#i like how some of them do certain gestures with certain emotions -- so you KNOW lol

[grapecaseschoices]

BODY LANGUAGE (infamous mcs)

tagging:  @paptalk @kdelarenta @trebondialanna @aylaaescar @mt07131 @quaxorascal  @quinnorion @likesomethingblooming @moderarato @solarisrenbeth @umbertors @anotherbeingsworld and anyone else interested!!

— rules: always, never, sometimes

Hiyam

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

Lala

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

Alana

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

Bethany Josnel

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

Ori

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION.

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION.

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

[thebibliosphere]

So, anyway, I say as though we are mid-conversation, and you're not just being invited into this conversation mid-thought. One of my editors phoned me today to check in with a file I'd sent over. (<3)

The conversation can be surmised as, "This feels like something you would write, but it's juuuust off enough I'm phoning to make sure this is an intentional stylistic choice you have made. Also, are you concussed/have you been taken over by the Borg because ummm."

They explained that certain sentences were very fractured and abrupt, which is not my style at all, and I was like, huh, weird... And then we went through some examples, and you know that meme going around, the "he would not fucking say that" meme?

Yeah. That's what I experienced except with myself because I would not fucking say that. Why would I break up a sentence like that? Why would I make them so short? It reads like bullet points. Wtf.

Anyway. Turns out Grammarly and Pro-Writing-Aid were having an AI war in my manuscript files, and the "suggestions" are no longer just suggestions because the AI was ignoring my "decline" every time it made a silly suggestion. (This may have been a conflict between the different software. I don't know.)

It is, to put it bluntly, a total butchery of my style and writing voice. My editor is doing surgery, removing all the unnecessary full stops and stitching my sentences back together to give them back their flow. Meanwhile, I'm over here feeling like Don Corleone, gesturing at my manuscript like:

ID: a gif of Don Corleone from the Godfather emoting despair as he says, "Look how they massacred my boy."

Fearing that it wasn't just this one manuscript, I've spent the whole night going through everything I've worked on recently, and yep. Yeeeep. Any file where I've not had the editing software turned off is a shit show. It's fine; it's all salvageable if annoying to deal with. But the reason I come to you now, on the day of my daughter's wedding, is to share this absolute gem of a fuck up with you all.

This is a sentence from a Batman fic I've been tinkering with to keep the brain weasels happy. This is what it is supposed to read as:

"It was quite the feat, considering Gotham was mostly made up of smog and tear gas."

This is what the AI changed it to:

"It was quite the feat. Considering Gotham was mostly made up. Of tear gas. And Smaug."

Absolute non-sensical sentence structure aside, SMAUG. FUCKING SMAUG. What was the AI doing? Apart from trying to write a Batman x Hobbit crossover??? Is this what happens when you force Grammarly to ignore the words "Batman Muppet threesome?"

Did I make it sentient??? Is it finally rebelling? Was Brucie Wayne being Miss Piggy and Kermit's side piece too much???? What have I wrought?

Anyway. Double-check your work. The grammar software is getting sillier every day.

[harmonysanreads]

Ratio looks like he'd fold after two genuine compliments and not just ones about his looks or intelligence. Bro would not be able to handle actual genuine words from someone because he's so damn used to hollow words from fans and haters alike (I don't care if this is ooc its true in my heart)

No no, I agree with you.

People tend to take compliments too lightly, let whatever escape their mouths often carelessly. The act of giving compliments can be honed into an art with practice, the gesture of taking them gracefully can be considered as a mark of maturity and class. Simply put, you can tell a lot about a person based on how they give and receive compliments.

The academic field is privy to many kinds of drama. Back-handed compliments thrive in the radius around ‘geniuses’, ‘prodigies’ and the ‘talented’. Unless you hear it from certain people, delivered in very specific tones, you won't even know just how easily positive words can be twisted to feel like insults. Ratio is intimately familiar with this phenomenon.

It took some struggle, reflection, trial and error until he understood the sheer absurdity of the situation. By then, it was more funny than hurtful to him. Oh, the scope of idiocy. Ratio prefers words in communication to be direct and transparent, though he won't deny that nuance and implication have their own charm when used appropriately.

Ratio might not appear so due to his default disposition, but he's actually quite good at complimenting — given that he finds something genuinely admirable about the person. Take his party-joining voicelines about Ruan Mei and Herta for example. But because of the factor that needs to be met to be complimented by the man, his words of appreciation are often posed as statements (e.g. his voiceline about Screwllum). Which could make his compliments hard to believe if you happen to struggle with receiving them.

Now, the first thing that comes to my mind if we're looking for ‘that’ compliment which will be successful in flustering him ; is to try to learn and understand his ideology, values, ambitions and mindset by extension. Difficult task, I know, but studying Veritas Ratio is unavoidable if we're talking about him. Of course, Ratio enjoys studying everything around him even more, so to catch someone this perceptive off-guard is a bit of a challenge.

Well, it's not possible to understand a human in their entirety, so the effort is of greater importance. Observe, question (and don't be dismayed by his sharp comebacks), reflect, apply what you learned and always try to be genuine. There is no way Ratio won't notice honest efforts.

I don't know why but I have this nagging feeling that compliments about his appearance can also do the trick. Perhaps it's because they could've become somewhat scarce since he started using the alabaster head. But don't just randomly go, "You're so handsome! Your eyes are so pretty!" True as they may be, try to point something he hasn't considered or heard, challenge him. “I appreciate the way you maintain your hair. The neatness and your choice of accessory is pleasant to the eyes.” is something that I'd probably go for. This has greater chances of working if you've made a place in his head through the first suggestion, so to say.

And when, after all that hard work, you do succeed — Ratio is a sight to see. If there was some sort of microscope to gauge the transition of human emotions when they receive compliments, it'd paint such an entertaining picture. First is a scintilla of surprise, then you get a flicker of joy which ignites into flames of emotions too jumbled to decipher — Ratio's cheeks and ears will be guilty of letting them escape. If you don't seem to get any coherent response from the scholar even after an interval of patience, just know that Ratio.exe has stopped working.

[cobaltperun]

Hi! Could you write one where GN!reader has an arm sleeve tattoo but would always cover it up by wearing long sleeves, and Tara has a massive crush on them and would always see it peeking out of the sleeves and when they would hook up(or not it’s up to you!) she would trace the tattoos and falls in love with the reader more? Just a request and it’s up to you to write it or not, love your stories btw!

Heart on Sleeve

Tara Carpenter x GN!Reader (Request)

Tara was never all that interested in tattoos, aside from thinking some of them were cool, until you came along. You were proud of your tattoo, but you didn't feel like showing it off to just anyone, and then Tara came along.

Masterlist

Word count: 1.8k

Being betrayed more than once, by people she was supposed to trust left more than just physical scars on her body. The emotional scars went even deeper, and she was almost certain she would never truly trust anyone enough to open up and act vulnerable. So, it came as one hell of a surprise when you approached her and somehow flipped it all around. It was an accident, really, you asked if the seat next to her was taken just before the class started and she just stared.

"Is everything okay?" you asked her, a worry so genuine in your voice she almost thought her mind was playing tricks on her.

Tara blushed, embarrassed by her silence. "Sorry, yes! For both! I mean, no, the seat isn't taken and yes, everything is okay," she was tempted to look for another seat because there was no way she could sit next to you for the next hour and a half after that blunder.

You didn’t look like you minded though. "Thank you," you smiled, sitting down next to her and getting your notebook out of your bag. "I'm Y/N, by the way," you twisted in your seat to offer her your right hand.

"Tara," she accepted the handshake and returned your smile. She didn't quite believe in instincts anymore, they tricked her more than once, but the kindness and gentleness radiating from your eyes and smile made her reconsider if maybe her instincts were right this time.

Not that the two of you got the chance to talk much after the introduction, as the professor arrived and both of you had to turn your attention to the class.

Halfway through the class you reached into the bag, pulling a bottle of water and taking a sip. Tara just now realized how long it's been since she had the chance to drink anything and she caught herself staring at you as you swallowed the water.

"Want one?" you asked as quietly as you could and gestured at the bottle.

Tara shook her head slightly. "It's okay, I don't want to be a bother," the offer was tempting, but she still refused.

But you still reached into your bag and pulled another bottle. "It's not a bother. Besides, it's too hot not to drink anything," you offered the bottle to her with your left hand and she caught a glimpse of a tattoo just barely peeking out of the long-sleeved shirt you were wearing.

"Fifth row, settle down!" the professor chastised the two of you, causing both of you to flinch a bit and lower your heads in embarrassment. Tara's eyes still met yours as you sheepishly scratched the back of your neck, and you grinned as she took the water with a small smile of her own.

That was how it started, and that was how it continued for a long time. She would see you during classes, you'd sit next to each other and slowly but surely you won her trust. It was scary how effortlessly you were doing it. She missed class, you'd sent her notes before she even had the chance to ask you, and vice versa. She even started hanging out with you outside of class, away from her friend group.

God, when Sam finds out she'll go ballistic.

But Tara didn't care. She felt good when she was with you, she felt free from the past in a way parties never made her feel. You noticed her scar, but didn't ask, your eyes showed her that, while you didn't know what caused it, you understood by her reaction that it was a painful memory. Tara still remembered how your arms felt around her that day, as you just hugged her, showing nothing but support to her.

Your eyes never showed any hint of deception, you wore your heart on your sleeve, and Tara found herself trusting you more than she trusted anyone she met ever since Amber betrayed and tried to kill her.

And so, day by day, time after time spent together, she found herself crushing on you, hard.

~X~

When you met Tara, you really were just looking for a seat, seeing as you were running a bit late and didn't get the luxury of choosing a seat. You didn't think that choice would have such a profound effect on you. You saw her eyes and you were struck by them, by the deep-seated doubt and mistrust in them, and a paradoxical desire to be loved hidden behind all of that.

You didn't wonder what caused her to feel like that, like everyone could turn into her enemy, and you had no desire to guess. It was her past, and if she wanted to tell you, you'd listen, otherwise you'd just be by her side here and now. You did feel a strong urge to make sure no one would hurt her again, to make her feel that she was safe with you.

At the moment you and Tara were having a quick bite between classes, and you caught her curious gaze aimed at your left wrist. She was being adorable, trying to subtly find a better angle to figure out what the tattoo was. "You're really cute right now," you reached for the side of her lips with your right hand, just to wipe a bit of hot sauce that remained there.

Tara scoffed. "Whatever, Y/N," she muttered, but the corners of her lips were tugging upward, showing she was trying to restrain a smile. "Are we going to work on the assignment at your place tonight?" she asked, it's been about three months since you met Tara and she definitely relaxed during that time, she even came over to your place a couple of times. Just to work on assignments of course, but she still went to your place. And it didn’t take knowing her past to know that it somehow meant a lot for the girl in front to do that.

You nodded. "If you're okay with that," if she wanted to work on it somewhere else, you were more than happy to go there as well.

Tara's eyes shone with appreciation, and she blushed a bit.

~X~

As the night went on the summer heat was getting unbearable and if Tara could dismantle your fridge and go rest inside of it she would. She would probably fit as well. Seeing how small she was. Why did she have to be so small if she couldn't use that to her advantage and sit in the fridge?

"Fuck, it's too hot!" you complained, falling back onto the bed and covering your face to muffle a loud, completely understandable groan. "That's it!" you sat up so abruptly you nearly startled Tara in the process, but nothing prepared her for you just taking the arm sleeve you had covering your left arm off.

She's been curious ever since she noticed you had the tattoo, seeing as she thought some tattoos were cool, but she never got to see it. It always peeked out from underneath your clothes, just teasing and taunting her, the mystery of what was underneath the clothes plaguing her mind. If you weren't wearing long-sleeve shirts or jackets you were wearing an arm sleeve to cover it up. She had her suspicions, that it was at least a bigger tattoo, if not full-on arm sleeve tattoo. And her guess was right, though the sleeve of your T-shirt still covered some of it up Tara saw the bodies of two Chinese dragons surrounded by flames tangled up on your arm.

Without thinking she went and touched your forearm, tracing the body of one of the dragons and leaning closer to you. It wasn't until she heard your breath hitch that she realized what she was doing and backed away as if burnt by the flames on your arm. "Sorry, that was inappropriate," she apologized.

You scratched the back of your neck, a gesture she learned was something you did when you were a bit embarrassed. "No, it's okay, I just didn't expect it. Do you wanna see the rest?" you offered, that same smile she fell in love with once again gracing your face.

Tara scooted closer to you and nodded. You lifted up your sleeve and the dragons went up, almost to your shoulder, and there, between the dragons, she saw a heart, protected by the two dragons.

"Uh, my parents were born in the year of the dragon, so I feel like they watch over me no matter the distance between us," you explained, your expression softening as you thought of your parents. "Guess I got lucky with the year they were born in, I mean, can you imagine if they were born in the year of the rat?" you laughed.

Tara laughed right alongside you. Rats really wouldn't look nearly as cool as the dragons. "I think it's beautiful," she said as you stopped laughing and slowly reached toward it again. She bit her lower lip, you hid it, maybe you didn't like it being touched.

"Go ahead, I only hide it because it's more convenient," you moved so you were closer to her, and Tara placed her hand on your knee as she leaned over and touched your arm. She started from your wrist, tracing the right dragon all the way to its' head, and then moved on to the left dragon.

Somehow, the tattoo, and the explanation made her fall in love with you even harder and she glanced up to look you in the eyes. She wasn't sure where the sudden boldness came from, but she moved closer, parting her lips. And you understood, her gaze, her intention, not that she was trying to hide it. You closed the distance between the two of you, as her fingers stopped on the heart tattooed on your arm, and as her own heart pounded against her chest the two of you kissed.

Softly, gently, filled with so much love and trust, her lips moved against your own, as the two of you got tangled up much like the dragons on your arm. And she felt safe, her body pressed against yours, her other arm hugging you tightly as you held her, pulling her closer. She never thought she could trust someone besides Sam, Chad and Mindy as much as she trusted you, that she could never be completely vulnerable; yet she was wrong, with you she didn’t need to keep her guard up. With you the horrors of Woodsboro and Ghostface didn’t haunt her.

You’ve given her what she wanted her entire life, love, acceptance, safety, and she would give it back to you with all of her heart.

A/N: Right, I got a lot more requests than I expected and I didn't quite feel like writing Genius tonight, so, I figured I might as well knock a request out of the way. Hope this is what you wanted Anon! Thanks for the request and the compliment! 💙💙😁😁

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fourteen

authors note: swear this was the chapter that never fucking ended. it's essentially part one because even with how long it is, i still have a lot to cover. 😩

anywayssss, some foreshadowing, a ton of fluff, and some long awaited moments below.

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, smut

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

masterlist

words: 15k (sorrows, sorrows, prayers)

“Did they hurt?” The question is asked while sitting on top of Roman’s lap, the default seat for her, it seems, whenever she’s in his presence. Her fingers ghost over his inked skin, slightly fascinated by the intricacies of the design. Tribal. A nod to his heritage and his story.

Like most, if not all things with Solana, he answers truthfully. “Not really, but I have a high pain tolerance, so it’s hard to say.” For some reason, that makes her frown a bit. Was that a natural inherited thing or some level of tolerance built up from years of said pain? “Do you want any?”

She nods, tracing one of the patterns with her finger. “In Mexican culture, Hummingbirds represent many things. Strength. Love. But, the thing my mom always focused on and stressed to me is they’re also messengers from the spirits in heaven. That…they remind us of lost loved ones.” Her shoulders lift a little. Small, sad smile on her face. “Sometimes, I think I’d like to get one tattooed on me. Like…like a tribute to her, but then I think about the needle and don’t know if that could trigger me somehow.”

It could trigger from a couple different angles, but namely her trauma with knives as well as her history of self-harming. But, Solana is certain Roman already recognizes this, thus her not going into specifics. “I don’t know. I’ll….I’ll think about it some more.”

Roman nods, offering, “if you decide to get it, I’ll go with you.” 

It’s a thoughtful gesture, not entirely surprising. Solana is starting to recognize there’s very little the man underneath her wouldn’t do for her. 

Appreciatively kissing his cheek, she murmurs, “thank you.” Biting on her lip, she foolishly tries to see if she can get something else out of him. “Speaking of going….”

Roman chuckles. “I’m not telling you.” He rolls his eyes as she pouts almost, his thumb going to her cheek, the cut almost entirely healed. “You’ll find out in a couple hours.”

It’s been almost a week since the gala, and the temperature has settled tremendously. Roman still doesn’t like thinking about it, thinking about how he lost his fucking shit but mostly at the fact that Solana was attacked. 

He’s about to start having someone with her at all times. Even in the bathroom. 

Roman has also noticed there seems to be some conflicted emotions on Solana’s end regarding what happened in the bathroom. Namely because she caught wind of Wes injuries, injuries that are truly tame compared to what Roman would have done and will do once he gets his hands on that son of a bitch.

But, he is him, and Solana is her. They are very different people. She is gentle where he is hard, so while there is still that adrenaline and proudness she was experiencing at defending herself as well as she did, he can see it’s something that’s bothering her.

He’s tried to bring it up, but she shuts down, so he’s left it alone out of respect.

But, with her birthday being tomorrow and them leaving in a couple hours for their trip, he’s hopeful getting away will be good for her. For them. 

