heard Solana say just earlier.

Two.

There’s two babies.

She’s pregnant with twins. 

This….this just got infinitely worse. 

“That’s what I’m here to see about,” this doctor says in a calming voice, glancing at the machines that his wife is plugged up to. “Her BP is too high. Give her 5mg of diazepam and 400mg of acetaminophen for the pain.”

“Sweetie, I need you to listen to me.” Dr. Sharmell’s voice is somehow the perfect combination of pressing and comforting. “I need to examine you, and I know you’re uncomfortable with a transvaginal ultrasound, but for me to get the best look, I need—”

“It’s okay,” Solana interrupts, shaking her head and squeezing his hand again. “Just—just do it.”

Dr. Sharmell doesn’t seem to question it, just nods and goes to pull a machine over as she moves to get started. 

Roman doesn’t leave his wife’s side, thumb gently caressing her knuckles as he watches her close her eyes and lean her head back. Her discomfort is palpable and blaring, and it kills him to not be able to take away her pain.

It kills him to see her like this. 

“What are you doing to her?” Because she’s already in pain, and if this woman is about to do anything to make that shit worse, he’s about to cause a ruckus.

The doctor continues to prepare for whatever she’s about to do while explaining said procedure. “It’s an ultrasound done through the vaginal canal.” 

It’s that explanation along with seeing the probe Dr. Sharmell is holding that helps Roman understand why Solana was uncomfortable with this. 

He moves his hand back to her forehead, murmuring, “it’s okay.”

It’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to do. How else to make the ‘best’ of this nightmare of a situation. He’s observant of the moment Solana is “penetrated,” seeing the small wince on her face and the way she tenses. 

Fuck. He hates this. 

Hates it with everything in him.

“There it is….” Dr. Sharmell speaks to herself, looking over at the screen.

Roman immediately asks, “what’s wrong?”

The word ‘wrong’ is clearly not the best choice because Solana is sniffling again, asking that devastating question, “am—am I having a mis–miscarriage?”

The answer comes relatively quickly but feels like it’s taken an eternity to arrive. “No, Solana, you’re not having a miscarriage.”

Roman’s eyes shut as he takes in the powerful and borderline overwhelming relief he feels at hearing those words. At hearing that this isn’t that. In a situation that’s arguably one of the worst he’s been in, that response is one of the best he’s ever received.

“What you are having is what we call a Subchorionic Hemorrhage. It means there’s blood forming between your babies’ amniotic sac and the uterine wall, which is why you’re bleeding. Cramping isn’t as common of a symptom, but it can happen. This obviously isn’t anything any pregnant woman would want to experience, but it happens more than people realize. And listen—” She gestures to the monitor, both Roman and Solana focusing on the screen and the sound.

A rhythmic beating.

Roman is the first to speak. “Is that….”

Dr. Sharmell nods. “That’s the sound of your babies’ heartbeats. Strong as ever.”

And it’s that last sentence that seems to provide Solana an abundance of relief, as she takes a deep, shaky breath covering her mouth to conceal a sob that comes from a place of joy versus despair.

Roman has so much to take in in this moment. 

She’s not miscarrying.

She’s pregnant with twins.

Twins whose heartbeats he’s currently listening to.

It’s all so….strange and unbelievable and stirring up a new cocktail of emotions he manages to push back. For now….at least.

Because pushing shit back, avoiding shit….it’s partially why they’re here right now.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “so how do we fix it?”

Shaking her head, she removes the probe, a nurse taking it from her while she takes off her gloves. “Unfortunately, there is no cure, but these things usually go away on their own. Typically in a matter of weeks. What we do recommend is bedrest, pelvic rest specifically, so no sex, no heavy lifting. Lots of fluids, and I’ve already scheduled your wife for appointments every two weeks given it’s a multiples pregnancies, so I’ll already be monitoring her closely.”

It makes sense, but it’s also not the type of answer he was hoping for. Nevertheless, it’s a much better outcome than the grim alternative.

She moves to the side of the bed, speaking directly to Solana, “now you might start bleeding again, though judging by the size of the hematoma, I wouldn’t anticipate as much as you’ve experienced this time. Just treat it like you would a menstrual cycle, pads only, no tampons, and make sure to call me and let me know if it’s happening again, alright?” Solana nods, a sudden quietness about her that Roman would guess is one of the medications she was given kicking in. “I’m gonna keep you here overnight for observation, but I have no doubt you’ll be ready to be discharged come morning."

“Thank you,” Solana whispers, voice laden with appreciation and comfort. “Thank you so much.”

Roman looks at his wife, informing, “I’ll be right back, okay?” He waits for her to nod, to show confirmation before he looks over at the doctor and gestures to the door.

Dr. Sharmell gives a small nod and makes a few comments to the remaining nurses before heading in that direction.

It’s once they’re outside the room, Roman crosses his arms, asking in a low, pained voice, “can stress cause this?”

It’s a question he’s been sitting on since finding his wife, crying and bleeding on the bathroom floor. His knowledge base is large and broad, but medical shit is where it’s relatively limited. Not limited enough to not know stress can cause pregnancy complications.

And Solana has had no shortage of that the past few weeks, this evening specifically.

Because of him.

But, he’s taken a bit by surprise when she answers with a simple, “no.” She mimics his stance, also crossing her arms while explaining, “but we’re also still not sure specifically what causes them. There are some guesses that a history of miscarriages, high blood pressure, and early onset of preeclampsia are precursors but nothing we can prove.” Dr. Sharmell lowers her voice, clearly wanting this conversation to remain between the two of them. “I did notice in her medical records an extensive amount of hospital visits for accidents indicating severe physical abuse when your wife was younger, and she also disclosed childhood sexual assault.”

Roman straightens his posture, voice even. “Yes.” Nothing more. Nothing less.

The older woman sighs. “There’s a possibility that your wife has some form of uterine trauma from her prolonged abuse and/or the sexual assault that could have contributed, but it’s nothing I can confirm medically.”

There’s slight relief at knowing that…..that he didn’t play a role in what happened is helpful, sure, but hearing that all of the other horrific things done to his wife may be the cause is the opposite of helpful.

It just pisses him the fuck off. 

Fist forming at his side, Roman has to remind himself where he is. Hearing about Solana’s abuse never fails to put him in a position where his minimal resolve is always tested. Unbridled rage with nowhere to go except inward.

“She’s going to be okay though, right?” Focusing on the most important topic at hand, he asks in an even quieter voice, “the babies….they’re going to be alright?”

Her smile is amenable. “They’re gonna be fine.”

Roman won’t outwardly express and show how comforting her words are, because a part of him was wondering if she was just saying what she knew Solana needed to hear to calm her down. But, away from his wife’s sight and auditory range, hearing the same positive prediction is beyond reassuring.

Nodding to himself, Roman finds himself uttering, “thank you.”

Words few are privy to hearing from the Mafia head but deserved giving what she’s done and what she’ll continue to do for his wife.

And his children.

She maintains her smile. “Of course.” Stepping back, she informs, “I’ll check back on her in a little bit.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just watches her move down the hall. Blowing out a deep breath, he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. 

Heavy footsteps precede a deep voice asking, “is everything alright, sir?” Roman is leaning against the wall, next to the door where he overhears the nurses asking Solana questions about her comfort. Bautista stands before him, still looking slightly concerned. “With….Mrs. Reigns and…..?”

There seems to be some sense of duty and loyalty to Solana in the man, traits that Roman didn’t quite recognize until just now. It’s appreciated and why he answers honestly. 

“She’s going to be fine,” Roman mutters. “They all are.” Bautista’s expression shifts to something akin to shock. “It’s…..it’s twins.”

Breaking the news of not only a pregnancy but a pregnancy involving twins to his wife’s bodyguard is just another twist in this story that he could have never anticipated. And yet, here he is.

But, it’s also something that would be stupid for Roman to try to hide. He knows the guard isn’t stupid. Calling for an OB-GYN in the middle of the night, rushing her to the ER, it all points to the obvious. 

“I need you to go to the house,” Roman changes subjects, not willing to disclose anything more. “Check on Dulce.”

Because as traumatic this has been for him and Solana, their puppy finding her "mom" in a dire state yet again has to be difficult for her too.

“Of course,” Bautista nods, moving to walk away when he stops, turning to Roman to simply say, “Congratulations, Sir.”

Roman offers no visible response. 

Ignoring the small trace of pride at such an acknowledgment. 

————

By the time Roman re-entered the room and the rest of the staff dispersed, Solana was already falling asleep, something he did nothing to interfere with. A necessity. It’s been a long ass day. 

For them both.

But especially her. 

For obvious reasons.

Pulling the chair to the side of the bed, Roman doesn’t use the time to get in some much needed sleep of his own. He’s far too wired for that. Besides, he needs to be up and awake in case she awakes and needs something. 

He spends time making adjustments, sending off texts and emails to the appropriate parties. Though the main ones are sent to Paul, Roman informing his Wise Man that he’ll be working from home the next couple days. Maybe a pop in at Bloodline HQ here and there, but nothing consistent like usual.

Roman needs to be home with his wife.

His pregnant wife.

There’s still something so strange about that, something that feels a bit unreal to be true. But, it is. He saw the sonogram, heard the confirmation, heard their heartbeats.

This is real and happening. 

Roman’s hand reaches and settles on Solana’s stomach as she continues to sleep, a peaceful expression on her pretty face. Emotions start to stir once more as he takes in the fact that she’s with not just one child but two. Two children that they created.

His children.

He’s never really given fatherhood much thought, maybe some deeper level of consideration from time to time but never to the point where it could become an actuality. 

Sure, he knew he’d eventually have a kid, but not even a year ago, he’d imagined it under very different circumstances. A marriage that simply allowed him to create an heir with a woman who would understand that there would never be any significance or sincerity behind their union. Truly, in every sense of the word, an arrangement. One where he has his on the side, she could have hers, and they’d come together when necessary for the sake of offspring. 

That’s exactly what he thought it would be. 

It couldn’t be farther from that. 

Because Solana is every good, redeemable part of him that exists. There is no life that could exist for him without her in it.

She is his better half in every sense of the word.

She completes him in a way he didn’t know he needed to be completed.

And now….now she’s carrying his babies.

Their babies.

Because he wants them to have every bit of goodness that fills her and none of his darkness that weighs him. It’s truly his hope and prayer that they take every bit from her and very little from him.

It’s just better that way. 

It’s a few hours into their admission and Solana’s sleep that she begins to stir. Roman easily sits up in the chair and pockets his phone as her eyes blink open.

She whines quietly, a small smile setting on her sleepy face as she focuses on him. “You’re still here….”

“Of course, I’m here.” There’s not a single place in this world he’d rather be than sitting here beside her. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.” And he meant it. Moving his hand from her stomach to atop hers, he asks, “how you feeling?”

“Better.” She looks and sounds it, too. He finds immense solace in that. Eyes squinting, she asks, “what time is it?”

A quick glance at the Hublot watch on his wrist. “Quarter to five.”

And just like that, her smile shifts into a bit of a frown. “You’ve been up this whole time?”

Knowing where she’s going, he moves to assure her. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” There’s a teasing note to her single word response, the smallest smirk on her full lips. 

Chuckling, he quiets down, his own mouth shifting into a frown. “Solana….”

“We were both wrong,” she interrupts. Roman doesn’t try to hide his surprise at her jumping right into what he planned to ease into, borderline tap dance around to take accountability but not bombard her with a conversation that’s better served when they’re home and not in a hospital. “I shouldn’t have kept the letter or my pregnancy from you, and you’ve been wrong for keeping things from me.”

“Yes.” Because there’s no disagreement to that simplified assessment of the issue from earlier. “But, Sol, we don’t need to discuss this right now….”

“Yes, we do.” Once again, she has him taken back by her borderline assertiveness in this moment. “We….we push things off because we think we’re protecting each other, but….but we’re not. We….we only make things worse.”

She won’t find any disagreement from him. “You’re right.” He closes his eyes, admitting, “you were right. About everything.”

Roman still believes this isn’t the time or place to be having this conversation, but he also recognizes ideal circumstances have escaped them almost entirely the past few weeks. If not longer.

It’s time to stop pushing things off. 

“Solana, I met with Gail virtually while I was in Italy, because hitting you really fucked with my head, and I thought….I’d convinced myself that you being with me was dangerous. That you’d…..you’d be better off if we weren’t together.”

And if he hadn’t realized before that was probably one of the worse ideas he’s ever had in his fucking life, Solana’s devastated expression is all the confirmation and more that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Her voice is heavy as she starts to ask, “how you ever think—”

“I wasn’t in a good place.” He knew it then but can only openly acknowledge it now. And in some ways, he still isn’t. “I asked her to work with you on not being so attached to me, so that a divorce wouldn't be as hard on you, and she asked me something in return that I didn’t know how to answer.” Roman can still vividly recall and hear the sound of her voice, understanding but challenging. “She asked me how I planned to not be as attached to you, and it made me realize that I really do need you, Solana.”

“I told you before the only thing I fear in this life is losing you, but I think….I think it goes deeper than that.” He looks away, partially uncomfortable with this conversation, with having to acknowledge things he’s pushed away for so long. “I think….I think that there’s a lot of things I’ve avoided over the years, but I can’t….I can’t avoid them anymore.”

Not when he doesn’t have Fetu to go to anymore. And, he can’t put this on his wife.

“I—I started therapy, and I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it either. But, I know….I’ve realized that I need to do it for you, for us, but mainly for myself.” Because as much or maybe even as well as suppressing and repressing shit has “worked” for him over the years, it’s not sustainable, and he can see the strain it’s causing in his marriage.  

Roman can’t have that shit.

He’ll do anything to make this work.

To not lose his wife.

A glance at Solana reveals her small smile. “It’s not easy.” Roman won’t disagree. He hasn’t even started talking about actual shit, but even bringing himself to attend that first appointment was difficult. Her hand tightens around his. “I’m proud of you, Ro.” Roman can’t remember the last time commendation affected him as deeply as her kind words do. Solana smiles wryly, “I’m gonna have to make you a therapy journal.”

He can’t help the scowl on his face. “I’m not doing that.”

Her light giggle lifts his spirits and warms his soul before she softly murmurs, “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“I hurt you by not telling you. About the letter and the pregnancy. I see that, and I’m sorry. Regardless of my intentions, it was….it was wrong to keep you in the dark.” Her apology is appreciated and while a part of him wants to tell her she doesn’t need to do so, a larger part of him appreciates hearing as such. Appreciates having his feelings validated. 

It’s….different.

“I don’t wanna tell anybody about the pregnancy. Not….not yet.” Roman wants to ask why, not in disagreement per se, but curious about her thought process. If it’s based off what happened this evening. “I just want to keep it between us. At least until I start showing.” She lifts her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “I wanna just focus on me, you and the babies, okay?”

He nods against her, more than okay with this arrangement, because it’s similar to what he was going to tell her. Her pregnancy is on a need to know basis moving forward, her security is getting increased, and her training is on pause until further notice.

He’s not taking any chances whatsoever moving forward. 

“There’s….there’s more I need to tell you.” His gaze is focused on her as she breaks eye contact, focusing on her stomach instead. “I—I found an old letter my mom wrote me, and….there’s a lot to unpack there but….that needs to wait until we get home, because I want to let you read it yourself.”

“Solana, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, softly. “Plus it’s…..it’s a lot to explain, and I think it’d be better if you just saw it for yourself.”

He nods. Roman was already planning to share the contents of Fetu’s letter with his wife, so her offering to let him read her own “message from beyond” just affirms that decision. Affirms that they both are trying to do better.

“Roman…..” She’s looking back at him, eyes watering. “I need you to know that I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I could never do that to you.” She moves her hand to her stomach. “I could never do that to them.” His eyes close as he takes in her sentimental, vulnerable disclosure. “I want to be a mom. I want to be with you. I want to live, and I know that my attempt is something that may take longer for you to process, but I just….I just need you to know that.”

And on some level, he does. He knows that Solana has shown no indication whatsoever of falling back into that dark headspace. As she pointed out earlier, she’s put in so much work and continues to do so. She’s done everything right since then.

It’s just that what if that he can’t seem to pull away from.

“I know,” he finally responds, opening his eyes and reaching to wipe away her tears. “I’m gonna work on it, alright?”

He will. 

He has to.

She nods. “Thank you.” 

She sounds immensely appreciative and hopeful, the same type of feelings gradually starting to fill within him. They’re gonna figure this shit out. 

One way or another.

Roman drops his hand and gaze from her face, moving it to her stomach. He swallows, murmuring, “twins….”

Moving her hand on top of his, she echoes, “twins…..” Roman chuckles to himself. Their first pregnancy would be twins. “Dr. Sharmell ran a blood test that will check for any chromosomal disorders, but it will also…..it’s gonna tell us the sexes.”

His eyes lift back to her. “Already?”

Her small smile is back. “She said we should get the results in two weeks or so.” Roman doesn’t know a lot about pregnancy in general, but he was always under the impression that they wouldn’t know what they’re having until later on. A few more months, so to know he’ll know the sexes of their babies by the end of the month….it’s something.

“I’m really hoping at least one is a boy…..” Her voice shifting into something almost nervous makes him frown. Solana adds in a low voice, “I need to give you an heir…..”

Instantly, Roman is shaking his head. “You don’t need to do anything.” For the sake of openness, he opts to continue on the path of honesty with her. “Apparently the Elders have decided to put a timeline on things.” Roman has to contain his irritation at just the thought of them trying to put pressure on his wife. Trying to dictate his marriage. “Either we conceive by the end of the year, or they want us to divorce and they’ll pick a new wife for me.”

Solana’s eyes widen, anxiety ready to build. “Roman—”

“Whether you were already pregnant or not, over my dead fucking body would I ever let that happen.” His voice is pure steel, his determination indisputable. “I told you before. Nothing and no one can take you from me. I’d walk away from all this shit before I lose you.” Her face lights up in surprise, some of which is felt by even Roman at his admission. It’s not a lie though.

He’d rather step down as Tribal Chief and Capo before losing her. 

Solana is everything to him. 

And more.

Her voice is bristled with nervousness. “You have to tell them about the pregnancy then.”

“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “They don’t run this shit. I do. I’ll tell them when I want to.” I.e. not until the end of the year. He’ll allow them to do their plotting and planning behind the scenes, let them believe that they’ll have ‘won’ this. And only then will he tell them about the babies. 

Until then, they can fuck off. 

She seems unconvinced and still worried. “I just don’t want you to have to deal with unnecessary problems….”

Roman’s life is filled with as such, many of them he has to tackle and deal with on a daily basis. This is most definitely not one of them. “It’s not a problem. Trust me.”

His simple sentence of reassurance seems to chip away some of her anxiety as she asks, “can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, Sol.” 

Always could. 

Always will.

Roman is happy to see her smile return. “I’ve been having….dreams the past couple months.”

Utterly curious and focused, he presses, “about?”