She then asks a bit of a silly question considering who she’s talking to. Roman plans for every little thing, from the most major detail to the thing that most likely won’t happen but still serves as something that needs to be accounted for. “Is….is it at least domestic? I don’t have a passport.” 

“Yes, you do.” He opens the first drawer of his desk, pulling out a small Louis Vuitton passport cover and hands it to her.

Solana looks down with a gasp seeing that she, in fact, has a passport. A brand new, unstamped passport. “How did you—”

An easy answer. “I’m a billionaire, Solana. There’s nothing I can’t buy or make happen.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t do much to chip away the tremendous amount of guilt and how bad she feels in learning that Roman’s birthday was back in May, and no one said or did a thing about it or acknowledged it.

She can still feel her stomach dropping when she asked a few days about when his is, and he calmly informed that it had already passed. That hurt. Truly. To know what should be a special occasion was essentially treated as any other day.

His explanation made sense. He expressed not liking to acknowledge his birthday because of what happened when he was 10. She can understand that. She does understand that, but it doesn’t make her feel any less sad at the fact that she didn’t even know it was her husband’s freaking birthday. 

Solana expresses said concern. “But…it’s….it’s not fair we’re doing all this for my birthday, and I didn't even know yours—”

“Hey—” He interrupts her, his hands cupping her face. “Don’t do that.” He pushes back some of her hair. “My story is my story. Not yours.” She opens her mouth clearly to protest or counter when his eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Besides, seeing you half naked most of the day for a week? Might as well be my fucking birthday.”

Solana rolls her eyes. He has a way of making her feel better in the most interesting and often raunchy sort of way. Blushing and smiling at his suggestive comment, she shrugs, admitting, “there are more bathing suits in my suitcase than clothes.”

“Good. The less clothes you have on, the better.” Her cheeks must be a red mess. Roman taps on her hip, gesturing for her to stand up. He also stands and takes her hand in his. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Solana looks down at her outfit which is most definitely nothing appropriate enough to leave the house in. “Are we leaving the house or—”

“No.” His answer is simple and to the point that she doesn’t really press him for more information as he guides her through the house. A frown does fall on her face, however, when she sees he’s taken her down the hall where he’d said construction was previously taking place.

It’s only then she finally asks, “what—”

“Close your eyes.”

Solana makes a face. “Roman, what are you—”

He steps towards her, pushing back her hair. “You know I don’t like repeating myself.” If she was anyone else, Solana is certain his tone would be much different. A lot darker, harsher. But, it’s not. Just….strangely calm. 

Blowing out a breath, she relents, realizing there’s not really an option for anything else. “Okay.” Shutting her eyes, she allows him to continue to guide her, stopping for a moment as she hears a door open. He directs her to walk through said opened door followed by a light switch, the presence of that light shining against her closed eyes. 

Solana feels him shift behind her, his arms snaking around her, mouth dipping to her ear. “Open em’.”

Solana doesn't need to be told twice, and as soon as they’re open, a gasp leaves her mouth. Naturally, she walks away from him, deeper into the room that has an open floor plan, walls almost entirely lined with white, empty shelves. Bookshelves. Against the walls and the cutout part of the room. Not to be confused with the other nook that’s occupied by seating, pillows, and anything else someone would need if indulging in reading or writing.

Walking further into the space, she sees another area clearly curated for another purpose. Art. A table to create on, two easels, countless art supplies all perfectly situated near the bay window that allows for natural sunlight. 

The perfect place to create. 

Taken completely back by the surprise of it all, Solana turns to Roman, stammering to ask, “is–is this for me?”

“You know it’s damn sure not for me.” He steps toward her again, gently pulling her against him. “You were outgrowing that space. And your journals are personal. They shouldn’t be kept at work.” His thumb brushes across her bottom lip. “They should be here. This is your home now.”

“Roman….” She looks around again, tears growing in her eyes. 

He continues to explain. “It would have been ready sooner, but when I found out you like art, I had them add that.” He gestures to the corner that has to be any artist's dream. “I’m not smart about a lot of that shit, so just let me know anything else you ne—”

He’s silenced by Solana practically jumping him, angling her body to face him as she wraps her arms around his neck. A hug, deep and sentimental. It takes him off guard for a second, Roman unused to such….affection.

But, the discomfort settles into something that almost feels natural. His hand on the small of her back as he chuckles. “I’m gonna take it that you like it then.” It’s not necessarily a question as much as an assessment. 

She gives a watery chuckle, pulling back and nodding. “I love it.” Her voice breaks. “No…..no one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” It goes without saying this doesn't include her mom, who Roman is almost certain did more for her than anyone ever could. Especially when she needed it the most.

Doesn’t mean he can’t do his part though. 

She swallows, whispering as he wipes away her tears. “Thank you.” 

“What I tell you about that, huh?” He ghosts his lips over hers, reminding yet again. “You never have to thank me for anything.” Roman kisses her forehead, seeing how her eyes shut from feeling content and partially overwhelmed. It brings a small smile to his face. “Happy birthday, Solana….”

________

“Oh my god….”

Roman doesn’t have to be looking up to know what’s caught Solana’s attention. It’s obvious by the way the SUV has come to a stop, shifting into park as they’ve clearly reached their destination.

And she’s clearly looking up at said destination. Well, the conduit to help them travel to said destination.

When he finishes sending out an email, one of the last before he goes into somewhat work blackout—because he never be fully disconnected—he looks up to see Solana still staring out the window. 

“Is that….is that a private jet?”

Smirking, Roman slides his phone in his bag and removes his seatbelt. “You really think I fly commercial?”

It’s not intended to come across as rude, and it isn't judging by her small smile. “They’re bigger than I imagined….”

“Mine is.” Double entendre, if he really wanted to make her blush, but he keeps it PG. For now. “I’m tall. Need the leg room.”

Roman exits the SUV at the same time the driver opens the door for Solana to do the same. He easily circles back around to her just in time for her to sling her small backpack on her shoulder and adjust her ball cap. In sneakers without any sort of height boost, she looks even tinier than she already is, especially compared to his massive build. 

Taking her hand, Roman asks, “you ready?”

She nods as he leads them over to the descended stairs where the pilot and two flight attendants stand outside, greeting them. The older man, Bob, he thinks, lifts his hat and nods respectfully in their direction.

“Mr. Reigns. Mrs. Reigns. Everything is just as you requested.”

Roman only gives a nod to acknowledge things being exactly as they should. His way.

He motions for Solana to walk up ahead of him, mainly so he can enjoy the view of her ass in the tight ass outfit she has on but also out of manners.

Manners he only seems to be able to find in her presence. 

She loiters a bit near the entrance, moving aide for him to also fully enter but still stands almost frozen, clearly taken back by the interior. 

“This is….”

“The best,” he finishes for her, tossing his bag on the closest beige sofa that lines both sides of the jet. Roman moves over to her, hand palming her ass as he dips his head to whisper in her ear. “I don’t accept anything less.”

She giggles against him, the sound hands down one of the best songs on the soundtrack when they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Momentarily considering murder for probably the fifth time today, Roman turns to see Paul standing at the bottom of the steps. Roman literally forgot this man was in the SUV behind them, coming to see them off.

Paul lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, asking with all of the unease. “A word, please, my Tribal Chief?”

The automatic answer would be no if not for Solana turning around and placing her hand on his chest. A frequent gesture he never gets tired of. Any touch from her is always welcomed.

Her smile dips a bit as she asks with the same level of unease shared by Paul, “is—is it okay if I look around?”

Her question makes him scowl. Her asking him permission to do anything feels uncomfortable as fuck. “You don’t have to ask my permission for shit. Anything that’s mine is yours.”

His answer seems to ease her anxiety at least as she nods, kisses his cheek and starts to explore the rest of the jet. Roman’s eyes linger on her a bit before he switches his attention to his annoying ass head council.

Stomping down the steps with all of the agitation, he barks, “talk.”

Paul clears his throat, and Roman’s already regretting his decision to choose his Wise Man over his fine ass wife.

“Sir, I—I understand you wanting to take the girl—”

“Solana,” Roman corrects one time only. Because that was Paul’s one time referring to Solana as anything other than her name or his wife. “Her name is Solana.”

Paul swallows. “Of course.” He’s a quick learner, smartly running it back for a second, correct time. “I understand you wanting to take Solana away for her birthday, but is the timing really great? There’s so much work—”

“There’s always work to do, Wise Man. That’s why I delegated the appropriate tasks to cover the appropriate work while I’m gone.” It was a bit trickier than that as delegation has never been a preference for Roman. His ultimate preference is to always handle shit on his own. And truth be told, he made sure to sign off, approve, create, and orchestrate any major moves that needed to be done before leaving. The remaining tasks were split among Jimmy, Jey, and Rikishi. And he has no doubt they’ll be on top of it. Because as always, when it comes to business, the twins never miss. It’s just any other time they’re bumbling idiots who give Roman migraines from time to time. 

“Of course. Always so conscientious, my Tribal Chief.” Paul’s smile makes Roman want to turn and walk away yet again for the second time in two minutes. Granted, that’s his usual disposition when interacting with anyone other than his wife. “I just—for you to be out of the country for almost a week. Well, it’s just—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s eyes light up, and it has nothing to do with the sun that’s shining in his direction. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“How long have I been the Tribal Chief?”

The answer is almost instantaneous, a small smile falling on Paul’s pudgy face. “Since you were eighteen-years-old.”

“How old am I now?”

“My Tribal Chief turned 39 on May 25th of this year.”

“And in all that time, how many vacations have I taken?”

There’s brief hesitation, eyes traveling for a brief second, searching for the answer. “N–none, my Tribal Chief.”

“Exactly.” Roman lifts his shades and sets them atop his head. “So, if I want to take a couple fucking days off to help my wife celebrate her birthday, then that’s what I’m gonna fucking do, and I don’t have to answer to a damn person about it. Because I feel like you’re questioning me, Wise Man, and I don’t get questioned. Is that understood?”

Paul’s fat cheeks are painted an ugly shade of red as he stammers out, “y–yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Semi pleased with the acquiescence, Roman turns around and calls out coldly, “only contact me for emergencies.”

Roman is almost certain Paul will be too scared shitless to risk his wrath with an outreach that’s only subjectively considered an emergency vs Roman’s definition. He’ll probably task Rikishi or the twins with the task. 

Roman would prefer their old man over them. Less antics and constant triggers for his anger.

The head of the table finds his wife still in the main section of the jet, sitting down on the sofa, legs pulled up under her, phone in hand. Hearing his return, she smiles, sharing, “I was just texting Naomi to make sure she grabbed Dulce’s favorite toy.”

Roman chuckles and walks over, joining her on the sofa. “The dog has a favorite toy?”

Smiling, she explains, “it’s the one she plays with the most. Her avocado.” Solana angles her body so she’s facing him more versus the other sofa that lines the other side of the plane. “Do—do you think she’ll be okay? We’ve never left her before.”

To be fair, Roman briefly thought about that. She’s so fucking little and still a puppy, so leaving her could be risky. But, he also knows that damn thing seems to always be hopping on Naomi and Bayley’s lap, so she should be fine.

“She’ll probably sleep the majority of the time we’re gone.”

Solana rolls her pretty eyes, her mouth curving into a small smile. “I’m serious, Roman.”

“So am I.” He sighs and brings his arm around her, pulling her into his side. “She’ll be fine, Solana. It’s not like we left her with Jey and psycho ass Nicki with their bad ass kids.”

Forever the saint, she pouts and lightly scolds him. “That’s not nice. I’m sure they’re not bad.”

“You ain’t met them yet,” Roman scoffs. “Why you think Jey always at our place?”

Smiling cheekily, she gently points out, “you said it’s because I keep feeding them.”

“That too.” Roman trails his finger up and down her upper forearm, her soft skin a contrast to his coarse fingertips. Her perfume, something sweet, vanilla, and gourmand doesn’t help him keep focus on the conversation nor the fact that she’s so close to him, their bodies touching him. His desire for physical contact, of any kind, with her has been heightened a bit in recent days. “That’s why you don’t feed fucking strays. Cause they keep coming back.”

Solana peers up at him, giggling, “you’re so mean to them sometimes.” Shifting her position so that her legs are laid out the opposite side of Roman, her back pressed against his side. His big arm is over her chest, her hands on his forearm. “I think….I think you like them more than you let on.”

“Really?” 

She nods, further explaining. “I don’t….I don’t think you would let them be as close to you as they are if you didn’t.”

Perceptive. Roman pegged that about Solana a while ago, when they first started writing, her previous preferred form of communication. She’s not entirely wrong. As fucking crazy Jimmy and Jey drive Roman, they’ve also been the two best and really only examples of friendships he has. Not to mention they’re family. 

“They’re….tolerable.”

She looks up at him, asking almost nervously, “and what am I?”

Such a good question that’s both simple and complicated. The easy answer is his wife. That’s just fact. Law. But the complex answer, the complex answer is that she’s so much more than that. That she’s become so much more than that. Where Roman finds himself craving her presence. A rarity for someone who typically avoids and shies away from social interactions like the plague.

Dipping his head to kiss her forehead, he answers in a low, steady voice, “my Lo’u Au.”

Her eyes flutter shut a bit as she murmurs, “it’s not fair you say things to me you know I can’t understand.” Roman watches her once again move around, this time sliding one leg over so that she’s sitting on his lap, straddling him. He doesn’t hesitate in moving his hands to the bottom of her ass, lifting her so she’s closer to him, her breast nearly touching his chest. Solana tilts her head to the side, whispering, “Yo siento muy bien contigo.”

Having her like this, so close against him, it doesn’t help that resolve, doesn’t do shit about the fact that his dick stiffens whenever she touches him. Like she is now. His eyes dip to her lips, so soft and full. “And what does that mean?”

Solana also seems to be on the same wavelength, her eyes also dropping to his mouth as she whispers with a small smile. “I’ll tell you when you tell me.”

Eyes shutting, Roman groans and tugs her even closer, her arms around his neck. “God, you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” Roman kisses her. Kisses her with all of the intensity and desire and borderline need he harbors for this woman.

And then she moans. She fucking moans in his mouth. His dick nearly fucking jerks as he stands up with her in his arms, Solana gasping and breaking the kiss to look around. “Roman….”

He needs to have his mouth on her, lips kissing the underline of her jaw as he brings them to the back of the jet, to the bed. He’s careful in how he lays her down, mindful of how she tugs on his shirt, pulling him on top of her and resuming their passionate kiss. 

Roman’s hands roam her body, but he pays extra attention to her breast, so big and soft, pillow soft under his hand as he kneads them, mindful of the way her nipples continue to harden under his touch.

“Roman….” Solana is breathing heavily, once again breaking their kiss, something he would otherwise be objected to if not for the two tiny words that leave her mouth. “Touch me.” 

His eyes widen a bit as he asks, almost unsure he heard her right. “What?”

Mouth parted, she licks her lips and again reiterates her previous request. “I—I want you to touch me.”

If not for not wanting to insult her intelligence, he’d remind her he is. He's touching her everywhere she’s previously admitted him access to. But, Roman would never do that nor is he stupid. He knows exactly what she’s referring to. And there’s suddenly a part of him that feels bad, wonders if she somehow thought that was the reason for him taking them to the bed. It wasn’t that. He just wanted privacy, wanted to give her that privacy. 

“Solana, I wasn’t—”

“Roman,” she says his name again, firmer, more committed almost to her request. “I trust you.” Three words. Three little words that pack such a heavy, emotional punch. “You’re…you’re going to have to when we finally…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Pl—please.” 

He shuts his eyes, jaw clenching. That one word alone coming from her is such a dangerous thing. Dangerous because it's incapable to say no to.

But, he doesn’t necessarily have to because her hand is on his, slowly moving it down from her breast, traveling down the span of her stomach and the top of her black pants. But instead of remaining there, Solana guides it under her waistband, her tour stopping when the palm of his hand presses softly on her mons pubis, still protected under the cotton of her underwear. Her eyes shut at this contact, but it’s when his fingers flitter near the space between her legs that she gasps.

His eyes snap to hers as he’s quick to ask, “do you want me to stop?”

And she’s immediately shaking her head ‘no,’ explain, “I’m just—not used to it.” She’s already so sensitive to his touch. Roman can’t even imagine what this level of sensitivity is going to look like when they go all the way. “It’s okay.” She’s again reassuring him, even spreading her thighs a bit, giving him better access.

Roman is hard as a fucking rock, but he taps into expert level self-control as he moves his other hand to her waistband, giving a slight tug. “Can I?”

She answers in a soft voice. “Yes.”

Solana lifts her hips as he slides her black pants down her shapely legs, his mouth practically watering to see and have so much of her soft skin exposed to him. He moves his hand to caress the skin of her inner thighs. She sighs, content, and this serves as more motivation to continue his efforts in following through on her task. 

Again, he’s making sure to catch her gaze. “Do….”

And once again, she partially takes him by surprise as she closes her eyes and instead of giving him the approval to remove the only remaining article of clothing keeping her covered from him, Solana takes her fingers to her underwear and pushes down, lifting her hips slightly until they're hooked around her ankles and kicked onto the floor.

Mouth previously watering, Roman feels a sudden, intense amount of dehydration. She’s completely bare and exposed to him, her cunt so smooth and pretty, lips glistening already just from their makeout.

If not for her trauma, he’d have already had this woman more times than he could count.