A brief hesitation followed up with an emotional, “us as parents.” Roman tenses, doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. “We have….we have twins in the dreams. Twin girls. Li—”

“Lina and Leya,” he finishes for her in a quiet voice. Roman is very much cognizant of the floored look on Solana’s face. 

She’s just as taken back by his knowing as he is about what this means. “How—how did you know that?”

A simple question with a layered answer that takes a minute for Roman to supply. Scoffing with disbelief, he responds calmly, “because I think we’ve been having the same dreams.”

Solana continues to be filled with shock as she moves around on the bed, turning on her side, shifting their still conjoined hands. “Wh—what?”

He closes his eyes, partially unsure of what to make of this. Of what it could mean, some deeper, higher power that’s just furthered and deepened the connection between himself and his wife. “I started having the dreams when we were in Mexico, and I’ve had them intermittently since then.” Swallowing, he shares, recalling from said dreams. “Leya is…..she’s like you. Quiet. Soft. A big heart.”

“And Lina is like you,” Solana adds, watery eyes reappearing from the emotionality of it all. “Protective. Outspoken. Also a big heart.” Her smile deepens as she wonders aloud, “do you think….do you think that’s what we’re having….them?”

Roman sits on her question for a good minute. “I think it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Because with all his intelligence and knowledge, Roman can’t for the life of him think of any reason why he and his wife would have shared dreams of the same future. 

A future that seems to be playing out before them.

Solana chuckles, sharing, “you know those are nicknames, right? Lina and Leya?” He nods. Up until this point, Roman hasn’t had a dream that included the full first names, but based on the look on Solana’s face, he’d bet she has. “They’re short for Catalina and Cataleya.”

Catalina 

Cataleya 

That emotion is climbing again, the awe and wonder of the shifting of fantasy to reality stirring up all sorts of feelings. 

“That’s what we’ll name them then,” he finally announces, moving his hand around her stomach. “Catalina and Cataleya.”

And the emotion he feels in said emotion is written all over his wife’s face as she asks, almost nervously, “so….so you’d be okay if….if they were both girls?” A part of him hates that she even has to ask that, that there’s any part of her that may wonder if he’d somehow be upset with the babies being girls versus at least one being a boy.

“Of course.” Because while there’s still a part of him that is nervous, unsure of what this new role of fatherhood will entail and look like for him, one thing is for certain. He’ll love, care, and protect them just the same as he loves, cares for and protects their mother. 

Solana is visibly relieved and comforted by his confirming answer. “And if they are girls—”

“They are,” he supplies. He’d almost bet his life on that. Too many coincidences for them to not be.

Solana grins. “Then we’ll try for a boy as soon as we can.”

“Solana, we don’t—”

“Yes, we do,” she sighs, sharing so calmly. “I want more kids with you. As many as we can have.”

On top of the fact that the first set haven’t even been born yet, it's the as many for Roman that has him straightening up in the chair. “Baby, you know I’m almost 40, right?” She rolls her pretty eyes, forcing him to straight up ask, “how many kids you trying to have?”

Solana shrugs as best she can from laying on her side. “The girls will have each other. We’ll still need a son, and he’ll need a sibling too around his age—”

Roman’s eyes widen a bit as he points out, “Solana, that’s four kids you talking about.”

He loves this girl with everything in him, but four children? 

He briefly recalls one of his dreams, a dream in which she disclosed her third pregnancy, a pregnancy that included another set of twins following the three children they already had.

Roman shakes his head, not even allowing himself to share that dream with her.

Nor will he even allow himself to consider if she had the same dream.

All them damn kids…..

He’d never know another day of peace again.

And yet…..

A small, minimal part of him wonders. Wonders what it might be like to have a big family of his own, to have several children, the perfect physical combination of himself and Solana. For their large home to be filled with laughter and happiness they were both deprived of. 

A chance to give said children the childhood they never had.

Solana’s smile deepens as she bites down on her bottom lip. “I know.” The almost playful smile shifts into something serious and poignant. “Roman, you lost your family as a child. So did I.” Solana swallows, shaking her head. “We can’t get back what we lost, but we can….we can start our own. We have.” Voice dripping with determination and conviction, she vows, “and no one is going to take that from us this time.”

Up until this point, Roman hadn’t considered that. Not in that specific way. They’ve both lost so much over the years, experienced immense loss and trauma. Having and starting a family of their own could be…it could be a fresh start.

A new beginning. 

“I love you.” In every sense of the word, with a depth that rivals the ocean and duty that defies logic. 

Solana doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the words he’ll never get tired of hearing from her. “I love you, too.”

Roman still has so many doubts, so many insecurities, things he’s unsure of. He doesn’t know the first thing about fatherhood. Doesn’t have that nurturing, loving instinct that Solana has. Her ability to comfort and love so naturally. 

He’s….he’s going to need her help with this, and he’s not afraid to acknowledge as such.

What he does know is that he’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out, to be the best husband, the best father he can be. 

For himself. 

For Solana. 

For Fetu.

For his daughters.

Cataleya and Catalina Reigns.

[savicals]

New neighbour König x afab reader part 2

*König is your new neighbour that you thought mildly disliked you.

This ones for you @konigsandghostsslvt LMFAO ENJOY !!

PART ONE🫶

You managed a choked out “Thank you,” before he offered to take the both of you home.

You were pleasantly surprised to find out that he drives a Mercedes S-class, but you did expect an executive car. He dropped off your friend first for convenience, since he and you were neighbours.

He got out of the car and opened the door to let her out and even told her goodnight. What a gentleman.

Just as he was about to close the door, you called his name.

“König.”

He crouched down to see you inside the car and looked at you with curiosity.

“Why have you been so kind to us tonight?” You asked, returning his eye contact. “You don’t… You don’t talk to us. You don’t know us. You have no idea the kinds of people we are.”

But oh, how wrong you were. He knew exactly the kinds of people you were. Especially you. He knew what you were capable of, and it was you drawing a knot so tight in his stomach he has to fuck something. Whether it be a hand, a pillow, a sock, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

He stayed silent for a few moments. Then, he climbed into the seat next to you and shut the car door, never breaking eye contact.

Your heart started beating what you could only imagine as inhumanly fast when he leaned in closer to your face. You were inches apart and you were convinced he could smell the alcohol on your breath, so you tried to direct it away from him.

“I know your type.” He said, his accent prevalent. “You… are the innocent type who acts like she isn’t. You pretend you know what you are doing when you do not.”

He was so right, but why did he know that?

You didn’t actually have anything to say to that. So you looked at him and let him continue.

“You are a tease. What makes you such a tease is that you do it by accident. You don’t intend the nature of yourself that you put out. It’s like… an expensive treat that you want to get your hands on, but is behind an armoured window.”

Did he just imply he wants to get his hands on you?

“You…What? Sorry, are you telling me you want to put your hands… all over me?” You asked, swallowing the brewing heat that grew in your stomach, along with the nervousness you felt too.

“Would you let me?” He asked, holding eye contact still.

You sat for a second and thought. Obviously, the answer is yes. What idiot would say no to him? You let your head fall down in thought and kept it there, so it didn’t feel like König was analysing your thought pattern. It must have been a few minutes, because he lifted your chin up with his rough hands and forced you to look at him.

“Would you?” He asked, again.

This time you felt no inclination to think about your answer. You were already drunk anyway. Being drunk over König didn’t seem worse.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking at him with your pretty eyes.

It made his dick throb.

He started by unbuckling your seatbelt and sitting you in a position facing him. He put his hands on your waist and revelled in how tiny you look in his hands.

You looked at him in such a way that drove him crazy. God, how he wanted to ruin you.

He moved your body closer to his and your breath hitched.

You decided to wrap your arms around König’s neck and pulled him forward for a kiss. You kissed him hard, and you kissed him desperately.

He wasn’t expecting it at all, not from you. The huge calloused hands wrapped around your waist clenched into a bruising grip, resulting in you moaning further into the kiss. He picked you up in what little room he had and sat you on his lap in the backseat of the car.

Just about the two of you could fit, and as if you knew what he wanted, you instinctively started grinding your hips down onto König’s lap, earning yourself a low grunt from the man. Finally, you broke the kiss with a gasp and leant back onto the back of the front-seat, still rolling your hips into your chauffeur.

“Mmmh…” you whined, making it known you wanted König even more than you were displaying. It was definitely reciprocated. König bucked his hips up into you as you were grinding into him, both of you still fully clothed, thickening the sexual tension between you two.

“Your place?…Or mine, meine liebe?” He asked, keeping his hands attached to your waist.

“Mm… mine? I don’t care…” you responded, your eyes screwed shut.

You whined in dissatisfaction when König moved you back to your original seat, making sure it was heard and exaggerated.

“I know, schatz.” He cooed, patting you on the leg. “10 minutes…and you’re all mine…”

He stepped out of the backseat and into the front. He turned the ignition on, and sped off back in the direction of home.

[part 3 is already in the making!! Sorry this one is short ily guys]

[redrose10]

Part 2 of three… Thank you for all the comments and messages!

CEO Yoongi x Female Barista/College Student Reader

Title: Cold Brewed Love

Summary: When you begged the owner of Jin’s Java House to hire more employees you didn’t mean for him to stick you with the cold, rude, arrogant CEO Min Yoongi. Over time something begins to brew between you both and you end up forced to make decisions way above the pay grade of a cafe barista.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, hints of smut(nothing explicit), Yoongi is mean but we all know he’ll turn fluffy later, violence, kidnapping, mention of a gun, drug references, gang activity, murder, overdose

Word Count: 3,824

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You woke up confused and alone in a room you didn’t recognize. Your throat hurt, but your head hurt worse. You looked around trying to make out your surroundings to get some idea of where you were. The room was empty except for an armchair in the corner with a small side table next to it. The only light in the room came from a small space between the curtains of what you assumed was a window. It seemed like you had been out for quite some time judging by the amount of sunlight.