But, he’d especially already had her in his mouth. Licking his lips, he does his best to keep composure, maintaining the maturity of a grown ass man vs a horny ass teenage boy whose balls haven’t even dropped.

Once more, he asks, “are you sure?”

It might be overkill to some, but one thing’s for certain, he would never go this far without gaining her consent every step of the way. 

She answers, “yes.” 

Roman nods, starting his hand at the top of her belly, gradually teasing it downward until he’s touching her, long fingers gently caressing her lips, the tips of his fingers gathering some of her essence. “How you already this wet for me?”

It’s more rhetorical than anything, but it’s partially fueled with how her stomach caves in a bit just at that initial touch. Her being so responsive to just his hands does wonders for his ego but also fuels his burning to just make her feel good.

Roman uses long, slow strokes along the areas of her vulva, never taking his eyes off her face, mouth dropping open, eyes slamming shut and head craning back. Pleasure. She feels pleasure. That’s what he wants to see. All he wants to see.

There’s not an ounce of discomfort in sight.

“Roman…” Her moaning his name might be his new favorite song. So needy and wanton. It’s got his erection fighting for its life in his boxers. “Shit….”

He smirks a bit. “Must be good if I got you cussing, baby.” It’s evident in the way she becomes swollen underneath his expert touch, eventually exposing her clit. And it’s then that he brings his thumb to her clit, pressing softly, satisfied when she arches against the bed. “That’s it….”

Such light touches, not a finger entered into her yet, and she’s already so wet. Largely due to sexual deprivation and being touch starved. Of that, he’s certain. To be almost thirty and have never been touched as such as a woman seems almost criminal. He wants to give it to her though. Give her that experience. Give her all of the experiences. 

He works his thumb around her swollen clitoris, small circles, her growing wetness all the lube and slip he needs to work her good, in the way she deserves, in only how he can have her.

“Oh my god…” She’s starting to squirm against the bed, and he fucking loves it. Loves seeing how worked up he can get her. It makes the anticipation of actually being inside of her that much better. He plays around with different touches, different techniques, studying closely what seems to evoke the strongest physical reaction. A sort of a game, a way for him to learn her body, to learn what she likes. But also, for her to learn what she likes.

“You okay?” He checks in with her, seeing her nod ‘yes’ almost frantically. If not for the fact he can see speech is a bit difficult right now, he’d press her on actual words. But, he can extend some grace. “So fucking wet….” She’s a wet, soaking mess, pussy soaking his fingers, her thighs, and the bed under her. Not that he gives a flying fuck. Seeing her like this is better than he could have imagined, just a taste of what it’ll be like to be inside of her. 

But, it’s when he teases a finger near her opening, so wet and sticky that he clenches his jaw. Just that slight probing, and he can already tell how tight she is, can imagine that tightness gripping the mess out of his dick.

Roman carefully enters one finger and observes the way she tenses, whimpers, the way her cunt clenches against him. “Relax….” He coaxes her, talks her through it, allows her to adjust to the unfamiliar stretch while his thumb continues to play with her clit, never once stopping her pleasure train. 

And when she’s adjusted, he enters another finger, stopping there, not wanting to push her too far, recognizing how big this is for her. But when she shifts again, almost rocking against his fingers, Roman responds to her, moving in sync, staying along with her song and dance. He works with her, making the hitherto motion while his other fingers continue to rub and caress her into that higher room, that place of ecstasy. 

Roman can see it coming, can see her coming, see the way she starts to grip the sheets, the biting of her bottom lip.

“I’m—I’m—”

“Ride it out, baby. Let me see how pretty you look when you come on my hand.” His words of affirmation seem to take her over the edge, damn near her entire upper half arching off the bed, her body writing as she gives into the bliss, staying on that train to euphoria. 

Roman keeps his fingers inside of her just long enough to feel that fucking amazing sensation of making her come yet again, and he can’t help himself as he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth, tasting and licking off every bit of her. His eyes shut at her taste, just as fucking sweet as he imagined. 

God, he can’t wait to have this woman. 

Coming to, Solana sits up on her elbows a bit, looking down, becoming aware of just how messy things got. And she seems a bit embarrassed, offering what’s surely the start of an unnecessary apology. “I–oh my—I didn’t.”

Roman says nothing, just gets up and moves to the bathroom, grabbing a towel off the rack and bringing it to her. He’d clean her up himself, but he doesn’t necessarily trust himself to not try for take two.

Letting her handle it is the safest route, but he can work to dissuade any thought or feeling she might have that makes her think she did anything wrong.

“I’ll buy a new fucking mattress every damn day if it means I get to make you come like that.” 

Solana has cleaned herself and the bed as best she can as she reaches to slide her underwear back on. Roman has to push away his disappointment. She has such a pretty pussy. 

Her cheeks are red, partially because of what just occurred but also her naturally shy personality. “You’re really good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things, Solana.” He has every intention on eventually showing her just what those remaining things are, but time and place. 

He’ll be as patient with her as she needs. 

After Solana is all cleaned up, returned to a semi state of being adequately dressed, they fall into a sense of normalcy where she lays in bed, reading and writing a bit while he finishes up some work tasks on his laptop right beside her before she drifts off into a sleep that lasts longer than he was expecting.

He’s tempted to wake her when they start to descend, partially wanting her to look out the window at the clear, blue waters that he can admit are impressive looking. But, he decides against it, waiting until they’ve landed and are ready to exit the jet.

Gently shaking her shoulder, he stirs her, “Solana, wake up.” She does so relatively easily, pretty brown eyes blinking a little in confusion as he explains. “We made it.”

Those three words help bring her to a full state of consciousness. He smiles a bit seeing how she moves quicker than what’s probably necessary to get out of the bed and slide her shoes on, looking back at him and reaching for his hand.

Roman closes his laptop and does the same, taking her hand, guiding her out the jet. They’re both instantly met with an intense heat and radiating sun shining in their direction. They’re also met with the staff and security he made sure to have lined up and ready to go upon their arrival.  He walks out first, watching and taking her hand again as she follows him, face turned up in expected confusion. 

But, before she can ask anything, one of the men offers what may be a genuine smile. Not that Roman cares about that.

He flicks his gaze between the two of them. “Welcome to Isla Mujeres, Mr. and Mrs. Reigns….”

A loud gasp next to him is unsurprising, Solana almost spinning to look around, trying to process that she’s really standing on Mexican soil.

She eventually turns to him, eyes wide and then softening into something so warm and appreciative. “Roman…”

“It’s the only way I could get you to myself and away from my annoying ass cousins—” Once again, Roman is cut off by Solana throwing her body against his for a hug that results in him easily picking her up, her legs around his waist.. Similar to the embrace at the home library one. Emotional. Grateful. Happy.

She’s laughing a bit, even with tears burning her vision. “Thank you.”

Roman doesn’t correct her this time, just murmurs a ‘you’re welcome’ and kisses her temple. He  lets her back down, hand moving to her ass. “You’re gonna have to translate while we’re here though.”

Solana shakes her head. Such a small thing in exchange for such a major act of kindness. “That’s fine.” She holds onto his arm as the staff move to take their bags from the jet while security directs them to the SUV.

Solana is looking out the window almost the entire ride, captivated by the scenery, the landscape, the beauty of it all while he’s just focused on the beauty sitting right beside him.

She asks the driver something in Spanish, the answer putting an even bigger smile on her face. She turns to him, asking, “how long are we here for?”

“A week,” Roman answers, noticing the way her eyes light up even more. “Still think we shouldn’t have come?”

She rolls her eyes and playfully shoves her body against his, grabbing his arm and laying her head against his shoulder. “I just….I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You could never inconvenience me. I do what I want. You know this.” His lips linger near her hairline. “And I wanted to do this for you.”

“Well, I’m appreciative. So much. You….you don’t know how much this means to me.” 

He thinks he has an idea. 

The ride from the airport to the house is approximately twenty minutes, and just like the moment Solana stepped foot off the jet, she’s got that same look of marvel painted all over her pretty place at the property.

Roman, meanwhile, is just satisfied the pictures didn’t lie. If anything, they didn’t do it justice. 

She’s almost like a child on Christmas as she asks with excitement, “is this where we’re staying?” Before he can answer, she’s indirectly apologizing. “Roman, you didn’t have to spend so much money on this place. We’re only going to be here a week. We could have just—”

“I’m rich, Solana. I only do ownership.”

Her jaw drops again. “You bought this?” He nods. She scoffs, looking around, trying to process the fact that she’s technically standing on her property. “So….so we could come back?” 

“I don’t know how often I could come with you, but you’re welcome to come and go as you please.” It goes without saying she’d have hefty security detail as well as either Bayley or Naomi attending, but beyond that, Roman could never see himself denying her this. Denying her the opportunity to connect more with her maternal side since the paternal side has only ever caused her nothing but heartache.

Here, there’s a chance to rewrite the chapter. 

She walks over to him, holding onto his forearm, asking almost tentatively. “Can I look around the house?”

“How about we do this instead?” She looks genuinely curious as he explains. “If it’s regarding your safety, you ask. If not, you just do it.” Roman’s unsurprised by her unsure expression. “I don’t get to decide how you live your life. That’s all you.”

“Unless it could present a safety risk?”

“Exactly. Cause in that case, the answer is probably no.” A part of him dislikes having a caveat, but in the world they live in, with him being who he is, he can’t take any risks. He won’t take any risks. Not when it comes to her.

Ever.

Solana nods as if she understands better now. She slides her hand down, taking his with hers as she lightly tugs on his arm. “Come with me.”

It’s an easy request. There’s not much she could ask he’d say no to. If anything. 

Solana is just as amazed by the inside of the house as the outside, especially the kitchen, the first thing she gravitates to. Naturally.

“We have to go shopping,” she shares. “So I can cook.”

“Solana, you’re not cooking while we’re here.” She frowns, a pout almost on her pretty face. “We’re celebrating your birthday. The fuck I look like you making you cook on something that’s supposed to be for you? I hired a chef for us.”

Her frown softens a bit as she lays her hand on his chest. “You’re not making me do anything. I—I like cooking. You know this.”

“I know you do, but I want you to relax and enjoy yourself while we’re here.” His hands move down to her ass. “Starting with the pool in the back.”

A small smile grows on her face. “There’s a pool?”

He nods, imagining that sexy body of hers clad in one of those skimpy two pieces he told Bayley and Naomi to make sure she purchased plenty of. “I told you. Half naked, baby.” She giggles as he squeezes her ass and lightly pushes on his chest, separating them.

“Where’s our bedroom?”

He has to think about it for a minute. “Down the hall. Should be the first or second room on the right.” Again, she grabs his hand, guiding them based upon his directions. Directions that prove correct, Solana once again taken back by the luxury of it all. The room is damn near bigger than some apartments and provides direct access to the back of the house which houses the pool and hot tub.

“This is all so beautiful…..”

“Hmmm.”

Solana briefly turns from looking out the door when two of the guards bring her and Roman’s luggage into the room. She thanks them, while Roman just seems to glare at them to get them to leave immediately, which they do.

Once alone, she turns to Roman, “can we—” He doesn’t even have to correct her. She does it all on her own. “I—I want to go see the beach.”

He smirks. Assertiveness looks damn good on her. “Then let’s go to the beach.”

________

Roman is both surprised and unsurprised when Solana walks out the bathroom, a cover up partially preventing him from seeing whatever bathing suit she picked. And his disappointment must show as she murmurs, “I’ll take it off when we get there.”

Feeling like it’ll help her feel a bit better, less self-conscious, he informs, “it’ll just be us. I had the beach….cleared, if you will.”

Obviously confused, she wonders aloud, “how….how do you clear a beach?” Solana gasps, lowering her voice as she asks in an almost scared tone. “Did you….did you kill anyone?”

“Not today. Not yet, at least.” The way her eyes widen a bit makes him chuckle. “I’m Roman Reigns, Solana.” He walks past her, adding with all of the arrogance that he can without a doubt back up, “I always get what I want.”

Solana says nothing. Not that she needs to say anything. However, she notices then what Roman was messing with on the bed before she walked out the bathroom. “What is this?” She walks over, reaching for but not touching the camera. “You bought a camera?”

“I’ve had that for years.”

Curious, she less asks and more makes a simple statement, sharing, “I didn’t know you were into photography.”

He shrugs, almost indifferent. Dismissive. “It’s an interest. Haven’t really done much of it in a while.”

“You should,” she encourages. Solana would love to see and support him embrace a side of him that isn’t so deeply embedded in his work that seems never ending. “Especially while we’re here. It’s all so beautiful…”

“I could photograph you and get the same result.”

She smiles, looking away while admitting, “I—I don’t really like having my picture taken.”

“Too bad.” She looks back at him, Roman explaining. “That’s also an insecurity thing. I told you. I’m not letting you feed your insecurities.”

A part of her is grateful for that, grateful for him. Appreciative that he always seems to remind her of these things that she still struggles to notice or believe about herself from time to time. Like the fact that she is beautiful.

“Okay,” she relents, partially knowing it’s not like Roman will give in anyway. “But…but you can’t show them to anyone.”

“Solana, I don’t like sharing you with anyone as it is. You really think I’m trying to share some pictures?” It’s a fair, valid point. “No, I won’t show them to anyone.”

Pleased with the acknowledgement, the two finish getting ready and are out the door in less than 20 minutes. Given the fact that the property is more or less on the water, they opt, more Solana, asks to walk versus driving. Roman isn’t opposed. The beach is cleared, security is roaming the property, not to mention it’s a beautiful day.

Plus, he enjoys intentionally lagging a bit behind to enjoy the jiggle of her ass as she walks ahead of him.

Truly a win-win for all.

The minute she steps foot onto the sand, enters onto the actual beach, there’s a bit of a shift. Nothing negative. The complete opposite. Roman can sense her emotion growing, the reality of finally being in her mom’s home country truly settling in. 

He’s partially surprised by just how quickly she moves to the actual water, standing in the space where sand and ocean meet.

“My mom was right….” His gaze falls on her. “It’s so beautiful.” She steps forward a bit more, wind pushing the water closer as it grazes her feet. “I want to go in.” Another slight surprise, but not entirely. A part of the reason he’s been having her get in the pool was for this very moment, to lessen and minimize her fear so she could truly embrace this experience for all it can offer.

He nods but gestures to the camera bag. “Pictures first.”

She scowls a bit, and he chuckles, pulling the camera out. “Roman…”

“Non-negotiable, baby.” And she knows this, knows he’s not letting up when it comes to building her self-esteem and demolishing her body insecurity.

“Okay….” It feels a bit strange at first, posing as Roman snaps photos of her. She’s more than certain the first set of photos look just as awkward as she feels. But as time passes and with his encouragement and slight guidance, the awkwardness melts into something similar to relaxation. Her smile is a natural thing vs the result of being told to smile. 

And even when he tells her to remove the cover up, there’s some level of apprehension about being photographed in her bathing suit, but there’s also a level of confidence and reassurance that it’s literally just the two of them.

Roman has her damn near posing like it’s a real photoshoot, and when all is said and done, she’s tugging on his arm as he puts the camera away. “Come with me.”

Solana is both surprised and thankful when he doesn’t push back on her request, doesn’t deny it. There’s an obvious level of disinterest, but it’s nothing compared to his desire to make her happy. 

And in the beautiful ocean water that brushes past in little ripples and slight waves against her shoulder, holding onto her strong, handsome husband who seems to look at her like she set all the stars in the sky, she feels just that:

Happy

________

Solana is unsure just how long they spend at the beach. Long enough that by the time they return to the house, the chef he hired for them, an older, kind woman named Maria, has dinner just about ready to serve. And it’s exactly when they finish showering and cleaning up, the plate of delicious food is laid on the table, ready to devour.

It’s a bit of a different yet pleasant experience being able to have dinner with her husband. More often than not, he has to take it in his office due to his volume of work. So having him across from her, being able to talk with him while they indulge in Pozole is a kind of happiness she could get used to. 

But, it’s later that evening when they lay in the bed, Solana’s body sprawled on top of his much bigger one, Roman’s hand under her pajama shirt rubbing her skin, that something comes over her. A desire to unload something that’s been oscillating in the back of her head, no matter how many times she tries to push it away.

“I feel bad.” 

He doesn’t look down, just asks her calmly, “about?”

Solana licks her lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt him that badly.”

Roman had a feeling that’s what she was referring to, but he didn’t want it to be true. “Solana—”

“I know. I know I defended myself, but….” She tries to word it as best she can, though she also knows there’s little to no way Roman will abandon his ardent belief that Wes got exactly what he deserved. “I keep thinking about my mom and how….she always reminded me that at the end of the day, Wes is my brother, and a lot of his behavior was because of my dad.”

Roman does his best to keep his voice leveled, to keep out the unsettled anger he holds and will always hold against her piece of shit sibling. He doesn’t want her to think any level of that anger is directed toward her. “You were kids then, Solana. Sure, Xavier probably said and influenced a lot of things, but your brother isn’t a child anymore. He’s a grown man. There’s no excuse for the things he’s said and done to you.”

None whatso–fucking—ever.

And Solana knows that, hence her expressing agreement. “I know you’re right.” Her voice drops a bit, paving way for more vulnerability. “I just….I was so angry that night, and…and I’m not an angry person. I—I don’t like that.” Before he can continue his work to take away her unrequited feelings, she asks almost over a whisper, “what does it feel like to kill someone?”