You tried to stand up, but you felt too weak immediately falling to the ground. You tried once again, but froze when you heard the door handle begin to jiggle. The door swung open and a light was turned on making you squint from the change in brightness.

“Good morning Y/N, good to see you’re finally awake. Can I get you something to eat or maybe a coffee?”, a deep unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Who are you and how the fuck do you know my name?”, you spat not in the mood for pleasantries.

The man walked in and took a seat in the chair across the room. You took noticed of his expensive looking suit that was tailored to fit him perfectly. His hair was slicked back. A strong cologne followed after him. He reminded you a lot of Yoongi.

“Is that anyway to speak to the man that saved your life and took you away from that monster?”, he said while lighting a cigar.

You scoffed, “You saved my life? My life was just fine until you kidnapped me and threw me in this room.”

“Oh dear Y/N. You really are too good and naive for Yoongi.”, the man chuckled.

The mention of Yoongi made your breath hitch.

“How do you know Yoongi?”

“Well Y/N…I am glad you asked. You see me and Yoongi go way back. We met when we were just children. We used to be very good friends, actually like brothers. We ran a little side business together. The largest drug manufacturing and distribution organization since the 80’s, you know… nothing too extreme. Then one day Yoongi’s parents decided to finally give him the reigns to control the business and suddenly he didn’t need me or our organization any more. I agreed to let him walk away because he was my brother and I loved him as such. I wanted him to have a good life either way.”

The man paused to take a long draw of his cigar before continuing, “But it turns out that wasn’t good enough for Yoongi. He was selfish. He wanted to take everything we had worked for while also making sure his past life would never get out to the public. He lied to me. He deceived me because he knew I trusted him. He took all of our assets, every cent. He destroyed any evidence that could be linked to him. And then to top it all off he went to the police to get the whole operation shut down to make sure this could never come back on him. But..unfortunately for him I’ve been able to build back most of what we had even though it’s nowhere near what we once had. It took a lot of time and cost me a lot of money and many of my men all while I’ve had to watch him live the life of luxury in his comfy office, going to galas, being praised and awed by strangers around the world that don’t know how evil he really is behind the facade of expensive suits and sultry looks. I vowed that I would get my revenge against him and make him pay for what he did to me…to us. I was starting to loose hope that I would ever get my chance.”

The man suddenly stood up and took a few long strides to kneel down in front of you. You pushed yourself back against the wall as far as you could while trying to conceal your whimpers.

The man poked his finger against your forehead, “And then I saw the photos of your little date. I could see it in his eyes…just how in love with you he is. I knew this wasn’t some random hookup like the others. And I knew that my time had finally come. Min Yoongi took everything from me and now I will take everything from him.”

“So what are you going to do? Just kill me to get back at him?”, you scoffed.

“Oh no no no Y/N. Not yet at least. I’m going to have some fun first. I want him to suffer for a while. I want him to worry about you until he’s sick to his stomach. For him to know your pain is all his fault. Then I want to kill him.”

You watched as the man walked over to the door before he turned to look back at you, “At the end of the day Yoongi doesn’t care about anyone or anything except himself, his image, and his money. You’re going to learn real soon about the real Min Yoongi.” The man stood up and left you speechless as you watched the door slam shut behind him.

“Fuck fuck fuck”, Yoongi chanted as he drove around trying to figure out his next move. He knew he never should’ve asked you out. He scolded himself for being weak for you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you and how he developed an immediate crush on you. Something he’d never experienced before. He saw you behind the counter of the coffee shop. You were definitely new. You kept eyeing him before quickly turning away every time he’d try and make eye contact with you. He knew you liked him. He wasn’t stupid.

Unfortunately he liked you too. Your cheeks flushed from nervousness and the heat of running around in behind the counter. Your hair wet from sweat and plastered to your forehead. You bit your lip in concentration as you poured the coffee. You looked so cute to him and he wanted to get to know you. To date you and make you his.

Then you shakily handed him his coffee only to knock it down on the counter spilling all over his favorite custom made shoes. Sure he had three other pairs so it really wasn’t a big deal, but he took it as the opportunity to scold you hoping to make you hate him. Selfishly hoping it would keep you away from him so he wouldn’t fall for you even more.

But it didn’t work as he had hoped and he quickly fell more madly in love with you every time he saw you. Then his parents made him get a job at Jin’s Java House. He knew it was a bad idea from the start. He tried to argue with them, pleaded for another option but to no avail. He thought he was strong enough. He started off trying to be rude while working together to make you hate him even more then he already knew you did, but it only made him feel guilty and left him wanting to make it up to you any way he could.

Then he tried distracting himself with other women, sometimes as close even ten minutes before he came down for his shift at the coffee shop with you. But even when his secretary was topless and moaning underneath him as he thrusted into her on his office couch all he could think about was you and your beautiful smile and how he wished it was you below him instead. As he was burrowed deep inside someone else he fantasized about how he would take his time and do everything possible to pleasure you until it was you screaming his name over and over. He knew it was a lost cause at that point because he was a man in love. And now here he was driving around the city while you were God knows where because of him and his weaknesses.

Yoongi regretted his past life. He wasn’t proud of what he did. He had gotten in a little trouble at school so his parents had told him he was a failure and they would sell the company before allowing him to take control. He felt hurt and useless and desperate to prove them wrong.

So as a teenager he turned to crime. Him and his best friend started dealing drugs. It started small with just some weed or pills here and there to other friends and their acquaintances. Then it got bigger and bigger until next the thing he knew they were moving thousands of kilos of various drugs every year worth hundreds of millions of dollars. They had bases in Seoul, LA, New York, Tijuana, London, Rio, Moscow, and Beijing as well as dozens of smaller ones he couldn’t even remember any more. Money was rolling in like he’d never seen even though he already grew up wealthy. He had a new woman every night and said goodbye to them before the morning with no strings attached. He was on top of the world and the best part was he was doing it all with his best friend.

Then he got a call. His dads health was deteriorating. The generational family company was falling apart. His mom was coping by drinking and popping pills, probably from his own supply unbeknownst to her. They were proud of him for becoming so successful in his “pharmaceutical business”, a lie he told when people started questioning his job or where his money came from. His parents had changed their minds and wanted him to take over the company. Become the ceo and bring profitability and success back to the family name and business.

At first Yoongi told them to fuck off. He wasn’t going to give up what he had worked hard for after they tossed him aside like he wasn’t their own flesh and blood.

Then days later he got another call from one of the few people in the world that he respected, his grandmother. She asked Yoongi to take over the company that her and his grandfather had fought so hard to build and turn into an empire. She didn’t want to see it given to someone outside of the family or worse have it shut down completely.

Yoongi tried to politely decline, but then solemnly she begged him. She begged him to take over not only to save the company, but so that he could escape his life of crime before he ended up in prison or worse. She cried reminiscing about how many times she stayed up all night worried about him and what he was doing out in the world. How every phone call made her heart skip a beat fearing the worst. How she saw families being torn apart thanks to him and his business’s product. She begged him, even referring to him as her little dumpling, a nickname she had often used for him growing up that he hadn’t heard in years.

Yoongi didn’t ask how she knew about his secret life. He didn’t want to know to be honest, but he knew he didn’t want to be the reason for her tears any longer. So he called his parents the next day to accept the position.

His friend had been kind and understanding, offering to let Yoongi just walk away from everything and leave him in charge.

At first that was fine. Then one night on his way home he found out that his neighbors daughter overdosed. She was just sixteen. A star student and respected ballerina already being scouted by some of the biggest dance companies from all over the world. Yoongi knew the drugs were from his prior organization. There were no others around at the time.

He watched the girls parents standing in the pouring rain until their knees gave out and they hit the concrete and sobbed as the stretcher carrying their daughter was wheeled into the back of a waiting van. After that night his grandmothers voice started playing over and over in his head often keeping him up along with the screams of the parents he heard that night.

Yoongi decided he wanted to erase that part of his life like it never happened.

Because he was still trusted by his friend he had access to the bank accounts which he wiped clean. He destroyed every document he could find that would tie him to the organization. Anonymously he contacted police in every city he could think of and helped them to track down all of their operations getting them all shut down. Multiple people were arrested and a few even killed. He did his best to convince himself that their blood was not on his hands.

And when the few that were arrested tried to snitch and implicate Yoongi there was no significant evidence and the little the police could find was quickly swept under the rug thanks to a little cash swung their way.

Yoongi was able to walk away without anyone knowing of his past life. His friend left to pick up the pieces of a once great empire. And now here Yoongi was paying the price for something he thought was long behind him and could no longer keep him from happiness.

You walked around the room as you looked for an escape. The window had bars around it. Of course the door was securely locked. There was nowhere to go. You didn’t have your phone any longer. You resigned to taking a seat back on the floor trying to come up with a plan.

You weren’t sure how much time had gone by but at some point later in the day a woman appeared with a tray carrying a bowl of soup and some toast as well as an apple and a bottle of water. You thanked her even though you had no appetite at all.

As you sat under the window staring up at the little bit of the sky you could see you wondered what was happening in the outside world. What happened at the coffee shop when you didn’t show up for work? Did they call looking for you? You were going to fall behind in your classes if that even mattered any more. Was Yoongi even looking for you or was he worried this would get out in the public and ruin his image? It was all becoming too much and you began to cry fearing the future and the unknown.