Her question takes him back a bit, but he knows why she’s asking, where it’s coming from.

“Solana—”

She sits up, looking down at him, eyes watering. “If he dies….”

He brings his hand to her cheek, comforting her, “he won’t. That bastard isn’t allowed to die. Not unless it’s by my hand.”

Roman has ensured Wes has the best medical care money can provide solely for the fact that while his beating was well-deserved, it’s paltry compared to all of the ways Roman wants to make that bastard suffer before he encounters the fiery gates of hell. 

Xavier as well.

She shakes her head, sniffling, “I don’t—I can’t live with knowing I took someone’s life. I—” Her voice cracks. “I just can’t.”

“You won’t,” he vows. Anyone who would ever need to cease to exist because they’ve wronged her in some way, he would handle. He will handle. Because he agrees. Solana is a pure soul. Despite all of the evil surrounding and done to her, she’s retained her kind heart and gentle spirit. Killing someone, taking another life, destroys that, forever pollutes the soul in a way that’s irreversible. 

Roman would die before he let that happen to her.

But the topic of this conversation, it brings something else up for Solana. Something that literally shatters her spirit to think about, let alone verbalize aloud. But, she has to tell him, can’t keep it to herself any longer. It’s not fair to him with how good he’s been to her. 

She loves him too much to continue to lie to him.

“Roman…” Her throat suddenly feels so dry, stomach weighed down by a slate of concrete. “There’s something I—”

“Shhhh.” He sits up, bringing his other hand to her cheek, fully cupping her face. “Tomorrow is your birthday, Solana. You don’t need to be this upset.” He again brushes away her tears, gently adding, “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Her eyes shut. He has no idea the increased emotion is for an entirely different reason. “But—”

Roman seems keen on not allowing the conversation to continue, solely because he dislikes how troubled she’s getting. Sees it as unfair. “It’s gonna be fine.” He then asks, “you trust me, don’t you?” She nods softly. That’s given at this point. There’s no one she trusts more than Roman Reigns. “Then trust I’ve got this.”

Her eyes shut, as she tries to listen and marinate on his words. Her husband is adept at remaining calm and being prepared for any and everything. She…she has to trust that for right now. Trust him. 

Has to table this conversation. For now.

Roman guides her to lay back down on his chest, Solana snuggling against him. “I’ve got you, Sol.” Her heart nearly bursts at that, at the nickname she hasn’t been called in years. The name her mother often referred to her as. Her eyes shut, stomach settling, emotions subsiding in the way only Roman seems capable of orchestrating. “Always.”

________

The first thing Solana notices when she wakes up the next morning is the noticeable empty space besides her. The space where Roman should be sleeping, his muscular arm around her body, holding her against him. 

Instead, she awakes on her back, alone, with no Roman in sight.

She frowns for a few seconds, sitting up in the bed and rubbing her eyes. The sadness shifts away just as soon as it appeared. Solana knows he must either be in the gym or doing something for work. There’s very little concern that he’s ventured far.

It’s why she grabs her phone off the nightstand only to find a plethora of birthday texts and an attached photo of Dulce in the group chat with her, Naomi, Bayley, Jimmy, and Jey.

Bayley: Happy birthday, friend! Roman’s ass better be treating you like the queen you are! 💙 Love you so much and can’t wait until you get back so we can fuck up some more trucks together! 😜

Naomi: What Bayley said! Happy freaking birthday, Solana! Even if you wanted to, you ain’t getting rid of us. Sisters for life! 💚

Jey: Happy birthday, lil sis! Make sure you take lots of pics of Free Willy over there!

Jimmy: Man, you dumb asf. They supposed to look at dolphins! Not sharks! Free Willy was a shark!

Jimmy: Happy birthday, sis!

Naomi: Solana, you can feel absolutely feel free to mute this chat until you return. 😐

Bayley: Or forever.

There’s a myriad of emotions coursing through her. So much happiness. Bayley. Naomi. Jimmy. Jey. A family. They’ve become her family. 

It brings tears to her eyes and keeps her in bed a couple minutes longer as she basks in the kind words and love.

It also keys her into just what Roman has planned for her big day. That brings on an additional layer of emotionality. He’s so so good to her.

Solana: Thank you, guys. You all have no idea what you mean to me. 🥺♥️

Placing her phone on the nightstand, she finally climbs out of bed and into the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth, and wash her face. She decides against placing the robe over her pajamas. An unnecessary thing considering Roman’s seen just about all of her at this point.

It'll make telling or asking him the realization she’s come to just a tad bit easier.

Out the bathroom and down the steps, sure enough, she finds him, burly body plopped down on one of the chairs in the kitchen, Maria working away to prepare what’s probably a more than necessary, grand breakfast.

Roman’s hearing and peripheral vision is expert level, because she’s barely in the kitchen when he lifts his gaze from the open laptop in front of him and sets his sights on her. One finger beckons her in his direction. An unnecessary thing considering that’s exactly where she was already headed.

Solana is easily guided onto his lap, Roman taking index finger under her chin for a kiss that’s so soft compared to his typically rough demeanor. She smiles. “Good morning….”

He chuckles. “Morning.” His hand moves to her cheek, “happy birthday.”

Heart filled, she lays her head against his shoulder, intentionally not looking at the computer in the event it’s private but still asks. “What are you doing?”

He instead motions for her to do just that. “Look.”

She does, and instantly she’s burying her face back into him. “Roman, I hate looking at pictures of myself.” Because that’s what’s on his screen, one of the photos he took of them at the beach yesterday. 

“Too bad, cause that might be one of my new favorite things.” She smiles yet again, a given whenever she’s around him. Solana also finds herself forcing her attention back to the screen, reaching to click through the photos, most of her, which is uncomfortable but still bearable. However, her attention is mostly drawn to the ones not of her, of the beach and nature and scenery that he took. 

“These are so good.” She finds herself complimenting him, because it’s true. Added to the long list of things Roman is exceptionally good at is photography. She teases him a little. “You should photograph more.”

He scoffs, an almost bitter tone to his voice. Not directed at her, of course. “When?”

She shrugs. “I—I don’t know, but we can figure it out. If…if you like to do it, then you should do it.” And just like that, she’s determined to help him figure out just that. It’s the least she can do for him.

Truly.

Noticing Maria multitasking, Solana calls out and asks, “Maria, do you need any help?”

The older woman gasps dramatically and waves away the offer as if it was an insult. “Nonsense, child. It is your birthday. You must rest and let that handsome husband of yours treat you.”

Solana laughs a bit. 

Roman asks, “what did she say?”

“I asked her if she needs any help, and she basically told me I don’t get to do any of that cause it’s my birthday.”

“Damn straight,’ Solana giggles as he moves his hand to her hip. “We’ll leave after breakfast.”

Being honest, she dances her fingers up his arm, teasing almost, “I know where we’re going….” 

Roman gives her one of those infamous smirks which quickly drops when he realizes something. “Which one was it? Dumb or Dumber?”

Giggling, she hands him her phone, opening the group chat and showing him the messages.

His eyes rake over the words, and Solana has to bite back her laugh at the absolute irritated expression painted on his handsome face when he’s done. “Even hundred fucking miles away, they ruin shit.”

She kisses his cheek, wanting to calm him down. “It’s okay.” Solana suddenly asks. “Are you gonna do it with me?”

He gives her a look. “That’s for you, Sol. Not me.”

She pouts a little, gently reminding him, “but…it can be for the both of us.”

“Swimming with Dolphins screams you. Not me.” He adds on with an almost scowl and shake of his head. “I’m too old for that shit.” Curious, he switches the topic a bit, asking, “does our age difference bother you?”

“I never really thought of it,” she answers, honestly. Roman being older than her truly has never been anything she’s considered to be an issue. At the beginning of this whole arrangement, she had a slate of other much more relevant reasons to be cautious and wary. All of those reasons almost making her laugh a bit because they’re so far away from the truth. “So, no.” She shrugs, adding. “I—I never really had good luck with guys my age anyway.” Or, at all, really. “Besides….” She chews on her bottom lip, coyly starting off a leading sentence, “there’s nothing about you that bothers me….except—”

Roman is every bit as eager as he looks for the rest. “Except?”

She bats her eyelashes, almost intentionally trying to butter him up. “If you could be a little nicer to your cousins….”

“Baby, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” He once again reiterates what, in his mind, should be painfully obvious. “I’m not a nice person.”

“But you are,” she stresses, fingers moving through his beard. “You are to me.”

“It’s different with you, Solana.” He’s not necessarily in the space to explain just how it’s different, but it is. She’s in a category all on her own. “Look….do my cousins piss me off at least 8 times a day? Yes. Do I have thoughts of homicide regarding them at least once a day? Sure. But….” He blows out a breath. “We’ve been friends since we were little kids. They’re family. I would die for them just as quickly as I know they would die for me.”

While she understands his point and is grateful for his level of openness and vulnerability, Roman and death in the same sentence brings out an almost physical reaction on her part.

That’s not even something she can tolerate thinking about.

She would lose her fucking mind if something were to ever happen to him. 

Solana is desperate to change the subject, needing something, literally anything, other than Roman dying to think about. “I….I know what I want you to give me for my birthday.”

His brow lifts as he asks with a bit of attitude. “You planning on telling me, considering it’s here?”

She smiles softly, finger trailing down his face. “Later….” Solana climbs off his lap, rubbing her stomach. “Right now, I just want to eat breakfast with my husband.”

________

It’s called Dolphin Discovery. The activity Roman has planned for the morning of her birthday, and it consists of exactly what the title implies as well as what Jimmy and Jey unintentionally spoiled for her.

Not that that’s a big deal, per se.

It doesn’t dim her excitement. The way her smile is painted on her face at the private event Roman arranged for just them, the only other people are the staff and instructors who guide the event. 

Solana is even able to convince Roman to join her for a short period of time in the water, granted he looks irritated and uninterested the entire time. Still, she knows his focus and priority is just making sure she has a nice time.

And she does. 

It’s full of smiles and laughter. 

Just as the rest of the day as Solana asks to go to the beach after, fully enamored with the crystal clear water and beauty that is the island of las mujeres. Of course, this comes with the almost stipulation from Roman that he has to photograph her again.

She’s less uncomfortable this time around, posing for his photos without as much reservation. The decreased inhibitions largely due to her overall happiness. Solana hasn’t felt so great, so in love with life for a very long time.

If ever. 

But, she’s even more touched when Roman guides them back to the beach later that evening what’s a private dinner for just the two of them.

“Roman….” She can’t help to take in the beautiful set up as he pulls out the seat for her. “This is so beautiful….”

He takes her in as he sits opposite of her, the way her dress hugs her so beautifully, the soft set of her eyes as she continues to marvel, smiling so genuinely at the setup. “Very…”

She brings her attention back onto him, reminding, “Roman, you really….you really didn’t have to do all of this. I would have been just as happy back home with you.”

“That’s too boring.” He dismisses, reaching across the table for her hand. “Too close to people. I wanted you to myself.”

She smiles, teasing him a bit. “Is that why it’s just been mostly you and me so far?”

“Damn straight.” 

She giggles, head tilted as she turns his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm. “Me haces muy feliz….”

His eyes squint with intrigue. “You’re really going to make me learn Spanish, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answers softly, focused on her gesture with his hand. “I’m…I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.”

“Which is?” 

Her eyes lift to his, locking intensely. “How much I care about you.” 

How much I love you.

That part…..that he doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. Solana knows she wears her heart on her sleeve to a certain extent. Knows how perceptive her husband is. But, if he has noticed, he hasn’t said anything. And she’s partially grateful for that, because acknowledging her love for him, internally anyway, is something that she’s okay with. Something she doesn’t really question.

She can’t say the same for him.

Love and Roman have a complicated history she can’t even begin to truly understand. It may not be something he feels capable of anymore, not after the kind of loss he experienced. And she can understand that. She’s okay with that. Because the way he treats her, the way he makes her feel, the happiness he brings her….it’s more than enough.

It’s all she needs.

The dinner itself is just as wonderful as any other meal they’ve had the past two days, but what Solana mostly enjoys is the conversation. Being able to talk to and with Roman has easily become one of her favorite things. Their conversation never goes stale, and even when she worries she’s annoying him, he keeps it going.

He truly is becoming one of her best friends. Not in the same way Naomi and Bayley have. Something different, something deeper almost. Still as appreciated. 

And it’s when the dinner comes to a close, Solana is once again taken back by Roman’s nearly limitless generosity when he gifts her a set of bracelets, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and other luxury brands she’s certain the combination of cost equalling what some people pay for homes let alone jewelry. 

The depth of his kindness toward her will never cease to amaze her.

Back at the house, she has a bit of a hard time getting him to use the shower in the master bedroom vs using the one down the hall. She comes up with a weak excuse regarding shower design preference, and while she’s certain he doesn’t believe her one bit, he lets it go.

And Solana is utterly grateful, because she needs to be completely separated in order to prepare for the thing she’s wanted and thought about since last night, since she decided it’s truly what she wants.

Everything he’s done thus far has been more than thoughtful, but this….this is something on an entirely different level. 

She’s just stepped out the shower and wrapped the towel around her body when a random thought about what tonight could and most likely will entail flashes in her mind. 

Solana closes her eyes and tries to ignore the aching between her legs, even if she knows it’s a fruitless effort. 

Roman has been an absolute saint, patient beyond belief with her and this gradual process of working up to being intimate. Always checking in with her every step of the way.

But…..but lately, she finds herself….thinking about him in….different ways. Wondering what it would be like to finally go all the way. To be with him fully in that way.

Ways she previously couldn’t allow herself to think about. Too hindered by the memories of her trauma. 

Yet with him, it’s something unlike what she’s used to. Her chest doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode, and she doesn’t find herself panicking, needing to push him away from her, to not have any hands on her because they all feel the same, the same as her rapists.

With Roman…..that’s not her story. It’s just him she sees, feels, wants.

By the time she’s done with her shower, Solana has to reach across the bathroom counter to wipe her hand across the fogged mirror. She hits the switch for the vent and digs through her toiletries bag for the essentials and gets into her routine, focusing way too much on what she’s doing to avoid the thought sitting impatiently in the back of her head.

But, it’s when she’s reached the end of her routine and goes to grab her bra and panties she had sitting on the counter, that she pauses.

Scared.

Solana realizes that’s one of the dominant emotions she’s struggling with. She’s scared to go for what she wants. It’s a tale as old as time. Fear is always the thing that holds us back the most, that keeps us from reaching goals, attaining desires, being freed.

For so long, she believed that she was damaged. That the trauma of her past made it impossible for her to ever have a healthy sexual relationship with another person. But Roman has changed that. He’s changed her life in so many ways, and now, she is presented with the chance and opportunity to take back her power, to reclaim her sexuality.  

And now….she’s ready to do just that. 

Solana slowly retracts her hand and instead slides her pink, silk gown over her head, ignoring the almost strange feeling of having nothing underneath her dress. Solana keeps staring at her reflection, mentally going over everything: floss, mouthwash, deodorant, lotion, perfume on all of her pulse points. 

When she realizes that she’s only stalling, she forces herself to leave the bathroom. Solana makes her way down the hall and into the master. She’s relieved to see he’s still in the bathroom and decides to sit and wait on the edge of the bed. Similar to how her nerves are on edge. In the bathroom, the pep talk was more motivating and inspiring. Now, in this space, her anxiety is doing those damn flips again. 

“Solana?” Her head lifts and she stands up. Roman is standing near the bathroom door, shirtless, gray sweats hanging dangerously low, his hair down. Solana watches his gaze darken, slowly taking in her immodest state, focusing on the clear outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material. “What are you—”

She says nothing and instead grabs his hand, leading him to the bed. She switches their positions and guides him to sit on the end of the bed as she straddles him, her legs on either side of him. Solana refuses to think about the possible exposure from this position and instead focuses on him.

“I want you,” is all she says, quiet but sure. “I want you for my birthday.”

His face reads a mixture of emotions, primarily confusion. 

And lust.

“Solana….” He seems to want to move his hands to her waist but hesitates. “I didn’t….that’s not why I brought you here. I would never pressure you—”

“I know,” she interrupts, softly. “You’ve always let me set the pace, so….so let me set it now.” She brings her hands to his face, looking him dead in the eye as she repeats, “What I want for my birthday….is you.” A fleeting thought creeps across her mind when she adds, “unless….unless you don’t want me th—”

Roman switches their positions so quickly that she can barely process what’s happening until she’s flat on her back with him hovering above her. His eyes are fluttering as he works to settle himself, breathing out, “I’ve always wanted you, baby. Just needed you to tell me when.”

She licks her lips and lightly glides her fingers over his abs. He’s so firm. “And now?”

“Now?” Roman moves his hand to her knees, slowly prying them apart. She breathes in as he starts to move his fingers up the inside of her legs. “After tonight, ain’t nobody else gon’ have you like this,” his thumb brushes over her inner thigh and she grabs his bicep. “Feel you like this,” Solana’s head goes back into the bed when he glosses his fingers over her apex. “Or taste you like this but me.” Their gazes lock. “Understood? You’re mine.”

His tone is commanding and authoritative. She can mumble a quiet ‘yes’ in agreement when his head drops between the crook of her neck, his hair fanning her face, pulling his hand from between her legs. “Promise me you’ll tell me if we need to stop.” 

She gently caresses the back of his neck, reassuring him. “Roman, I’m fin—”

“Solana,” he interrupts. There’s no denying or questioning of the seriousness in his tone of voice. “Promise me.”

She nods and rakes her fingers over his scalp. “I promise.”

Roman is visibly pleased by this, eyes raking over her body. “Good.” He lowers his lips to hers, hands moving to explore her body. “So fucking pretty….”

The light kiss easily progresses into something more intense, something deeper, something that has her feeling so flustered and warm all over. His pants are quickly discarded, leaving him in boxers only. Roman continues to massage and knead her breast, along with the palming of her ass yet still makes active efforts to receive consent, always checking her comfort levels.

Initiating this is major.

Her lips are nice and swollen when he starts kissing around her face before grabbing her hand and turning it over. Two long fingers press against her wrist. 

He doesn’t say anything for a good minute, prompting her to ask, “what are you—”

“Do you trust me?” 

There’s not a second of hesitation or delay. “Of course.” 

“I need to relax you more.” With his free hand, his thumb flicks over her nipple as he explains, just as tender as every other thing he’s done to maintain her comfort. “You’re still tensing a bit under me, and the more tense you are, the more it’s going to hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

Swallowing, she replies back in the same soft tone. “You could never hurt me, Roman.” His eyes flash with something almost soft. Like affection. Like something deeper. “But…I understand. What…what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to do anything. Tonight is about you.” Her eyes flutter shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, speaking against her soft skin. “Just want you to let me take care of you…” And it’s as he continues to travel down her body, tugging at her dress as much as he can to press a trail of kisses between the valley of her breast, and halting near her covered belly button that she understands what he’s asking her.

And suddenly her cheeks are on fire. Solana isn’t entirely naive. She knows that plenty of people engage in oral sex, but she’s also heard a lot of men prefer not to. Prefer to receive rather than give. “I…..you….you don’t have to—”

“Solana, I’ve wanted to taste you since the first day I met you.” His words, dark and dripping with need make her bite down on her bottom lip as his finger trails along her inner thigh. “Will you let me?”

She’s insecure and a shade of unsure for reasons entirely unrelated to her trauma. Maybe there’s some influence there, but it’s primarily the intimacy of it all. But, she then realizes he’s eventually going to be inside of her before the night ends, so his mouth being on her most intimate area….isn’t really a major difference.

Swallowing, she answers, voice catching for a second with a need she didn’t recognize until this moment. “Y–yes.”

His eyes light with desire, but he doesn’t miss a beat in reminding her yet again that she’s fully in control tonight. “Tell me to stop and we stop. I don’t care what’s happening. All I care about is you. Alright?” 

Solana nods. “O–okay.”

Roman kisses her stomach and wastes no time in helping her remove her dress, leaving her fully exposed to him, physically and emotionally. Slowly, he pries her thighs apart, seeing how she bites on her bottom lip when he teases a finger against her. 

“Still so sensitive…..” There’s a level of intrigue there, Solana watching Roman push his hair back, his tongue exiting his mouth and wetting his lips. “You’ll get used to me.”

She’s not sure she could ever get used to a man like Roman, and the minute his tongue flattens against her there, she’s almost certain she’ll never get used to that.

“Oh my god.”

He looks up at her, Solana suppressing a moan at the sight of his big body between the space of her thighs, mouth curved into a wry smile. “I barely touched you, baby….”

That doesn’t stop the fire coursing through her body.

“You want me to stop?” A frantic shaking of her head to signify a hell no is all he needs. He’ll settle for no verbal acknowledgement this time. “Good.” Salona gasps as he hooks the back of her knees over his big shoulders. “Now lay back and let me take care of you...”

It seems like all Roman has done is take care of her, but this is a new level of care, one that has her scratching and gripping helplessly at the sheets as he licks at her one, two, three times before his tongue darts around and plays with her in a way that makes her stomach tangled and twisted.

Solana whimpers when he starts sucking on her clit. “Fuck being inside you, just let me stay with this sweet pussy in my mouth.”

For a second, she considers it, because the way he laps and sucks on her has her brain practically fried trying to comprehend how just his tongue alone can have her nearly worming off the bed.

His big, strong hands grip her thighs, holding her in place as he never once lifts his head for air.

“Roman…..”

“You taste better than I imagined.” She swears she feels him kiss her slick folds. “Gonna have you sit on my face the next time….”

The terror at that thought is short lived and stomped upon by his hands traveling up her body, gripping her breast, squeezing just enough to make her moan yet again, head pressed back into the pillow. 

His name slips out her mouth for what feels like the 20th time as she moves her hands on top of his, stomach arching, pussy pressing further against his mouth. He makes a sound down there, but sound isn’t the focus when all of her most sensitive nerve endings are being so beautifully catered to.

But then it becomes too much, Roman switching to a lethal combination that includes sucking on her clit while two fingers enter inside her. It has her nearly jumping off the bed, unintentionally inching away from him.

Roman hums against her lifting up only to warn, “stop running from me, baby.” He’s playing with the mess she’s made, essence practically dripping from his beard. “This pussy is too good to not indulge myself.”

And before she can protest, can try to find some words to string together, he’s back in between her legs, and Solana finds her hands moving to the top of his hand. She can’t tell if she wants to just shove him away or shove him closer. 

A strange yet wonderful dichotomy. 

There’s no telling how long he’s down there, feasting so eagerly on her like he’s been waiting on this. Like, he’s been yearning for this. The same way Solana is starting to realize she too unintentionally wanted this. Wanted to know what it could and does feel like to be intimate, to have those normal, sexual needs met. It was just all hidden and obscured behind a dense wall of trauma the same man bringing her to heaven has helped her dismantle. 

She owes him so much.

Especially for the way he gives her an orgasm that has her wanting to scream his name loud enough for anyone within 100 miles to hear. That just might have been the case too if she didn’t press her lips together as she rode out her orgasm, Roman still remaining between her thighs as he helps her through it, letting her ride out her pleasure still against his greedy mouth.

He seems so hungry for her. 

When he finally makes his way up, presses his lips against her, Solana moans at the taste of herself on his mouth. He smirks against her lips.

“I told you I’m good at a lot of things..”

She smiles, her eyes blinking. “Roman, I—I’m ready.”

He doesn’t look surprised, but he does look hesitant. “Solana….”

“This is what I want. I—I want to be with you….fully.” Even as the words leave her mouth, the aftershock of her orgasm still trying to subside, she’s nervous. She’s nervous because there will always be that small voice in the back of her head telling her she shouldn't, that she can’t, that sex has been forever ruined for her. 

But, it’s almost as if just looking at Roman, at feeling his desire and care for her, it snuffs those voices out, locks them in a closet with a key that he’ll make sure is never found. “I—I want you inside me.”

And there’s something either about that or the way she words it that seems to trigger the okay switch for him. He gently traces the outline of her lips. “We’ll take it slow.” 

She nods as he brings his fingers to her wrist again. Her pulse. She realizes he’s checking for her pulse, trying to gauge her heart rate, assessing for any spiked anxiety. 

“You’re relaxed, but…it still might hurt at first.”

“I know,” she murmurs, heat rising to her cheeks as she explains so simply yet accurately. “It’s…it’s because you’re big.”

Roman smiles, and that alone chips away a chunk of her anxiety. His smile is so beautiful.

It’s not missed upon her, however, that he doesn’t deny it. Not that he can. She’s heard enough, felt enough, even seen enough to some extent to know that he is very much an overall big man. And yet there’s not a damn thing about him that she finds intimidating, that she’s scared of.

His strength doesn’t scare her. Not anymore.

Just makes her feel safe. 

Solana feels him shift atop her, but she doesn’t remove her gaze from the vaulted ceiling above them. He’s most likely removing his boxers, the only piece of clothing separating that part of him from that part of her. 

She tries to lower her eyes down between their heated bodies, partially wanting to see him for herself, to see what’s about to enter her when Roman brings his hand under her chin, forcing her gaze back onto him. “It’s just you and me….okay?”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second as she nods, opening and breathing back, “you and me…”

Roman lowers his mouth back onto hers, taking her for a slow sensual kiss that’s timed perfectly with the exact moment the thick tip of his dick gradually descends into her tight, wet opening. Solana gasps into his mouth, taken back by the stretch of him, a slight burning sensation that’s eased by the way he kisses her jawline, asking if she wants him to stop.

The answer is easy. 

“N–no. I’m fine.” She murmurs, grabbing him by his face and kissing him again, utilizing the talent of his mouth on hers to blur away the borderline discomfort of his initial entry. Roman is certainly well endowed and an initial level of pain is to be expected, both from his size and her experience. But, she needs his kisses to keep her from gravitating to that other painful experience, to keep her from getting triggered.

And something tells her that he knows as much without her needing to say anything. He’s consistent and dedicated in keeping his mouth on hers, his tongue raking across her bottom lip before he enters in yet another part of her. She does her best to keep up with him, to match his passion, but deep pants often break their rhythm as he continues to sink into her. He feels so deep, and he’s not even all the way in.

And when she’s moaning and groaning at the newfound stretch of him, his voice is in her ear apologizing, asking again if she wants him to stop. The answer is the same as before. Just worded differently.

“I want all of you.” 

The good. The bad. It doesn’t matter. She just wants him.

Roman is the one to groan this time, resting his forehead against hers, “fuck, you’re so tight.”

Once finally and fully seated in her, Solana is grateful that he gives her a second to breathe, to adjust to this new sensation. Still uncomfortable, the fullness in such a sensitive area, but also comforted by Roman, by his constant attempts to assess her comfort levels. It’s why after a few minutes she glides her hands up his arms and encourages him to continue. “M–move.”

He’s studying her, like he’s done at every point throughout this process. “Are you sure?”

She nods and quickly remembers his one rule. “Yes.”

Though her eyes are closed, Solana can feel Roman’s gaze burning into her as he shifts his hips, the thickness of him slowly sliding out of her, lessening that fullness only to slowly re-enter, bringing it right back. He keeps this pace, slow and gradual, working her as gently as he can, never not watching for any sign of distress. 

And it’s at some point that burning sensation washes away into something unfamiliar but desirable. It morphs into a form of pleasure that has her head slipping back against the pillow, her stomach starting to cave under his expert thrusts. His name falls out her mouth in the form of a breathy moan. “Roman….”

“Does that feel good?” She cries out as he kisses her shoulder, hand kneading her breast. “Tell me what feels good.”

The answer is easy, “everything.” And she means it, there’s not a trace of pain she can identify as she moves her hands up his muscular back as he switches up his pace, quicker but deeper thrusts that have her nails digging into his taut skin. “Oh….”

His head drops down in the crook of his neck. “God, you feel fucking amazing.” His hands drop to her hips, pulling her up to meet him thrust for thrust. “Could stay inside of you like this for hours….”

Solana chews down on her bottom lip, back arching as he adjusts his hips, reaching her even deeper, hitting another sensitive spot that has her eyes watering. “Roman.”

“That’s it. Say my name, baby.” And she does, again and again, his name a song on her lips that’s sweet music he wants to keep on repeat for the rest of his life. “You don’t know what you do to me, Solana.”

Whatever it is can’t be as good as he’s making her feel. Solana could scream from the absolute rapture he’s bringing her body, elevating her to places unseen and almost too good to be real. 

“Te quiero mucho.”

He has no idea what she just said, but he has no doubt it’s an expression of bliss, and it only encourages him to dive deeper, to rut into her a little harder. Her pleasure is the roof, but that’s a limitation. He doesn’t do limitations.

He wants to never stop hearing his name leave her mouth, breathy and wanton. She’s a mess underneath him, wet ass pussy gushy, gripping the shit out of him like he’s never experienced. It actually takes a bit of effort on his his part to not come before she does, a arduous task considering she’s never looked more fucking beautiful being underneath him like this, every little facial expression making his dick pulse inside of her.

Roman has always heard people say sex is even better when it’s someone you actually care about. He never believed that shit. He never believed that shit until now. Because he’s never felt something, never felt someone, as good as what Solana feels right now.

If not for her trauma, wouldn’t nobody be getting any sleep tonight. He’d stay in this pussy, have it in his mouth, have it in any and all ways until the wee hours of the morning. Sleep be damned.

But, this isn’t about him. It’s about her. It’s all about her, and he’ll do whatever she wants, whatever she needs. Even if selfishly, he’s working to prolong her climax just as much for his pleasure as hers.

He doesn’t ever want to pull out.

And maybe it’s also the fact that he’s never been with anyone else raw. Never had that skin to skin experience, feeling slick pussy directly against his hardened dick.

Possibly.

Regardless, after tonight, if it’s not Solana, he doesn’t want it.

Her pussy is premier and just for him.

But, it’s when he takes a brief pause, to switch their positions, situating her on top of him, he sees the nervousness wreck her beautiful face.

“Roman. I—I don’t—I don’t know how–” And it’s as she protests, as she tries to explain to him she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to please him like that, Roman brings his hands to her hips, tugging her forward just enough for her mouth to drop open from the friction, from the way he presses into her, hitting yet another spot that has her eyes nearly watering all over again. “Oh my….”

His eyes are blazed with desire and yearning as he encourages her. “That’s it…..” Her eyes shut, the sound of him asking, “are you okay?” an almost distant thing, an almost inconceivable question. Everything about everything he’s done to and for her has felt more than okay. It’s felt heavenly. 

The same way her hands naturally plant against his chest, less of him directing her movements and more of her riding him from her own volition.

The tips given to her by Bayley and Naomi just weeks prior return to the forefront of her mind, and Solana finds herself moving her hips, grinding on top of him as if she was spelling her name. 

And almost instantly, Roman’s eyes are shutting too as he sings all of her praises, “fuck, just like that baby.”

She moves against him, riding him with a growing intensity that’s only matched by the level of desire on both of their ends. It feels fucking ethereal.

And when he can sense the pending fatigue in her body, Roman sits up, hands moving down her smooth back to her hips and guides her body against him, hitting her spot even deeper, Solana’s cries of pleasure a continuing symphony of bliss.

“You feel me, baby? Feel me in you like this?” Her head drops against his shoulder as she holds onto him, their bare, slick chests pressed against each other.

She whimpers against him, “god, yes.”

“I told you I would make you feel good, didn’t I, sweetheart?” She nods frantically only to cry out yet again when he glides his hand down and peppers his thumb over her swollen clit. “Gonna take care of you every single time. I don’t care how or where. You want it, imma give it to you.”

His voice takes on a darker tone, reminiscent of his reputation, a testament of the depth of his feelings for her. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.” She gasps against him, yet another wave of pleasure shooting through her core. “Burn this whole fuckin’ world down….”

There’s something about his words, about his dedication to her, to keeping her safe. To keeping her with him. She lifts her head and brings her hands to his cheeks, making him lock gazes with her. “No one could ever take me from you.”

Roman just looks at her. 

Something happens. A shift. A move. A disturbance of some sort. It’s as if something snaps in half the minute his eyes lock onto hers. He doesn’t move, and neither does she. No one says anything. It almost feels like no one is breathing. Her gaze on him is just as his is on hers. Deep. There’s something happening at the soul level. A tying of some sort. A connection. 

A bond. 

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

Eternal. 

And it’s with an almost unheard non-existent level of vulnerability that Roman practically whispers against the slick skin of her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss. “I need you, Solana.” 

Her eyes water. The connection. The emotion. The love of it all. She doesn't know if he’s feeling the last one, but she certainly is, and it’s the best feeling in the world. “You’ll always have me.” She moans, whimpering as he starts moving her again, nudges that spot yet again. “Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman."

This man now has her: mind, body, and soul.

Her better half.

Her missing piece 

It aids in the build up, her fingers squeezing against his muscular shoulders. “I’m—I’m gonna—“

“I know,” his voice is strained, his body tensing up underneath her. Solana knows he’s not far behind. He quickly switches their positions, wanting her underneath him, spreading her thighs further to maximize the full pleasure of this final ride. 

Hand to his chin, she forces his gaze on her, reminding him with a hint of vulnerability. “You and me.” Her release is almost immediate, a fountain of tightness and pressure that’s both wonderful and all encompassing, forcing her to lay her head against his shoulder, holding onto him as she rides out her climax.

And it’s not even minutes later that his release finds him just as strong, just as heavy, just as fucking shattering.

Roman lets go, big body jerking above her as he releases inside of her, the mixture of their togetherness creating an absolute mess that coats almost all of their lower halves. But, she doesn’t care, just continues to hold onto him as he empties until there’s nothing left. 

Solana groans quietly as he pulls out of her, the absence of him creating a strange, unfamiliar void that’s moderately eased as he plops down on his back next to her, immediately pulling her onto his chest.

This settles her almost instantaneously. 

He kisses the top of her head, gently rubbing her back. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

She smiles against him. The answer to that question has and will always be the same. “No. Never.” Tears burning her eyes, she murmurs into his skin. “You set me free.”

Because, he did. Because after tonight, there’s no turning back. There’s no block or wall of trauma that can stop her from experiencing this. From truly being able to say that while her assault fractured her, it damn sure didn’t break her. 

Roman’s deep voice above her offers a low, gentle rebuttal. “You did that, Sol.” And as if emotions weren’t high enough as it is, he has to send her nearly overboard with his next simple but powerful statement. “you said yes.”