After a while of crying and dozing off you decided you were getting a little hungry. Remembering the tray from earlier you decided against the soup which was now cold and gelatinous, but the toast still seemed okay so you picked it up taking a bite.

It was slightly stale but passable. As you mindlessly chewed you noticed a small piece of paper on the plate where the bread had been.

With your brows furrowed you unfolded the paper finding a hand written note. The writing was barely legible as it appeared quickly scratched down and was written in some kind of lipstick.

“I’ll come back tonight. When you hear three knocks at the door be prepared to run.”

Your mouth went dry. Your heart began to race. Quickly you chugged down the bottle of water as you contemplated if running was worth the risk. Surely if they caught you then you would be killed. And who is this woman and why is she helping you? What if it was a test?

You had a million different thoughts going through your mind, but they were cut short.

*Knock…Knock…Knock*

Slowly the door creaked open and the same woman from earlier peaked in the room. She motioned for you to follow her. What did you have to loose you thought so you did.

The two of you tiptoed down the hall and some stairs before you heard shouting after you.

“Run!”, the woman shouted so you sprinted not far behind her. You ran down hallways and and stairs. Looking for any exit door.

Just when you saw your hope, a door with a large window facing the outside world just down the hall from you, you were grabbed and harshly thrown down on the ground. You looked up seeing Yoongi’s friend breathing heavily.

“This is what I get huh? I tried to let you stay upstairs in a warm room. I gave you food. Yoongi always said I was the soft one out of the two of us. I guess he was right, but not any more.”, he spat dragging you down the hall by your arm.

Frantically you searched for the woman from earlier who tried to help you. You hoped she got out or was at least safe, but you quickly realized that was not true. A blood curdling scream rang through the air followed by a single gunshot. Your eyes widened in horror.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not gonna kill you just yet. Not before you’ve gone on a final date with your Yoongi.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as the man threw you in a cell, the iron gates loudly clanking shut. It looked like you were in a dungeon. It was cold and there was zero light coming through.

Without speaking the man tossed you an old dirty towel to use as a blanket before heading back upstairs leaving you down there alone.

Days went by. You were barely fed and barely slept. You had accepted your fate at that point. Unsure if it was the delirium setting in or what but you often found yourself chuckling at your situation.

You missed the days of going to college. You missed your friends. You missed the smell of coffee and the warmth it brought. You couldn’t believe how your life had turned around in the matter of hours all thanks to you falling in love with a lier, con artist, the devil? You weren’t really sure how to view Yoongi right now. He was probably leading a meeting right now without a care in the world. He’s probably going out to dinner later with some woman he met on his way to work with the sole intention to get in her pants by the end of the night. A small part of you hoped he was worried about you. Looking for you. Doing anything to help. Because a small part of you still loved him.

You hadn’t heard anyone walk in until you heard the iron gate slide open ending in a loud clank.

“Put this on. And use these wipes to clean yourself up.”, an unfamiliar voice said.

You sat staring at the items in front of you not moving.

“Bosses orders”, the man growled.

Slowly you grabbed the wipes and began wiping down your face and arms. It actually felt kind of nice.

You reached for the other items, a black cocktail dress and hair brush. You took the brush and ran through your hair a few times until the knots were out.

You looked at the dress and then at the man in front of you. He rolled his eyes and sighed before turning around and facing the wall. Quickly you removed your clothes and put the dress on before the man could turn around.

Just as you finished, the familiar smell of cigars entered the air and not long after Yoongi’s friend appeared.

“Wow don’t you look nice. I can see why Yoongi likes you. I think he’ll appreciate that you dressed up just for him.”, he said before blowing a cloud smoke through your cell.

“Now go ahead and stand up against that wall.”, he pointed towards the other side of the cell.

You crossed your arms in defiance refusing to move.

He chuckled, “I like you Y/N. I really do. Too bad I’m only giving you twenty four hours to live.” Your face dropped in realization at his statement.

A bright flash lit up the cell for just a moment before you realized your photo had been taken.

“Thanks sweetheart. I’m sure Yoongi will love it.”, he laughed before leaving you alone once again.

Yoongi was back at his place pacing back and forth. He’d ignored call after call from Hobi. He’s sure he’s wondering where he and/or you are and he doesn’t have the brain power right now to come up with a believable lie.

As he stared out at the river below his apartment he heard a new notification on his phone. A text message from an unknown number came through showing the preview of a photo.

Clicking on the message he instantly dry heaved sure he would’ve fully vomited had he consumed anything today.

A photo of you in a black dress. Your hair frazzled. Immediately Yoongi noticed the bruising on your body. The cut on your lip and welt on your forehead. What killed him the most was the look on your face. The look of fear, of despair. He could see you were holding back tears and it was all thanks to him.

Seconds later another message came through, “Y/N’s a beauty Yoongi. I always did think you had good taste when it came to women and it seems like even after all these years nothing has changed. You have 24 hours to find us. If you involve the police I’ll kill her instantly. If you even care…”

You had changed back into your old clothes giving yourself a little more coverage from the cold. The floor was made of stone but you were so exhausted you were able to drift off to sleep quite quickly.

You fell into dreamland. Dreaming that you were on a beach. The warm sun shone down on you as a breeze rippled through the air. The ocean waves crashed gently against the sand next to you as you walked along the edge. Looking up you saw Yoongi just down the beach waiting for you. He flashed you a gummy smile showing you the two drinks he had in his hands. Just as you began to walk towards him the sky turned dark and a giant wave came crashing down on you dragging you out to sea. You screamed for help unable to get yourself out of the current as the waves kept you down. Running out of fight you felt yourself slowly drifting under water father and rather. The last thing you remembered was hearing Yoongi screaming your name.

You jerked awake sweaty and out of breath with your hand clutching to your chest.

Sitting up you did your best to try and calm yourself down taking deep slow breaths.

Faintly from a distance you swore you heard your name shouted. You brushed it off thinking it was just a residual memory from your dream.

Then you heard it again, a little clearer this time and you were a little more certain.

“Yoongi?”, you whispered to yourself hearing a familiar sound as the door slammed open.

[tsukis-marauders-microfics]

microfic biased off this post by @we-were-starss because why not

It had been a brilliant idea.

After all, they’d already planned to brew Polyjuice, and what else to use to for other than pranks?

Right before class, James had put his glasses on Sirius’s face, and then James had pulled off a strand of Sirius’s hair, and Sirius to James. They put it in their cups and drunk the whole bottle, causing both of them to crumple in pain.

When they arose from their fetal positions on the floor in their dorm, Sirius looked up, shocked to be met with his own face.

“Bloody hell, Potter. This brilliant!” Sirius said, examining his arms his arms, and flexing.

“Merlin, Sirius, how do you deal with your hair this long?” James brushed his fingers through his (Sirius’s) hair.

“How do you deal with glasses?” Sirius asked, taking off James’s glasses and squinting across the room. “Your eyesight is fucked, mate.”

“Are you two ready to go to class?” Remus asked, coming out of the bathroom and straightening his tie. Peter had music blasting in his ears as he attempted to put his shoes on. Remus walked over to “Sirius” and was about to kiss his cheek before James jumped back, and Remus looked at “Sirius” confused.

“It’s me. James. I’m James.” James said frantically “He’s Sirius” Remus’s brow furrowed before a wave of realization flooded his face.

“Polyjuice.” he muttered, as Peter pulled out his earbuds.

“Polyjuice?” Peter asked, standing up.

“Those two idiots took Polyjuice.” Remus sighed waving his hand between James and Sirius. Peter stared at both of them shocked.

“Smart as ever, Moony.” Sirius winked at Remus.

“I am not kissing you until this wears off” Remus called over his shoulder, walking out of the dorm. Sirius sighed lovingly, before continuing to examine his body and Peter bombarded them with questions.

☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼

Sirius and James had decided to just go to the others classes to draw less attention to themselves. They enjoyed walking around Hogwarts, nobody else knowing that they weren’t who they were supposed to be. They agreed to continue to take it throughout the day, but to have it end before quidditch practice (Sirius drew the line at him and James’s swapping positions).

The day started to get interesting after Potions, when Sirius said that he had to go grab something he forgot from his dorm. The others waved him goodbye and headed off to lunch, while he made the trek back to the Gryffindor common room.

Nothing interesting had happened, until he suddenly felt someone pull his robes. He yelped out of surprise, which was only heightened when he was shoved into a broom closet. Once in, the person moved their lips closer to his, but he was able to push the person off him with little effort. His eyes widened as he looked at the person in front of him.

“What the hell Reggie??” Sirius shouted. Regulus shushed him, and was beetroot red.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“Sorry??? Why did you do that?” Sirius recoiled, very confused.

“You said I could.” Regulus seemed to be making himself smaller as he adjusted his clothes.

“Why in the name of merlin would I say that? You’re my bloody brother!”

“What?” Regulus’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“I’m your brother! Why would you try to snog me?” Sirius repeated himself.

“You’re not my brother. You’re James.” Regulus tilted his head to the side, just as confused as Sirius. Suddenly, Sirius’s mouth dropped open.

“Fuck. Regulus, have you been dating James?” Sirius asked.

“James? Yes. You are James. Stop playing with me, Potter.”

“Regulus, I’m Sirius. Me and James took Polyjuice.” Regulus’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Sirius grumbled, his mind still spinning from the realization.

“I’m sorry. Actually, no. I’m not sorry. Me and James are together and if you don’t like it then that’s your problem.” Regulus snapped, his eyes aflame.