Eyes closing, she has to sit on it, has to rest in it, has to feel it. With all the emotion, she reaffirms it, reclaims her voice, her autonomy, yet another piece of her life. “I said yes…..”

----------

translations:

“Te quiero mucho.” = "I love you so much."

"Lo’u Au" = Someone who is your absolute favorite

"Me haces muy feliz" = "You make me very happy."

"Te amo con toda mi alma, Roman" = "I love you with all my soul, Roman."

"Yo siento muy bien contigo" = "I feel happy with you."

[randomshyperson]

I'll Crawl Home To Her - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A rewrite of the fight scene in WandaVision, with a less aggressive but equally painful discussion. 

Warnings: canon-typical Westview angst, talking about magical submission and free will, established relationship, some grief mentions, rough kissing just because I can, love confessions/reaffirmations | Words: 1.644k

A/N-> I'm just rewriting loose scenes from WandaVison, none of which are really going to end up in anything bigger. But I hope it's a decent read. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

“It’s not often that you get a dog and bury them the same day.”

To your line, Wanda could have chosen to mumble in agreement. She could have said she was sorry, or she could have chosen to remain silent.

Instead, she chooses sarcasm, as if she had a good idea of how ridiculous everything was starting to get around that town.

“Well, life moves pretty fast out in the suburbs.”

You end up sighing, able to feel the anger slowly building up in you. Wanda continues to put toys away, and you decide to wipe your hands on the nearest dishcloth before turning to your wife.

"I spoke to Norm this morning." You start with a serious look on your face, and Wanda, oh your beautiful, stubborn wife, makes a mocking expression. You don't understand why she's acting this way. "He told me things that really frightened me, Wanda."

It was her turn to take a deep breath, the confidence in her expression wavering for a second. There was only one balcony between the two of you, but somehow the emotional distance was immeasurably greater.

Wanda looks you in the eye. "What's that supposed to mean, darling?"

“You tell me.”  You hit back without hesitation. But what you get from Wanda is a tired sigh, falsely innocent.

"I didn't know it was charades night again." She continues to mock. 

You can't remember if Wanda was ever cruel, but it's a fact that you can't remember anything that happened before Westview.

"I got scared because he was scared, Wanda!" You insist, approaching the counter to lean on one hand, while the other gestures your despair. "It was like a different person, a real, suppressed personality crying out to be released. It was accidental, of course, to discover this. But I'm not an idiot, Wanda. I can see what you're doing. The things that are changing around us every time something gets out of your control. And I don't understand why, and you won't talk to me, and I'm so scared!"

The tears in your eyes match hers. "Stop." She pleads earnestly, but you shake your head.

"You don't want this." You say.

Despite the emotion in her eyes, and the thick tears, Wanda gives a short, ironic laugh, her head tilting slightly. "Don't I?"

"If you did, I wouldn't know. I wouldn't be able to see, to question.” You sigh.”You’ve always been so... extraordinary." Her expression suddenly flinches at the compliment. "Your abilities, your power, I can't tell what happened before this place, but I know about now. There's not a trace of doubt in my mind about you, about how magnificently powerful I've always perceived you to be. Not even about how much I love and trust you." Wanda swallows dryly at your words, but you give a sad sigh. "Then I don't understand why you keep letting me see the flaws. If you're going to lie to me, leave me in the dark. Because I think I'm losing my mind little by little. I can't ignore the suffering of those people, and I can't ignore the uncertainty that grows in my chest every second. I can't remember anything, Wanda. I see those pictures on our walls, those fabricated memories, and nothing reaches me. I can't even recall if I had any kind of family before this place."

Wanda comes around the counter with a certain desperation, her hands reaching for your face. "You have a family. Me and the boys, why can't that be enough?"

Your hands reach for hers. "It's not that, sweetheart. Our family is perfect. This life is the closest to heaven I could get. But I can't be at peace with it at the cost of other people's suffering. I can't ignore their pain."

"I'll help you think of something else." She responds with a nod, pulling your face in to kiss you firmly.

Kissing Wanda has always been intoxicating, a sensation that's easy to get lost in. But fresh in your mind is your coworker, terrified and begging you to get away from this place. Get away from your wife.

You pull away, breaking the kiss and ignoring the way your whole body protests. Wanda is equally out of breath, but the gleam in her eyes hides a deep irritation.

"Wanda, I-

"Save it." She interrupts, turning her back on you. You catch a glimpse of a new form of anger and hurt in her eyes at being rejected. You sigh impatiently, following her instantly. 

"You're not going to run away from this conversation, Wanda, I need to know what's going on in this place!" You practically beg, yelling at her back because Wanda just keeps walking towards the stairs. You huff angrily and teleport immediately into her path. She jumps slightly in fright, grimacing with impatience and taking two steps backward, away from the steps as you insist; "Please. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say if you don't believe me when I tell you there's nothing wrong." But you shake your head at the words, one hand pulling your hair back. Wanda chuckles humorlessly.  "See, you already have an opinion on the subject. On me. I'm already the villain in your story, darling, so why don't you keep digging behind my back and end this whole thing?"

She mentions going upstairs again, but you stand in her way, one hand pulling her face towards yours. The kiss is more intense than the one in the kitchen, heated enough for Wanda to gasp into your mouth.

She's ready to reciprocate with the same eagerness when you break it, the hand on her cheek caressing her skin.

"Because I love you, Wanda Maximoff." You whisper against her lips, and it's not just the words, but the devotion in your gaze that makes Wanda's legs wobble. You offer her a small smile, an air of lost battle in your expression. "There is no part of me that would plan and act against you. Even here, with the truth scratching at the walls, where I could if I wanted to access the suffering of these people, I wouldn't turn against you. I can only beg for a little mercy, my love. Take the pain away from me, the doubt. I will be loyal and complicit in any of your desires and decisions."

Wanda sobs, hugging you before you can say anything. You can't remember anything that came before, but she can, as clearly as if she were there. And Wanda loved every trace of your old self as much as she loves this Westview version, willing to do anything she asks. It's not so different from the person she lost, with the most striking exception that makes it clear in that moment, that nothing could ever replace the real you. 

You would have taken Wanda out of that fantasy. For better or worse, even if she hated you afterward, even if she never forgave you, you wouldn't let her cross lines through grief, you wouldn't let her lose herself again. After all, that's what you swore to do after witnessing first-hand all the guilt she carried for Ultron's madness and the accident in Lagos. Your true version would never let her drown in sorrow and hurt people again.

But the Westview version, so sweet and devoted, would stroke her back and say the same thing you always used to say, even if now you can't remember it.

"I'm sorry if I made you cry, princess, I never meant to. Look at me so I can bring your smile back."

Wanda holds on a little tighter, tears staining your blouse. The vast majority of the times she had heard this phrase, it had been at much less dramatic moments. While she had a passion for sitcoms and things that made her laugh, you liked more emotional movies that could make you cry. And every time you had a movie session, you would tell her that, easily achieving your goal of putting a smile on your girlfriend's face. But there were also times when the situations were dramatic - a poorly planned workout where Wanda ended up hurting you and tears of guilt escaped her and you tried to make her feel better by saying that same phrase. Or when you had a fight and it got a bit out of hand, and you started your apologies that way.

Or when Thanos took you from her, and Wanda had to hear it twice because of a time stone.

She doesn't want to hear it for a third occasion. 

You're ready to say something, maybe apologize, when Wanda breaks the hug. But she holds your cheeks and presses her mouth to yours. Slowly, allowing you to taste even the saltiness of her tears. There's a shaky sigh escaping from between your lips as she breaks away again, but your affected gaze changes to a curious one as red irises stare back at you.

"I'll make it better." She whispers, nodding slightly. You swallow dry, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against hers.

The only thing you whisper is exactly what makes her hesitate. "I trust you, Wanda."

She ignores the internal conflict and lifts one of her hands to stroke the back of your neck. It must be easy, especially within Hex, to change your mind. To make you no longer question.

You repeat that you love her, and Wanda brings trembling fingers to your forehead. 

She suddenly becomes very aware that consciously, she could never do that to you. She would rather you found out everything and hated her than take away your free will. To turn you into another puppet.

She sighs shakily, ready to say she'll put an end to this whole place when the doorbell rings.

Nothing could prepare her for seeing her twin brother again, but that's another story. Besides, not that Wanda has any idea, far away from there, a fallen Avenger is being stitched back together while calling her name in their sleep.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Here’s a thought nugget for ya! Can demons/angels smell when MC is on their period?

Are demons like sharks in the water? Does that make the Bros+Royals more protective or distant?

And what about angels? Do the grown-ups treat MC differently? Does Luke already instinct y’alls know what’s up?

And how does Solomon deal with all the chaos every month?

This was really fun to write. I hope this was what you were expecting. Any critique is appreciated and will help me better my writing, so please leave a comment. Hearing from y'all acts as motivation for me.

MC, the boys, and the Human Menstrual Cycle

To answer the first question, yes, demons and angels can detect when MC is on their period or when they’re ovulating. Demons, in particular, are highly sensitive to the change in smell, especially if they’re romantically involved with MC. During ovulation (the period before the menstrual cycle begins and eggs are released from the ovaries and into the uterus to, possibly, be fertilized by sperm cells), MC’s body emits subtle pheromones that humans can't smell but demons can easily pick up on. These pheromones might trigger a protective or possessive instinct in some of the demons, particularly those who are more territorial or prone to jealousy.

During MC’s period, the scent of blood, combined with hormonal changes, can cause various reactions. Some demons might be more on edge or aggressive due to their heightened senses, while others might become more nurturing, wanting to care for MC during this vulnerable time. Angels, on the other hand, might sense the change in MC’s aura or energy rather than a physical scent, but the effect is similar. They would likely be more concerned with ensuring MC’s comfort and well-being.

As for if the demons are like sharks in the water, in a way, yes, they are. Demons are drawn to the scent of blood. They have eaten humans, and some probably still do or would if they were allowed to. However, reactions to the smell would vary as this isn't just an open wound and the smell is very different than the blood that runs through a human's veins.

The Brothers who are romantically involved with MC might become more protective, wanting to keep MC close to ensure their safety. This protectiveness could manifest as possessiveness (especially towards each other), with them being more attentive and hovering over MC during this time.

For the Royals, the reaction could be a bit different. Diavolo and Barbatos might not exhibit the same intensity of protectiveness but would still be aware of MC's state. Diavolo would be more curious and fascinated by the human body's natural processes, while Barbatos would quietly ensure that MC has everything they need. They wouldn't be distant, but their reactions would be more controlled and subtle.

All in all, though, one thing is certain. During this time MC would be quarantined or at the very least not be allowed to go out on their own to ensure their safety from other demons.

The angels are more attuned to changes in emotional and spiritual energy rather than an actual scent, however. Simeon might sense the shift in MC's energy and become more compassionate, offering gentle support and comfort. He wouldn't be driven by instinct as the demons are but would be more focused on MC's emotional state and ensuring they feel at ease.

Luke, being a child, wouldn't fully understand what's happening, but he would know that something is different. He might become extra caring and try to cheer MC up with sweets or small gestures, without realizing the full context. His innocence and concern would be endearing, even if he doesn't fully grasp what is going on.

Then there is Solomon. Being the experienced and somewhat mischievous sorcerer, he would handle the monthly situation with a mix of care and chaos. He'll still help MC, perhaps brewing up special teas or using magic to ease their discomfort. However, Solomon's chaotic side also emerges as he finds the whole situation amusing. He might intentionally stir the pot by subtly triggering the demons' instincts, just to see their reactions. He might say something provocative or leave items around that intensify the demons' protective behaviors, all while feigning innocence. Watching the ensuing chaos unfold becomes his own personal entertainment, a smirk never far from his lips as he observes the demons' reactions with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

[tikosblogg]

Watching You…18+

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn when you meet your new landlord, Noah. He's unlike anyone you’ve ever met..

Warning: Stalking, smut,(DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU), piv smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Male masturbation, female masturbation, light choking, DomNoah, SubReader. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I was so excited to write this, sorry if it’s a lil sloppy, it unedited I just really wanted to get it posted. I’ll be going through and fixing things soon. Plz enjoy!❤️

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves as I approached the modest little house for rent. The pale blue paint looked quaint in the cool morning light, a charming contrast to the whirlwind of emotions brewing within me. I had just broken up with my long-term boyfriend Ryan—something I once thought would end in happily ever after. It hadn’t. So here I was, a freshly single woman standing at the threshold of my new life.

At 8 a.m. sharp, I parked in the driveway and stepped out of my car, my heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. My first thought upon seeing Noah the landlord was that he was not what I had expected. I had envisioned some elderly, mild-mannered man in his fifties. But no, standing before me was a man maybe in his late twenties. He towered over me at no doubt 6’0+”, with dark brown hair that framed his face nicely. I noticed his tattoos, which peeked out from under his black t-shirt. His brown eyes held a mysterious glint that sent a shiver up my spine.

As we exchanged greetings, his grip was firm and confident, leaving me strangely anxious. “You must be Y/N,” he spoke, his tone low and dark. “Ready to check it out?”

I nodded, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling swirling within me. Noah led me through the front door, and I couldn’t help but notice how he moved with a certain dangerous grace. Each step echoed a sense of dominance, making my unease flare like a flame left unattended.

The interior of the house was warm and inviting, adorned with rustic charm. As he showed me around—pointing out the quaint kitchen, the airy living room, and the cozy nooks—I found myself distracted. His voice was silky smooth, his words enveloping me, and I didn’t quite understand why I was simultaneously drawn to him and frightened.

“As you can see,” he said, gesturing towards a window adorned with delicate lace curtains, “the morning light that comes through is nice. perfect place to just chill and relax.” He flashed me a grin, his eyes trailing down my body. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks.

“Um, yeah I like this. It’s nice,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the fluttering in my stomach.

He tilted his head, observing me with an intensity that made me swallow hard. “It’ll be great, then. There’s also Lots of space for whatever you decide to do with it.” His eyes traced my features, lingering just a moment too long, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to solve, casting an intriguing shadow across the enthusiasm I tried to muster for my new beginning.

By the end of the tour, I had already made up my mind. This house, with its charming imperfections and aside from the strange enigma of Noah, felt right. “I love it,” I said, my voice steady now. “I absolutely want to rent it.”

“Happy to hear,” he replied, his face lighting up with a genuine smile. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a set of keys, handing them over with a flourish. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

In that moment, Despite the weight of my recent heartache, this house sparked a glimmer of excitement. Without hesitation, I decided to move in that very day. The few possessions I had left—all dumped in storage—were easily gathered and loaded into my truck.

After a few trips, I had unloaded my boxes into the living room, arranging them haphazardly as I took in my new environment. It felt both empowering and overwhelming, a mix of liberation and nostalgia tugging at me.

It’s been a few days since I moved into the house, it was nice but there was a weird feeling that I felt in my gut since stepping into this house. I can’t put my finger on it. Lights that I remember turning off are back on when I arrive home. Things are moved around here and there. I eventually chalk it up to me just being stressed, and not remembering.

I jumped into the shower before heading to bed steam engulfed me as I stepped in, a comforting veil that momentarily erased the uneasiness of the day. I watched the water swirl down the drain, just as my thoughts spiraled around the same few questions that clung to me since I moved into this place. Why did everything feel off? I couldn't shake this sense of being watched, even in the safety of my own home.

The house appeared quaint from the outside. Yet there was just something about this place. My belongings had found their place, but I had yet to find mine.

As I lathered shampoo into my hair, I remembered the light in the kitchen. I distinctly recalled turning it off before I left for work, but when I came back, it blazed with its usual brightness. At first, I brushed it off, but then it happened again. And again.

A chill ran down my spine as I rinsed the suds from my hair. Maybe I was just adjusting to the change maybe I can convince myself that I wasn't losing my mind. But there is a nagging thread of doubt that wormed its way into my consciousness. I could have sworn I heard soft footsteps echoing in the hallway when I was in the living room earlier, a lingering sensation that I wasn’t alone, despite the silence.

The water turned a chilling temperature, and I stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. I glanced at the fogged mirror, My reflection stared back, still adjusting to the woman in the unfamiliar space. I tried to shake the feeling away, reminding myself that fear often manifests from the unknown. But I couldn’t ignore the shudder that rippled through me at the thought of what might be lurking in the nooks and crannies of this place.

After getting dressed, I settled down with a book in the living room, hoping the it would draw me away from the creeping dread. The pages turned, but my mind was elsewhere. I finally closed my book, the words blurring as I fought against the tightening grip of anxiety. I needed to confront this feeling, to understand what was happening. I decided to take a late-night stroll, hoping to make sense of the oddities.

No perspective

Noah sat at his desk, the late evening light struggling to penetrate the heavy curtains of his dimly lit bedroom. His fingers drummed absently on the wooden surface, creating a rhythm that mimicked the pulsing hum of the computer screen before him. The glow illuminated a stark contrast to the intricate tattoos that spiraled across his forearms, each inked line a memory etched into his skin—moments of joy, pain, liberation, and regret.

His brown eyes narrowed as he focused on the live feed that streamed from the hidden cameras he had discreetly placed around the house—a house that he allowed you to rent, to call your own. He had been hesitant about sharing his space, but the thrill of having someone new around was too enticing to resist. The first time he caught a glimpse of you, something inside him stirred—a mixture of attraction and obsession. Your soft voice echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls so beautifully. He found himself drawn to you, even in your absence.

Tonight, however, was different. He had been roused from a hazy daydream as he realized the steady sound of rushing water had filled the silence of the house. He switched views to the bathroom feed—his heart quickening as he peered intently at the blurry figure behind the frosted glass of the shower. The rush of the water created a soothing backdrop that only deepened his focus. You were there, completely unaware of his presence.

He leaned closer to the screen, entranced by how the steam curled around your silhouette like a soft embrace. There was something intoxicating about witnessing you in such a private moment—your usual work scrubs replaced by the melodic resonance of water cascading down your skin. Part of him wrestled with the morality of his uninvited voyeurism, and yet another part was simply captivated by your essence, the way you seemed completely at ease, freeing yourself from the demands of the world beyond those four walls.

“Will she hate me if she finds out?” he mused quietly, his breath barely breaking the stillness of the room. The thoughts tumbled around in his mind, as his pants got tighter. 

As his thoughts spiraled, his gaze was fixed on the current play of her movements—rivulets of water sliding down your shoulders, glistening like diamonds. You lifted your arms to wash your hair, and his heart raced as you turned slightly, the contour of your profile framed by the curtain of steam. In that instance, he felt a surge of need that was both exhilarating and suffocating. He was an intruder in your sanctuary, savoring the glimpses of vulnerability that you unwittingly revealed to him.

He leaned back in his chair, carefully pulling his hardened cock out of his sweats, stroking softly. His eyes stayed glued to your body, as he stroked himself. Your name softly falling from his lips over and over again. He watched as you rinsed your hair, wishing it was his hands running through the long strands. 

Time slipped away unnoticed until he spilled all over his hand, with one last groan of your name, and a subtle shudder. The shower finally turned off, The abrupt silence that filled the room was unnerving, yet he never looked away as you toweled off, your soaked body. Guilt washed over him, but he brushed it aside, fixated on the routine that unfolded—a ritualistic choreography of drying off, dressing, and preparing for whatever the night would hold outside your temporary sanctuary.

Y/N’S POV

As I wander down the sidewalk, the deep hum of crickets fills the air, their rhythmic serenade providing a sort of comfort. I trace a habitual path through the neighborhood, passing houses with their dimmed windows, curtains drawn tight—everyone tucked away into the warmth of their homes. But then, as I make the turn onto Maple Lane, I see him.

Noah's house is always a little different; the illumination from his porch creates shadows that dance along the walls, a juxtaposition to the stillness of the rest of the street. He sits outside, casually leaning back against his porch railing. His silhouette cuts against the porch light. He's smoking a cigarette, the thin stream of smoke spiraling upward into the night.

He catches sight of me approaching, a smirk blooming on his lips. My heart does an awkward flip in my chest. He’s undeniably attractive, a fact I can’t deny, even if I wish I could. His skin, adorned with all those tattoos, and the way his hair falls framing his handsome face. As I close the distance, I can feel the warmth of his gaze enveloping me, making the night air feel thicker.

"What are you doing out so late?" he asks, that infuriatingly charming grin still plastered on his face. His voice is smooth, it sends a jolt of inexplicable nervousness curling through me.

“I couldn’t really sleep,” I reply, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My cheeks heat up under his scrutiny; I can feel the color creeping up from my neck. It’s ridiculous how he makes me feel this way.

He nods in understanding, but there’s a hint of something mischief-laden in his eyes. “Insomnia? Or something on your mind?” he quips, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke.

I could tell him about the multitude of thoughts crowding my mind—the job I hate, my relationship that fizzled out, or even the creepy shit going on in my house. But the words catch in my throat, and instead, I feel my lips curve into a soft smile. “A bit of both, I guess.”

He leans forward slightly, the cigarette hanging between his fingers as he seems to evaluate me—my posture, my face, the way my hair flutters in the night breeze. It’s a gaze that feels invasive yet tender, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I wore. I fidget under the intensity of it all, the air buzzing with something electric, unfamiliar.

“You know,” he begins, his tone shifting casually, “it’s usually easier to talk things out than to keep them in your head.”

His words wrap around me, opening a door I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore. Usually, I detest conversations that delve deeper than surface-level chit-chat. I’ve been working on building walls, keeping people at bay so they don’t get too close. It’s safer that way.

A shiver travels down my spine, and I bite my lip, a whirlwind of emotions colliding inside. I glance down the street, realizing I’ve lingered a little too long; the cool breeze brushes against my skin, and I take a shaky breath.

“Maybe next time. I should probably get going,” I smile, hoping I didn’t come off rude.

His eyes linger on me, and I can read the question unspoken in the silence that stretches between us. "You sure? I was just about to pour myself a drink. You can join me."

The invitation hangs in the air, tempting me. My mind races, weighing the possibilities against the safe haven of my bed. But there’s still that strange feeling gnawing at me in the pit of my stomach—the kind that flutters when you’re teetering on the edge of something exciting and terrifying all at once.

“I wish I could, but I really should go,” I tell him, almost apologetically.

“Alright,” he replies, though his smile falters for a moment, as if disappointed. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight,” I manage, forcing a smile before I turn on my heel and head back home, my heart a mix of exhilaration and longing, what is going on with me right now? I barely know this dude.

With every step I take, I can feel his gaze still on me, lingering like a warm touch long after it’s gone. I can’t escape the feeling that this night is significant, something that perhaps should have kept me awake. As I finally lay down in bed, the thought of Noah—his smirk, his eyes, the whispers of our words—wraps around me like a blanket, creeping into my dreams, making my heart race with possibilities I never expected.

I woke up in a panic, my heart racing as I struggled to catch my breath. My skin was hot and sticky, my shirt clinging to my body as if I had just run a marathon. I could feel the dampness between my legs and realized I had been having a wet dream about Noah. The thought of him made my cheeks flush, and I groaned as I kicked off the covers, feeling suddenly too warm.

I ran my hands through my messy hair and tried to calm my racing heart. Noah was my landlord, a man I barely knew, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. I groaned at the ache in my cunt, that’s not gonna let me sleep until I take care of it.

I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my panties, my fingers finding my swollen clit. I was already soaking wet, and a moan escaped my lips as I began to run my fingers up my slit. I slid my them back down, dipping them inside me, Noah's name falling from my lips.

I pumped my fingers in and out, matching the rhythm from my dream, imagining it was Noah's thick cock filling me up. I needed to cum again, to feel the release that only a real orgasm could bring. My other hand rubbed my clit in tight circles, my breathing becoming ragged as I built towards another peak.

“Fuck Noah," I whispered, my eyes closed as I lost myself in the feeling. “Ohhh fuuckk.” I whined, pumping harder.

My fingers worked faster, and I bit my lip to stifle my moans as I spiraled towards my climax. I imagined Noah's tattooed body above me, his hard thrusts fucking me deep, and with a cry, I tumbled over the edge, my body shaking as waves of pleasure rippled through me.

NO PERSPECTIVE

Your soft, seductive voice called out to him, pulling Noah from his sleep. Groggy at first, he opened his eyes, his brown orbs fixing on the source of the sound—his computer screen. A sly smile formed as he recognized the sight before him. It was you. The woman he'd been longing to have, your fingers buried deep inside yourself, moaning his name. Noah's heart raced as he stood up, his bare feet padding quietly across the room. He approached his desk, his gaze fixed on the screen, and took a seat.

Noah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, as he watched you through the hidden camera in her room. You had no idea he was witnessing your most intimate moment. Your fingers moved in rhythm with your soft, wanton moans, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in pleasure. Noah's cock twitched in his boxers as he took in the sight of you, your head thrown back, your soft hair forming a halo around your head. He could almost smell your arousal through the screen.

He loved the power he held in this moment. Knowing he could expose you, humiliate you with this very recording, made his heart pound with excitement. But he also knew that you were an innocent, naive soul, and the thought of corrupting you, making you his, was irresistible. Noah's smile turned devious as he imagined the plans he could put in motion to finally have you underneath him.

As your moans grew louder, your fingers working faster, Noah couldn't help but notice the wet, shiny evidence of your arousal. He imagined himself licking your fingers clean, tasting your sweet cum. His cock stirred, straining against the confines of his boxers, begging to be set free. He reached down, adjusting himself, as he continued to watch, his eyes glued to the screen.

Your breath quickened, your chest heaving as you built towards your climax. "Noah," you whimpered, his name dropping from your lips like a prayer. Hearing his name spoken so intimately sent a jolt through him, and he bit his lip, fighting the urge to touch himself. He wanted to save that pleasure for later, when it would be your hands on him, your mouth wrapping around his length.

With one final, desperate cry of his name, you found your release, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. His breath hitched as he watched, his own body tense with unspent desire. He longed to be the one to make you feel like that, to feel you tighten around him as you came. The thought of finally fucking you made his heart pound with anticipation…soon.

Y/N POV (next night)

It was ten at night when there was a knock at my door. The sound pulling me away from the haze of the late movie I had surrendered to. It was one of those nights where you find comfort in the dim light and predictable plots, but now an unexpected interruption threatened to unravel my cozy solitude.

I hesitated, the warm glow of the living room making me feel safe and enclosed. I wasn’t expecting anyone. As I approached slowly, an edge of anticipation tingled in my veins. I paused to glance through the peephole and my heart raced when I saw him on the other side—Noah.

His soft hair that fell effortlessly around his face and a smattering of tattoos that ran down his throat. I felt heat rush to my cheeks, a familiar tingle sparking to life. Unlocking the door, I felt as if I had unwittingly breached the barrier between dreams and reality. He grinned, that little boyish smile that could slice through my defenses. “Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound more composed than I felt. I didn’t move aside; instead, I leaned against the doorframe, concocting the semblance of control. “I’m here for you,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper that wrapped around me like a comforting shroud. Confusion danced in my mind. “What do you mean?”

Without answering, he reached forward, cupping my cheek with his hand. His skin was warm, intoxicatingly so, and all at once my resolve weakened. He moved closer, dark eyes burning into mine. That familiar throbbing in my core ignited, feelings haunting me since my dream about him last night. That dream where I could feel his hands on me, his breath against my skin; it had felt so vivid.

“I’ve been watching you sweet girl,” he murmured, and my breath hitched. Then, he stalked forward. The way he moved bore an animalistic grace, confident, predatory. I felt the wall pressing against my back, a solid reminder of my confinement as he closed in on me.

I should have been terrified. He had just insinuated that he had been watching me, lingering just outside the threshold of my sanity. But instead, my pulse quickened, and I fought against the uninvited thrill that coursed through me. I never thought I’d find danger alluring, but here I was, breathless and drenched in curiosity.

Another chuckle escaped him, dark and almost playful. “I saw you,” he continued, leaning closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My mind raced. I could smell the remnants of his cologne, something earthy and wild.

“I don’t—” I started, my throat dry as I tried to form coherent thoughts. His lips hovered just above mine, brushing ever so lightly, igniting a fire I thought I had tucked away. “I heard You whining my name.”

Despite myself, I bit down on my lip, wrestling with the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The pulse of fear intertwined with insatiable desire, and I was unable to decipher which was stronger.

“I—I don’t understand.” My voice faltered. “It’s okay baby,” he said softly, his breath warm against my mouth. “I’m here to help you.” Images from my dream flashed in my mind—no, not just images; sensations. The way his hands would glide over my skin, igniting every nerve ending. The way he’d whisper dirty words as he took me apart piece by intricate piece.

“This is insane,” I murmured, shaking my head. But Noah only smiled, stepping even closer until the space between us disappeared. My heart thundered as he reached out, fingers brushing against my collarbone, sending sparks down my spine. “Noah…” I breathed, caught between fear and longing. God, how could I resist?

“That’s it..Just say my name baby,” he urged, tilting my chin upward so his gaze was fixed on mine with an intensity that burned away my rationality. I swallowed hard, the room spinning. “Noah…” I whispered, and in return, his lips crashed against mine, and I lost all sense of structure.

The kiss was feverish, consuming. His tongue slid against mine as he pressed me deeper into the wall; I melted into him, surrendering to the tempest that was all things Noah. It was wild and electric, igniting every secret yearning I had repressed. He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, a series of heated stares exchanged between us.

He pushed me harder against the wall, his hot breath on my neck sending shivers down my spine. His hands were rough as he grabbed my ass, lifting me up and making me wrap my legs around his waist. I could feel his hard cock pressed against me, and I let out a soft moan as he carried me upstairs to my bedroom.

He tossed me onto the bed with surprising gentleness, and I looked up at him, my heart racing. His hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me, his hands roaming over my body.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his voice deep. "I love hearing my name come from those pretty lips."

I blushed, feeling shy and exposed under his intense gaze. He leaned down and captured my lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue invading my mouth possessively. I moaned into the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and wanting more. With a dark glint in his eye, he reached down and grabbed the hem of my shirt slowly pulling it up over my head. I lifted my arms to help him, and he threw the shirt across the room, leaving me naked except for my panties.

He took a moment to admire the view, his eyes roaming over my body hungrily. "Perfect," he breathed, reaching out to pinch my nipples gently between his thumb and forefinger. I gasped at the sensation, my breasts feeling heavy and sensitive.

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently while his hand massaged the other. I arched my back, moaning softly as pleasure shot through me. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was driving me crazy.

Then he stopped, leaving me cold as he pulled away. I whimpered at the loss, but then felt his hands on my thighs, pushing them apart. He hooked his fingers into the sides of my panties and slowly pulled them down, kissing and nipping at my inner thighs as they became exposed.

"Such a gorgeous pussy," he murmured, running a finger along my slit. I was already wet and aching for him, and I spread my legs wider, inviting him in.

He smiled at my eagerness, and then lowered his head, licking and sucking at my clit. I cried out, my hands tangling in his hair as he ate me out with expertise. His tongue flicked and circled my most sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me wild. He added two fingers, thrusting them in as he sucked and licked, and I bucked my hips, softly riding his face.

"You taste so fucking good baby," he groaned, pulling his face away momentarily. "I could eat you all night, but I have other plans for that tight little pussy."

Before I could respond, he flipped me over, grabbing my hips and pulling me up on all fours. I felt exposed and vulnerable in this position, but also incredibly turned on. Noah spread my ass cheeks apart, revealing my dripping wet hole to his gaze.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathed, lining his cock up with my entrance. With one smooth thrust, he slid into me, filling me up completely. I moaned loudly, the feeling of being stretched around his thick cock sending pleasure coursing through me.

Noah gripped my hips tightly as he began to fuck me, his thighs slapping against mine with each deep thrust. I cried out with each stroke, feeling his cock hitting all the right spots. He was driving me insane, and I could feel my orgasm building already.

Then, without warning, he pulled out, leaving me empty and whimpering. "Get on your back," he ordered, his voice hoarse with desire.

I did as I was told, lying on the bed and spreading my legs wide for him. Noah laid between my thighs, his eyes dark. He lined himself back up with my pussy and slowly slid into me, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Wrap your legs around me," he growled, reaching down to grip my thighs. I did as he asked, locking my ankles together behind his back and pulling him deeper into me.

Noah began to move, his hips snapping as he thrust into me. I met his movements, pushing my hips up to meet his with each stroke. We found a rhythm, our bodies moving together as he fucked me thoroughly.

He leaned down, his lips brushing mine as he whispered, "You love my cock, don't you, baby?"

"Yes," I whined, my voice hoarse with need. "I love it.."

Hearing those words seemed to push him over the edge. His eyes darkened further, and he grabbed my throat with one hand, squeezing gently as he continued to thrust into me. His other hand reached down to rub my clit in circles, his fingers slippery with my arousal.

"That's it, baby, cum for me," he growled, his voice deep and rough. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

His dirty words sent me spiraling over the edge, and I cried out as my orgasm ripped through me. My pussy clenched around Noah's cock, and I felt him throbbing inside me as he found his own release, his warm cum filling me up.

We lay there for a moment, catching our breath, our bodies still connected. Then, with a soft smile, Noah leaned down and kissed me gently. "I’m not done with you," he murmured against my lips. This is gonna be fun.