“I never said I had a problem with it, Jesus. Give me a second.” Sirius adjusted his (James’s) glasses. “I’m going to go talk to James.” Without another word, Sirius fled from the broom closet and ran all the way down to the great hall.

Once he was there, he scanned the hall, and then ran up to the table where the other three marauders sat. Once he got there, he stood over himself (James) and crossed his arms.

“Hello pads-prongs.” James corrected himself. “Care to join us?” Sirius stayed where he was and narrowed his eyes at James before shaking his head fondly.

“You brother-fucker.”

[neiptune]

aot boys x reacting to a dream where you die

a/n: inspired by @meowzfordayz and her wonderful hcs! got a bit carried away lol these are too long but i hope you enjoy anyway :)

eren secretly freaks tf out but is too embarrassed to admit it. you wake up to the pressure of his hands not so subtly traveling across different parts of your belly and hips, the coolness of his fingertips on your bare skin making you shiver. “eren? what're you doing?” you ask, confused, your own hands closing around his wrists to delicately move them away. but he resists your push, his fingers stubbornly finding their way to the familiar albeit faded scar residing right above your hip bone. “sorry. didn't mean to wake you” his voice cracks, which is enough to prompt you to sit up. “tell me what's wrong” you take one of his hands and squeeze twice, your secret way to communicate that everything's fine. eren's big eyes search for signs of distress or pain in yours but all he finds is genuine concern and grogginess. he relaxes and weakly squeezes your hand right back. “bad dream. it's stupid, let's just go back to sleep” but of course you see right through his fake composure and pull him in for a hug, gently hushing the trembling exhale that tickles your neck as his arms close around you. “you're okay” he whispers to himself and you hum in confirmation, nodding against his shoulder. “i am. the only thing truly hurting me is your snoring”. he huffs at that, covertly thankful you're still there to give him a reason to roll his eyes

lol armin will not be there when you wake up in the middle of the night, senses alert bc of the unusually cold, empty spot next to you. he doesn't reply when you call him so you're forced to get up and explore the whole floor, bathroom to study, until you hear some muffled sniffling coming from downstairs and you rush to the living room, heart in your throat. “armin??? are you okay? what happened??” he's curled into himself on the couch but as he hears your voice he lifts his head, heavy groan crawling up from his throat because what the fuck, why are you awake? he hates hates hates the idea of you seeing him like this for the nth time, always so stupid and helpless now with tear stained cheeks too for something that's not even real. “nothing” his defensive tone startles you and he regrets it immediately, sigh heavy as he tiredly rubs his temples, a sign of surrender and vulnerability that draws you in until you're sitting next to him, warm hand closing on his knee. “what if i brew some tea? we still have some cookies left” you speak gently and his gaze softens, guilt already bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “it's 2am” “and?” “you have to work tomorrow” “and??”. so he ends up brewing the tea instead and you simply won't talk about what happened until the next morning, after a fair amount of the night before was spent sharing homemade peanut butter cookies with armin taking your hand to press gentle kisses to your wrist from time to time <3

oh my god jean 100% feels too stupid to mention it or letting a dumb dream upset him once he's awake and can physically see you and touch you as you're making breakfast together, he's also too proud to admit how horrible it felt to see your body get so rigid, your skin too cold, eyes void of their usual light. so he doesn't mention it. but you can tell something is off: he's more attentive than usual (when has he ever pushed you away from the toaster bc you might bet burned?) he's extremely touchy-feely (more than usual lol it's fine for him to have his arms wrapped around you as you're rinsing a fork but not letting go? not even allowing you to turn off the stove, at the expense of his precious eggs, now at risk of charring??) so of course your spider senses detect that something isn't quite right and you interrogate him over breakfast, just as he casually plays with your fingers and quite uncomfortably tries to eat with his left hand. “what d'you mean i'm being weird? that how you accept my unconditional love?” he has you rolling your eyes a number of times before he shrugs with a “had a nightmare last night, no biggie” “did something happen to me?” “yeah, no need to take the piss, i know it's dumb”. a fond smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you shrug as well. “wasn't gonna take the piss. if something happened to you in one of my dreams, i'd probably freak out” “oh thank god” jean forces you up from your chair in a split second and pulls you in the tightest hug in recorded history lol

well connie will definitely blurt it out and attempt to downplay it at the same time lmao don't even get me started you'll wake up and he'd be in the kitchen making coffee greeting you with something like “g'morning! btw i dreamed you died last night hahaha isn't that so stupid??? you were dead dead, like R.I.P you, right in my arms” and you're standing there like 🤨🤨🤨 “i'm glad you thought that was funny?” “so funny, i even cried a little when i woke up haha you were sleeping right next to me and i was tearing up like a dumbass omg did i mention how still you were???” his emotional responses are all sorts of fucked up tbh. connie doesn't always know how to react to things and unexpected situations and complicated feelings bc he's so used to being the cheerful comic relief but somewhere underneath all the sunshine he carries around there's actual fear. connie is actually scared, all the time. of the ocean, of loneliness, of losing those who are dear to him, of being too much and not nearly enough at the same time. he has his own ways of dealing with fear and they're not always ideal. so you delicately take the clutched phone from his hands and peck his lips once, twice, each kiss lasting longer than the former until he takes your face in his hands and just keeps it there, forehead resting on yours. “i'm here. and you're a stupid idiot for calling yourself a dumbass”. he chuckles at that, which makes you smile. “promise you'll stay alive long enough to call me a stupid idiot a million more times?” “yes, if you wash the dishes”

i mean of course levi is mad. lol. at himself, bc he was not able to protect you in his dream and at you bc where tf are you??? he's petrified sitting up in (a very much empty) bed, mentally gives himself 3 seconds before he allows irrational panic to kick in but thank fuck you flush the toilet 1,5 seconds later, wash your hands and come back to your shared bedroom to find the grumpy man you're in love with glaring daggers your way, scowl so deep you hesitate by the door, silently wondering what you did wrong. were you being so tossy and turny you woke him up? did you take more than your share of blankets? did you accidentally punch him in the face? (it has happened and he was surprisingly nice about it lol). “i'm sorry” you blurt out, cautious as you climb onto your bed again, slipping your legs underneath the covers. “what are you apologizing for?” his voice sounds weird, which freaks you out even more. “not sure” you tilt your head “but you look mad”. levi huffs, features softening. “was it sleep kicking? or did i fart? you know edamame gives me real bad gas—” “you did not fart” he runs a hand through his hair, simultaneously exhausted and biting back an incredulous smile. “you died” he blurts it out but saying it out loud sucks so badly that he clenches his fists and you don't really know how to react. “i couldn't do shit about it. you just died. t'was horrible and i know it's not your fault and it was just a dream but...” “i'm sorry i died” your soft reply interrupts his babbling and prompts another snort. “stop apologizing” “what can i do, then?”. levi inspects your features attentively and takes your hand underneath the covers, intertwining his fingers with yours. “promise you won't do it again” he goes along with your silliness and you smile, nose rubbing against his, barely audible whisper of a “promise” before kissing him

porco will never and i mean never tell you what's up lmao his dumbass would rather die than admit a dream has had the power to affect him at all. he's a grown up™ and rational™ enough to discern reality from fantasy and guess what?? his current reality = you roaming around the house to cook, do the laundry, jokingly mock his housework skills as he vacuums rooms missing entire spots and breaks yet another glass in the sink (“stfu the sponge was too damn soapy it slipped” ) but honestly? porco doesn't even notice how much he stares the day after his nightmare. not just in the morning, he literally can't cast his eyes away from you for the entire day. he's 12 so as soon as you mention it he gets defensive lol like you'll be on the couch with your legs on his lap as he watches something on his laptop, you're reading a book and you'll say something along the lines of “ya know you've been staring a lot today” and he'll automatically reply “yeah?? cuz you're ugly” which only confirms your hunch. “don't be an ass, why were you staring??” “just told you?” “porco” “that's my name, don't wear it out” he's so infuriating honestly but eventually your persistence does wear him down enough to elicit one true response: “because i wanted to make sure you're actually here”. you tilt your head, confused frown that makes him bite back a smile. “what does that even mean?? where else would i be? are you high?” “high on you, babe” lmao yeah he won't tell you how horrible and scary and wrong it was to see your body get so still and your eyes suddenly unwilling to open and your hands not squeezing his back no matter how much he screamed and called for you and cursed and cried. why would he? porco can discern reality from fantasy. as you jokingly poke his side with your sock-clad foot and laugh as he grabs it to nibble at your ankle, he's grateful af for his reality :)

reiner instantly wakes you up lol he's too shaken to think straight and can't handle the pounding of his heart nor the cold sweat coating his forehead tbh. you freak out as well bc he looks like shit so you think he's not feeling well -> it's 30 entire seconds of back and forth (“are you okay?” “are you okay??” “why are you shaking???” “why are you sweating????”) until you can sense his stress is about to grow into a full on anxiety attack and you take his giant, cold, clammy hands in yours, squeezing hard enough to ground him. “baby, breathe with me. i'm right here, okay? just like that. deep and slow”. it doesn't matter that he squeezes back hard enough to hurt you. “you're doing great! wanna count with me?”. he closes his eyes and you both count to ten out loud, three times before he looks at you again and the crude fear that was in his gaze is long gone, leaving space to relief and slight embarrassment. “don't apologize” you cut him off right as his lips part “are you okay? can you wait for me? i'll go grab some water and—” he interrupts you right back by slotting his mouth to yours, with a kiss so feverish your brain shortcircuits. deaf to your protests, he will keep murmuring nonsense against your lips, an endless progression of i'm sorry, you're fine, i'm sorry, i love you, thank god, i love you so much. when you're allowed to catch your breath at last he presses one last kiss to your forehead and you're finally able to connect the dots. much like armin, he doesn't enjoy being so weak and emotional so often around you, but he also knows you feel strongly about him being so hard on himself. you won't have it. so reiner silently accepts and is oh so grateful for each sweet reassuring word you whisper to the shell of his ear, knowing all too well that nightmares have nothing on your i'm here and i'm never leaving and i know i'm safe with you

[lotionconnoisseur]

i'm a big fan of the whole grian being a different bird in each hc / life series season so hear me out on s9 wallcreeper grian

theyre these really cool birds who can crawl, walk, and hop along vertical surfaces

they build their nests and roosts in nooks, crannies, crevices of rock faces.

i think it fits s9 with the whole living in a big fucking rock

plus look at how pretty they are!!

their butterfly-esque wings make them very skilled at flight!! and, although extremely active birds, they loveee to sunbathe and take dust / sand baths

will probs draw this later just getting my ideas out there.. i love brewing up new bird species for this funky guy

[sillyrabbit81]

Fuse

Prompt: Sleepy & Lazy, Daddy Kink from @myaimlessuniverse (x) Thank you so much for sending the prompt in. Sorry its taken so long.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 600

Warnings: Smut, daddy kink, praise kink, probably some dd/lg vibes (I don't know! maybe!), p in v sex, Sy POV

Authors Note: Hi... Been a while... Probably not what you expected, but I swear I'm working on the Brotherhood, but I also have quite a few of these left so I thought I'd knock one out as a warm up for the smut I'm trying to write in the Brotherhood (the Brotherhood won't have daddy kink in it fyi) I'm not feeling Daddy kink like I used to and so I tried to write this a little different from what I had done before. Fingers crossed! As always I need to thank my amazing mate and reader @nashibirne , your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated. I also need to thank @augustsprincess for her reading and suggestions.

It was edited by me, on the fly, there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

Sy tightens his jaw and he breathes out a ragged curse through his teeth as he slips past your slick, velvet folds and into your silken heat. He watches, enthralled by the utterly carnal vision of himself disappearing inside your impossibly tight core.

“Stop,” you gasp and he peers up at you perched precariously above him. 

Your thighs tremble beneath his hands and it takes everything he has to stop himself from grabbing your hips and sliding your blossoming core all the way down his cock.

“You’re doing so well, babygirl,” he says, dropping his gaze back to the explicit view between your legs. 

You’ve only taken the tip of him inside yourself and already he feels that tingle brewing in the base of his spine. He’s waited so long for you, longer than he ever thought he’d wait for anyone and he could barely stand it.

“Just a little more, I know you can do it.”

“Daddy,” you whimper. “You’re too big.”

He groans as sweat breaks out over his forehead. “Fuck, baby. You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say, in a voice that quivers as much as your pouty bottom lip.

Sy’s heart breaks and he sits up drawing you to his chest. “Hush. You did so good for me baby. Daddy’s proud of you for tryin’.” 

With the tip of his cock still trapped within your snug pussy, he rocks you slowly, murmuring his sweet praise in your ear as he strokes your hair. His thumb caresses your cheek and he smiles when he feels your soft lips against his pad. His cock pulses inside of you as your plush tongue curls around him and you begin to suck. It doesn’t take long for him to feel your quivering body relax against him. He closes his eyes, content as he feels you hum happily within his arms.

He doesn’t really notice at first, he thinks the soft warmth enveloping his cock must be his imagination. Then he hears you moan.

“Babygirl?” he murmurs, softly.

“Hmm?”

He looks at your pretty head resting on his shoulder. You look almost asleep, your eyes seem to have trouble focussing and you’re still sucking hard on his thumb. But then you sigh and nuzzle into his neck while you roll your hips and there’s no doubt about it, you’re slowly sinking lower onto his cock.

“That’s my girl,” he growls into your ear. “That my good fuckin’ girl.”

Sy clenches his jaw to keep himself in check, each moment you rock your hips and take more of him into you is the most exquisite torture he’s ever had. 

“Am I doing good, Daddy?” you ask, hesitantly, dropping his thumb from your mouth.

He’s trembling as much as you were earlier. He has no idea how you can’t see how much you’re affecting him, that you can’t see that in this moment he’d give you everything, anything, just for a little bit more of your sweet pussy.

“So good baby,” he groans. “But don’t stop, Daddy needs more.”

He has to lay down, he has to see his thickness stretch you open. He holds your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he falls back to the bed. His mouth falls open as he watches the last of his cock vanish and your bodies completely fuse. 

He can’t hold it back, that orgasm that threatened from the start tore through his spine and his hips bucked up from the mattress. His eyes force themselves shut as hot pulses surge through him and even though he can’t see anymore, the image of your bodies finally together is burned into his psyche.

[navia3000]

hello! I'd like to request a Tom Riddle oneshot, maybe a part 2 to Amortentia? But if you don't want that, I have an idea where Tom sees y/n as an academic rival but they get partnered yet realize that they enjoy each other's company.I only request that it's a ravenclaw reader hehe and it's up to you to make it more fluffy hehe, advance thank you!!

Potions Class - T. Riddle

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

Pairing : Tom Riddle x Ravenclaw! Reader

Warnings : Cursing

Genre : Fluff, or, where Tom and reader are forced to work together after years of rivalry

A/N : I saw this request and got to work immediately! I hope I did your vision justice! And, I am working on Amortentia part two so I will let you know when that’s out <3

Masterlist

Requests are Open

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

“Y/N, you’re with Riddle for this one.”

Her professor’s words made her heart stop. No, she thought, it can’t be. It’s no secret that Tom Riddle is her biggest rival. The Slytherin has been a thorn on her side ever since first year, the two competing for the highest grades possible.

Of course, if you asked her, she’d say she’s the best of the two, and that Tom Riddle is nothing but a stuck up piece of sh-

“Well, I knew the day would come when we would have to work together at some point.” Tom Riddle’s aggravatingly smooth voice jolted her from her thoughts.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she spoke with reluctance. She watched as the boy sat next to her, and she galked at his nonchalance. “Does this not bother you?”

“Very much so, but nothing I can do about it. Well, other than show you how to correctly brew a potion.” He struck a nerve and he knew it.

“I know how to brew a potion, thank you very much. My excellent grade in this class proves it.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” The nickname brought a heat to her cheeks, her mind overrun with thoughts of how devastatingly irritating Tom Riddle was.

The pair got to work in silence, only speaking when reciting the recipe from memory, or asking for an ingredient from the other. As they worked, Y/N found herself oddly at ease. She had to admit, they worked well together.

As they waited for the cauldron to boil, he broke the silence. “What are your thoughts on the Astronomy project?”

She was surprised at first, but answered honestly. “I thought it easy. Not exactly necessary seeing as it was information we both already knew, but I found it enjoyable.” He huffed out a small laugh at her words, an action which took her completely off-guard.

“Yes, I thought it enjoyable as well. Although, I am quite positive I got a better grade than you,” he spoke with a teasing smirk.

“You did not!” She exclaimed with a laugh.

“Did too. Denial is not a good look on you, dear raven.” Once again, she was surprised at seeing this side of Tom, the two so busy competing and never actually getting to know each other. Yet she was enjoying their easy banter, her affection for him certainly growing as the minutes ticked by.

“Alright, just add the basil and stir, and we should be fine.” He spoke as she did what he instructed. However, they were both startled when the potion began bubbling and overflowing from the cauldron.

“What did you do?” Tom exclaimed.

“I did what you said!”

“No, this clearly is not what I said.” At his words, she turned to stare at him in disbelief. How dare he accuse her of messing up the potion? Yet, as the pair made eye contact, they couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, drawing the attention from their classmates.

“Well,” he spoke after three minutes of uncontrollable laughter, “it seems we have managed to fuck this up royally.”

“It seems we have,” the smile was glued on her face.

“What do you say we get together to study, we clearly need the work.” She paused at his words, searching his eyes to decipher a hidden motive to his offer.

“I’d like that,” she spoke after she couldn’t find one.

“Great.” He began cleaning up their workspace.

“Great,” she whispered back.

Tom Riddle is definitely not what she thought.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

[tainted-liquor]

'Hot Wheels! ...🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ft. 1610Miles

...⋆｡° ✮

Ingredients: sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of lemon zest!

TWs: A lil suggestive, but nth serious? Miles js runs a hot wheels car across yo ass like a ramp😭

A/N: Inspired by my man lol

It was dark outside. Wayyy too dark, the kind of dark where your main priority would be to go straight home, regardless of what temptations of bright colors pushed themselves into your face. But right now, you were In Miles' house while his parents were out on their little 15-year anniversary date. You spent the whole day dancing in his room, trying on some of his shorts for the sheer fun of it, and watching TV together so close that it would've sent Mrs. Morales into a coma. It was around 9 o'clock, and the two lovebirds still weren't back from their date.

So, you decided to do something to pass the time. You hopped on on the plushy material of the Morales' couch, doodling in Miles' sketchbook while you waited for him to finish taking his shower. Did you nearly lose your shit when you saw his many many Gwen drawings? Yeah. But you were instantly relieved to see most of them crossed out, painted over, or replaced with drawings of you entirely.

You scribbled down a rough sketch of Miles, groaning in frustration when it didn't turn out how you imagined. He looked French instead of Puerto Rican, and everything decided it wanted to go wrong. You put down the pencil, letting it fall between the concave of its pages before scrolling on your phone. It wasn't very long until Miles emerged from the bathroom, internally panicking as his toned muscles stared at your from his short-sleeved white tee. "Eugh, you stink. Get back in the shower" You joked, sporting a wicked grin and a quiet laugh.

He side-eyed you, looking you up and down before sucking his teeth. "I will throw you off that couch, don't play with me" he chuckled, shifting closer so you could see the tiny blue box in his right hand. "Oooh, what's that?" You asked, turning your head as he loomed over you. He opened the box, revealing 3 toy cars stacked on each other. "My cars!" He beamed, flopping comfortably on the living room floor as he took out every toy car oh so gently. "Cars? Like, Hot Wheels cars?" You inquired, watching as he pretended to rev up the engine.

It was no surprise that he owned toy cars, you had already seen his massive collection of rare toys and posters around his room. You thought it was cute, silently admiring as he explained why he even has the cars, and breaking down their value. "I mean, I can put them away if you want?" He asked, sounding slightly more embarrassed by the second. "Oh, no no no! I love that you have interests!" You reassured. You watched him stay in his own little world, before continuing to scroll on your phone.

It wasn't long before Miles looked back up at you, suddenly brewing an idea. He slowed his actions, analyzing your posture and looking down at his cars. He fought back a smirk that crept on his face, slowly advancing towards you like he was trying to see what you were looking at on your phone. You didn't really notice he was getting closer, finding yourself lost in the world of TikTok as you watched a guy dance to Kung Fu Fighting. And you didn't notice until you felt cold metal hit the fabric of your shorts.

"AH-! FUCK-MILES WH-..." You began, turning around to see Miles using the curve of your spine and the silhouette of your behind as a ramp. Miles burst out in laughter, shivering as he ran each car across your backside. "Are you fuckin' serious right now?" You deadpanned. He nodded, a smug but clearly overjoyed grin plastered on his face. "What? It's-...pffFFHAHAA...It's the perfect ramp!"

"Make me smack you miles"

Taglist: @ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @Fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x

taglist form <3 https://forms.gle/iZbuc8PAAo5k5xXG6

[foxs0x]

I am literally a graphic designer for my career but I couldn't be fucked editing a template, so here's how my art has evolved in the last 12 months!

January - @meanbossart 's Dark Urge

This was the first digital thing I'd done in over a year at this point. I took an extended break from art because my (old) job was ruining my mental health. (Which is why I quit it :D !) And his Drow character is really well thought out and very unique so I had to draw him. (His art is also very inspiring to me so check out his page!)

February - was still in my Baldur's Gate kick and loved that lizard (still do) and it was also my first time doing environmental art. I couldn't figure out how to do the "mood" I was imagining so I had to look up famous movie shots that were noir, dark and moody to figure out what the heck to do.

MORE UNDER THE CUT 👇😁

March - My D&D character Istdrin, a Drow sorcerer who was sexually attracted to spiders... And got eaten by spiders. (I had to make a new character after this 🤣) Rest in peace you sick fuck

April - Astarion, my fave BG3 companion (besides Wyll & Shadow heart!) I wanted to design a fancy suit for him and a modern haircut.

May - my first drawing of my V (Vicentije.) I had just bought Phantom Liberty at this point and was also trying to figure out how to draw him and how I imagine he would look. Alas I am a console player so I can't mod his tattoos in or his face sculpt etc. (but in a few months I'll finally have saved enough money for a PC haha!) he's gone through a few changes design-wise and I'm still tweaking him tbh

June - first art for my fanfic End Transmission

I just finished Phantom Liberty and had this idea brewing in my head. I'd also started writing my fic too! I'm not really happy with V:s face here and I've also since made more changes to his design, so he doesn't even have these tattoos anymore lol! (Except for the 13 on his forehead because he is unlucky)

July (??) (nothing)

August - Johnny Silverhand

I actually did this right before I went to America this year. I was drawing this at the Sydney airport and painting it on the flight to Los Angeles. I am still really happy with how this turned out.

September - I did this in my downtime while in the states. I started drawing the frames in my first week in America (while I was at my aunties house in Los Angeles) and finished it during hurricane Francine in New Orleans!

October - Johnny Silverhand again! I tried drawing a few comic panels of my fanfic End Transmission when I got back to Australia.

November - original character I'm working on. He's an ugly vampire who was an artist in his human life and made very beautiful things.

December (??)

Nothing really for December yet lol! Just lots of wips and ideas I'm still working on

Overall my art has made a HUGE improvement this year. I've been focusing on better quality lines the last two months but all year I've been working on more dynamic poses and colouring!!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making breakfast for them before they leave w/harvey specter pleaaaaaaaaaase

Send me a comfort prompt

Warnings: Mentioned sexytimes, but not shown; fluff

"What do you wanna eat?"

"Eat?" Harvey scoffs, picking his shirt up off of where it's hanging on your bed frame. "I thought you didn't do one night stands."

"And I thought you didn't do sleeping over, but you're here, so. Your point?"

"My point is this is all seeming a little too cozy."

"I'm not sending you out of here running on empty. And after last night, I know that you're running on empty." You smirk smugly, resting your hand on your hip as a slow smile curls Harvey's lips. "It can be toast, or coffee, something. But it has to be something. So?"

"...Toast."

"Butter?"

"Yes."

"Jelly? Jam?"

"Honey."

"Yes, dear?"

"For the toast," He chuckles. Your brows raise and fall as you take up your robe and draw it on, tying it as you head into the kitchen. Honey on toast, that's a new one.

You're trying not to overthink the last twelve hours—going home with a stranger that you met at a mixer, having what was quite possibly, the best sex of your life, and waking up to find him still there. He'd looked so deliciously disheveled and sleepy, and had smiled gently at you as you'd opened your eyes.

You shake your head a touch to try and rid yourself of the thought as you get the bread and butter from the fridge. The honey's already on the counter, so that's that squared away. You pop a couple of slices into the toaster and grab a plate for it before you turn to the coffee maker.

You don't have to overthink anything. You know that, logically. That doesn't stop your mind from racing. Are you ever going to see him again? Did he have a good time? He must've, right? He wasn't drunk when he came home with you, and he spent the night. He had at least a bit of a good time, right?

C'mon, don't be so hard on yourself. You know what, he had a fucking great time. More importantly, you both did.

"Coffee smells good."

You jolt a little as he comes into the kitchen. You glance back, nodding and waving toward the toaster.

"Toast is toasting."

"Thank you."

"Sure."

You pour the freshly brewed coffee into a mug, sliding it over.

"Milk's in the fridge if you want it."

"No thanks."

"Sugar?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

You snort a laugh, shaking your head as your face goes hot.

"You know what I fricking mean."

"No thank you." He settles against the counter beside you, taking the mug up and drawing in a sip.

"You always insist on feeding your one night stands?" He asks once he's swallowed.

"No."

"So I'm special?"

"I wouldn't say that. I just don't usually...Have one night stands."

"Well that makes me even more special."

"If you say so."

Harvey reaches out, gripping the tie of your robe and using it to tug you closer. You let him, watching him as his eyes skim your face.

"Remind me where you work?" He asks.

"McHenry, Sigmund, and Lowell."

"Good firm."

"Yes, it is."

"Not the best, though."

"Is that so?"

"Nope. If you were working for the best, you'd be working with me."

You reach out, prodding the toaster as the bread pops up.

"Honey," You nod toward the jar on the counter, beside the butter. Harvey lets go of your robe, turning to the toaster and plucking the slices out of the toaster. You take another mug down, taking your damn time about pouring your own cup of coffee. You take a few sips, giving him a guarded glance as you hear him take a bite of his toast. Harvey hums softly at the taste.

"Alright—" He speaks up through his bite, "I was knocking you about making me toast, but this was a better idea than I thought."

You smile smugly, giving a little shrug as you take a sip of your coffee.

"I'm very smart, Mr. Specter."

"Clearly."

You look over, smiling curiously as he dusts his fingers off and reaches into his jacket pocket. You raise a brow as he draws a card out of his pocket, holding it out.

"What's this for?"

"We ought to have a conversation."

"Because we slept together?" You ask, taking the card.

"No, god no," Harvey chuckles. "I mean, it was great, but that's not why we should hire you."

"Nice save."

"I mean it. You made some damn good points last night—though you made an even better one when you brought me home with you. " He pops the last of the toast into his mouth before he turns away from the counter, chewing still as he says, "Alright. Now I have to go."

You nod, pushing off of the counter and drifting after him as he heads for your front door.

"You've overlooked one critical thing, Mr. Specter."

"What's that?"

"I'm not in the market for a new job."

"That's a mistake." He turns to face you, smiling. "But that number's also good for...Other things."

"Such as?"

"Drinks, dinner...Anything else that may follow."

"And if I choose not to use it?"

"Well," He glances away, shrugging a shoulder. "That's up to you. But it's another mistake." He takes a step closer, cupping your cheek and drawing you in for a kiss. You expect it to be a quick peck, but you sway into him as his lips slip tenderly across yours, his tongue gently prodding between your lips. Before you can really give into it, he leans away, giving you a bright smile as he gently pats your cheek.

"Have a good day—and thanks for the toast."

"Yeah...Yeah, you, too," You smile.

--

You can't stop thinking about him. It's not overthinking, not this time, but he's just...On your mind, all week. His card is burning a hole in your pocket. You've been carrying it around with you,m switching it between bags and purses and jackets, and just...considering.

Now, you've decided to do a little more than consider. It's Friday night, you've got no plans, and you're sure he does, but...You make a call. He picks up on the first ring, and chuckles when he hears your voice.

"I was hoping to hear from you."

"Oh?" You grin, flattered as you sink back in your desk chair. "Why's that?"

"I owe you some toast."