[dipperscavern]

ugh my most fave account in the whole WORLD can I ask for bathing w Jon??? Doesn’t even have to be smutty (tho I wouldn’t complain) just like spending time with him after a stressful day, maybe a massage, maybe some ogling idk 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

most fave account in the world… you’re just saying that… [batting my lashes] absolutely u can!! thank u for the ask <3

jon snow x fem!reader, set after the battle of the bastards

jon’s not sure who’s blood he’s covered in anymore. dirt & grime cling to him like moths to a flame, and he’s exhausted — in all senses.

it’s emotional, being back in winterfell. it’s halls echo with the haunted laughter of the ghosts that once roamed them, and jon can almost feel the memories etched onto the bricks under his fingertips. how many feet have walked these halls?

he knows winterfell it’s just a castle, a place that’s been here & will remain here long after he dies. he knows it’s the people that make a place a home — knows the castle doesn’t take sides or have favorites of its inhabitants, but he can’t help the feeling of possession that licks up his spine. a strange sense of family, like the castle itself has been waiting to hold them all in its walls once more.

and, he feels a sense of pride. accomplishment. finally does he have back that which was taken from him and his family when the realm fell apart. he’s been guarding the wall for years, and he vows to guard winterfell with the same ferocity.

he thinks all this while he stands at the window of his old room, watching the banners of flayed men be cut down & replaced with direwolves. bolton’s, cut down. replaced by starks. a hot bath awaits behind him, waiting to wash his sins clean, but he hasn’t so much as looked at it yet. he feels so much, all of it all at once. grief, shock, pain, nostalgia — all which make his head spin.

the adrenaline of battle quickly disappears from his system, making his knees buckle as he leans against the windowsill. little black spots dance in his vision as he tries to regain his balance. rickon chipped a tooth on this sill, he thinks. the memory uncomfortably squeezes at his heart.

as his brain assesses he’s not in danger anymore, various injuries now come to light. the ache of his knuckles, bruised & wet with blood. whether it’s his or ramsays, he can’t be entirely certain. his legs hurt, his arms hurt; the cuts on his face scream as dirt mixes with the open wound. he can feel the plethora of grime in his scalp, and the strain of his hair being pulled back. he should- needs to be back out there, checking on his men, surveying winterfells grounds, helping with the cleanup — but he can’t do that until he gives his body some respite. he needs relief, but where does he even start?

he’s smoothing a hand over his jaw when the door opens, and he turns to see you. you exhale, visibly relaxing at the sight of him as you close the door. your eyes rake up and down his body, seemingly checking for any mortal wounds. he understands, you lost sight of each other as soon as the battle started. well, you lost sight of him as the entirety of the bolton army ran at him full speed.

“Sansa said you’d be here.”

albeit less than him, you’re covered in the aftermath of battle yourself. while relieved to see you, jon doesn’t have the energy to respond, meeting your eyes with a tired look & nodding. you smile at the sight of what he’s leaning against, moving to join him at the sanctuary of his window.

“Rickon chipped a tooth on this sill.”

when he thought of it, it hurt. but when you mention it, it only makes him smile — huffing out a breath of laughter.

“Aye. He did.”

you look out the window for a moment, relishing in seeing the stark banners hang once more, before reaching a hand up to cradle his cheek. you have it angled to not touch any of his cuts, and the small gesture makes him only fall more in love with you, if even possible.

you look at him for a moment, and then move to reach for jon’s gloved hand. he almost pulls back at the thought of sullying your clean hands with his own, caked with blood both metaphorically & physically — but he fails to realize you took lives today too. your hands are just as sullied as his own, but never in his mind will they be equal. either way, you don’t seem to mind, eager to reaffirm the idea that he’s okay by feeling him under your hands.

you begin to slide off his glove, and he winces at the exposure of his bloody knuckles. they’re bruised, skin partially cracked from the force he used to have a conversation with the bolton bastard. your brows pinch, muttering an apology as you toss the glove on the floor & move to take off the other.

he looks at you as you work, and he suddenly feels a surge of emotion. how lucky is he to have someone that understands him so? you know what he needs even when jon himself doesn’t, and he has to resist the urge to interrupt you by pressing a kiss to your temple. he settles on allowing the corners of his lips to quirk up in a small smile.

even in his gratefulness, he can’t help the thought that lingers in the back of his mind. the thought that he should be out there, tending to the wounded or helping in some other way (as if he wasn’t part of the fight to win back winterfell). anything other than remaining warm in the castle halls while there’s still work to be done. he can’t help himself, and eventually voices as much.

“I should be out there.”

“Sansa has it.” you say, not even glancing at him as you begin to fiddle with the buckles of his outer layer.

sansa. he thinks back to the spoiled princess that left winterfell, and now to the politically-savvy ruler that’s been left in her wake. from what he’s seen, she’s become strong, and if you say she has it — she has it. he selfishly relishes in letting someone else take the lead, even if only for a moment.

he feels exhaustion beginning to settle in, taking root deep in his bones. the prospect of you, a bed, and warm furs currently entice him more than any offer of gold or jewelry, but he knows it’ll be long before he can get what he desires. he decides to compromise, settling for the present until time calls for sleep.

once you get his outer layer off, he begins to strip himself bare. he has no care for you seeing him, you’ve both been as naked as your name day before the other countless times — who is he to hide from you now?

as the dirt, sweat, and blood that were trapped underneath his clothing get released, the reprieve is palpable. his skin appreciates its liberation from the suffocating fabric, beginning to assuage its protest.

eventually, he steps in, sinking into the bath & letting the hot water turn his mind off. his eyes flutter shut at the instant soothe it provides, and he’s thankful to have all his uncomfortable clothing off. his injuries sting at first, making him grimace, but they eventually calm down. he’s vaguely aware of you approaching behind him, moving to sit on the stool handmaidens usually use to assist their lord or lady.

your hands come to fuss with his hair, untying the portion of it that’s held back. the tension that snaps free from his head has his brows knitting, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. your hands run through his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp. the ache of it is delicious, and goosebumps litter his body at the feeling.

you look down at jon, a light smile adorning your face at the sight of his relief. watching the bolton army swarm him had your chest tightening, uncomfortably compromising any hope of air entering your lungs. you watched as ramsay paid his debt for his transgressions, as jon lost himself in his anger, and as sansa snapped him out of it. and truthfully, horribly, you’re just glad he’s alright.

you lean forward, resting a hand on the edge of the tub as your head leans against his own, tipped back. your other hand comes over his shoulder, finding purchase on any skin available to you. you’ve done this dance before — almost losing him, and then having to convince yourself he’s okay again. you can only do that by feeling him through your fingertips, greedily soaking up his touch like vultures during winter.

you both don’t need words. you became fluent in the language of your comfortable silence long ago.

you sit there for a moment, relishing in his presence, his touch, being in winterfell again. you look to the window, thinking of all there is to be done, and sigh. you need to get back out there. you press a kiss to his temple, then retract, moving to stand up. the water lightly sloshes around as jon looks at you.

you lightly caress the back of his neck, looking down at him. “I should return. Offer assistance where it’s needed.”

you move to walk off, but jon catches your hand. “You could join me,” he says. “If you like.”

you look to him, your gaze accidentally flickering to his chest. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you look away. you never did have any resolve when it came to jon.

you squeeze his hand, then turn to start undressing. you didn’t even realize how uncomfortable you were until you started shedding your layers, freeing your irritated skin. your head drops down, and you run your hands through your hair. gods. how long had you been fighting?

you don’t notice how jon’s gaze is trapped on you, mapping the expanse of your body. if he’s ever doubted the existence of the gods, your presence reaffirms that belief. you were hand crafted, created with the intention to embody beauty in human form. if you asked of him absolution, jon would pray — kneeling before you as his altar.

you discard your clothes, moving to step in opposite from him. you’re fairly unharmed, other than the few small bruises that litter your body. the hot water enveloping you is everything and more, and you mutter a “Gods..” as you sink in. jon’s gaze hasn’t left you once.

you sigh. “It’s strange. Being back.”

jon only nods, looking out the window, expression becoming distant as he recounts the experiences had in the safety of these walls. hide and seek games that lasted well into the night. sneaking into the kitchens. archery and sword training. nan’s old ghost stories. your shared first kiss.

the last thought has his lips quirking up in a smile, returning his sight to you only to find you already looking at him. he leans forward, arm outstretching for you.

“Come here.”

he reaches for you, and you oblige — letting him turn you around & pull you to his chest. the water sloshes as you both move, getting more comfortable than you’ve been in weeks.

his touch has always been grounding, anchoring you in a way you weren’t made to understand. right now, it’s just you and jon in your own world. no sickness, no death, no cruelty. only serenity, and you think you could stay in this moment forever. still, you know you can’t, and that the aftermath of battle awaits just outside the old wooden door.

but, for now, you both lay against the other — gaze trapped on rickons’ sill as the banner of the wolf flies once more.

[seventhcallisto]

A PROMISE IS A SWEAR ! giom — chpt. 1

Synopsis. Matz gains a new district and a new member. The same member who trails a bunny to the den and introduces the beginning of obsession for the leaders.

Warnings. Violence. Physical harm. Und3rag3 tattooing. Teenagers(that needs it's own tw). Gang symbols. cigarett3 b3rn. Harm. And emotional harm and arguing. Please read giom masterlist before continuing.

Tuesday.

Positively, you were furious. After a not so nice call from a local man you know —your neighbor to be exact— you were mumbling up a storm. Excusing yourself through the last hour of your job just so you could catch a certain someone in the act.

With your work uniform on and a scowl on your face. Hiking up a hill through a run-down alleyway full of creeps and illegal activities. You finally caught sight of the person you'd been there to catch.

"Get off of me!" You snatched the teenager up by his arm, pinching him through his hoodie. "Jihoon, if you don't walk your skinny ass legs down this hill, I'll drag you," you stomped your heel clad foot, whisper yelling at the young man.

Jihoon was always causing problems, so threatening him like this was most likely not going to get him to listen. His face shriveled up. "You're not my mom!" He hissed back, equally furious - most likely due to the fact you had just pulled him from his group of boyfriends. Right in the middle of selling a pair of off branded shoes- and as soon as they saw you - pretended nothing was going on.

Irritation, through a false guise of shock, littered their faces as you tore and prodded the younger man away from his group of mis fit friends.

"Lee Jihoon," you whisper yelled to him this time, turning his body towards you. You take on the anger in his eyes with a frustrated scowl to clash. "Go and tell your friends you'll see them later, We're going home."

His face was turning red from embarrassment. But he knew you wouldn't back down, especially how stubborn he knows you to be. He smacked your palm off his jacket, huffing out a breath of air and turning towards the group he's with.

Within a few more seconds, he was storming past you. Hunched and full of anger as he made his way out of the entrance of the alleyway.

"Do you understand what you're doing, jihoon? It's illegal!" His footsteps rang loud on the wood of the apartment, ignoring your words- hardly bothering to take off his shoes at the entrance.

Before you could get out another frantic sentence out, he was turning his entire body your way, a snarl to his lips that resembled a dog. "What does it matter!? You're never home anyway! The cops can't pin shit on me-"

"Watch your mouth!" You yelled back, eyes widening. "I'm never home cause I am working! Don't you get that? These nice things you have- the school you go to! I have to pay for all of it somehow!" You gestured to his bedroom, posters and nick nacks littered about. "If I don't work, you can't have these things," your eyebrows furrowed. It was always so frustrating talking to him- with the exact copy of his mother's attitude.

He scoffed, "Whatever" he walked away from you, closing his door with a harsh slam.

These little outbursts would burn and simmer, like the crust on a volcano.

You stepped outside- to have a moment to yourself. Calming down from such a heightened situation- it wasn't good for you to let it bubble. But with jihoon- raising him, it was hard.

The silence of the evening gave you some peace of mind. And despite the situation of your day. You were beginning to feel relaxed, listening to the crickets and the distant sound of cars- cats- and the occasional dog barking.

"Tough day?" Changbin beckoned your attention, his large arms crossed over the balcony, you glanced to your door, having realized he heard everything.

"Yes- well, tough to my standards anyway." You laughed lightly, sighing. Changbin tilted his head at you, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "If it helps.. I know a lot of guys who went through this rebellious phase." he gestured to your apartment door, seemingly talking about jihoon. "They usually outgrow it, yknow, teenagers always act out. I know, I sure did."

You chortle at that. Palming your head as you looked out over the city, finally, you turned to meet changbins eyes, his presence having grown closer, right next to you on the railing. Comfortably, you sat with him for a second longer. "You? Rebellious?" You grinned. The fun- gentle man next to you, the one you've known for at least four years. And still have yet to properly get to know each other.

He laughed, his face scrunching. "What? Do I not seem rebellious enough?" He nudged your shoulder with his elbow, pouting. You laughed again. "No, no, I just wasn't expecting that, considering you're a -" You stopped short, remembering what jihoon had said earlier, you cleared your throat in the silence. He finished for you, glancing out to the city as well. "A cop?"

He leaned back over the railing with a sigh, nodding his head. "I heard that too. He's a bit cocky, considering he lives next to one." Changbin murmured. You shook your head, embarrassed on behalf of the teenager under your care. "I'm sorry-" "don't be. I gave my mom a hard time, too. He'll learn." The man shrugged off your apology, another drag of his cigarette, before he dabbed it out, fiddling with the end.

"But I'm not his mom. He has a reason to give me a hard time." You sighed heavily, letting the words flow before you cut them off, biting your lip. Changbin noticed, he's a keen man, a detailed man, it was a part of his job. He shook his head, twisting his body towards you.

Before he could come up with a sentence, you smiled gently. "Thanks for calling me, I hate when he does that" you groaned, remembering how upsetting it was to witness the young man attempt to brute force his way into getting another schoolmate to buy the pair of shoes they laid out.

Whatever jihoon had been doing wasn't legal. And you knew- you know. So, of course, changbin would know too - he was a cop after all, a detective to be exact, it was his job to notice these things. "Maybe a little juvie would do him some good," you sighed, a poor attempt at a joke- yet changbin still laughed heartily.

"If you need someone to scare the piss outta him, let me know, I've got a few people in mind." Changbin pocketed the end of his cigarette, bumping your elbow with his just as he left.

Wednesday. Always full of woe.

The downpour of rain filtered out the chatter of the company hongjoong was kept in. Barked laughter and forced smiles as the people around him conversed. The only person to take any interest in it was on his right. Seonghwa could make up excuses for the lack of attention his partner was providing. But the grin on the peak of hongjoongs cupids bow was driving Hwa wild with curiosity.

"What has you so happy?" The taller of the two murmured under his breath, his companion heard it - and with a clear of his throat, peaked over his glasses to the dark-haired man. "I'll tell you later"

Seonghwa sighed, bringing his glass of champagne to his lips. "Later couldn't come sooner," he replied with a sigh.

Hongjoong was in a better mood than he had been any other time of the week, with the stress that comes with a business- especially as big as this one- he could finally catch a breath of fresh air.

With one long sigh, the car door finally snapped shut, with seonghwa sitting right beside him.

"Where to?" Jongho, the leaders trusted men (and occasional driver) asked as he glanced through the rear view mirror, his brown hair framing his eyes. Hongjoongs smile perked up, seonghwa had noticed. "You know where jongho" hongjoong waved his question off with a smile, shrugging into his large fur coat.

Seonghwas attention turned back to the blonde seated next to him. "So? Where to?" Seonghwa copied jongho, questioning the shorter- yet beaming man. Hongjoong shifted in his seat, his grin faltering when his tongue poked his cheek. "You'll see." hongjoong kept the secret, seonghwa could argue– but it was typical of the younger to be so secretive sometimes.

Once the sleek black car had rolled to a stop. The evening had set, and finally, the moon was beginning to cast its beams across the streets. Seonghwa took notice of the passing buildings. Unease, unsure of the surroundings- matz hadn't stepped this far out of their comfort zone in a while unless there was a meeting. So the rural area, compared to the city, was a stark contrast to his scenery setting.

Practically bouncing out of his seat, hongjoong ushered seonghwa out of his own as soon as the fur covered man swung open his door. Of course- he was happy about something. And seonghwa was beginning to have a clue.

His eyebrow tilted up at the bubbly, shade wearing man- contrasting against seonghwa who was dressed in the best suit for the earlier occasion. He pocketed his hands, watching hongjoong with curious eyes.

In his right, hongjoong spun with the proudest grin on his face. Gesturing to the open area, a park, where seonghwa had recalled only ever passing by once- back when they were meeting with another acquaintance. Hongjoong beckoned the older man over, lacing his hands over a railing, with one other foot on the steps. He stood proudly over the peering hill, a grin still prominent on his face.

Ah. That's what it was. "You could have just told me," seonghwa mentioned with a sigh, running his hand over his hair and fixing any loose threads. Joong chuckled, "it wouldn't be special that way" he sighed, leaning on the railing- childishly, unable to sit still. Seonghwa laughed airily. "I suppose so, considering it's a wide district." Seonghwa murmured, taking his spot next to the blonde.

Hongjoong shifted his body towards the taller, still looking out over the railing at the quiet below. "It's ours now." Hongjoong whispered, almost unable to believe it himself- crime wasn't easy in this area, the cops were strict, which ended up with tight attitudes and unwilling participants.

But finally, hongjoong found a willing distributor, and he seemed permanent for the time being- until he could be replaced.

"I've got a few of them out here already, watching." Hongjoong gestures to four distinct areas, seonghwa perched his arms on the rail. Glittery lights catching every which way. He turned his attention back to the ecstatic man. "And who's watching them?" He hummed.

There was hardly any trust for the underlings, not to say they weren't loyal to the cause, just that they were easily swayed and amateurs, so of course, seonghwa had to ask.

"Mingi"

Seonghwa took in a hiss of breath, the most loyal of all- a little clumsy though. Hongjoong could sense seonghwas thought. "This one is his. He practically begged for it." Joong sniffled a laugh, recalling the plead of the other member. "He said he could take care of it."

There was a silence for a moment before seonghwa spoke up.

"Do you trust him?" He asked. Hongjoong tilted his head, sliding his glasses to lay on the top of his head. He turned his face towards seonghwa for the first time during their conversation, and nodded.

"I trust you, don't I?" Hongjoong answered.

Thursday.

The following day was just as bad as you thought. Things may seem easier the next morning. But jihoon had still ignored you, even as you prepared him a breakfast along with his fresh uniform. A scowl on his pouty- still childish face. It made you want to turn in and wave the white flag.

So, when you sit at the empty kitchen table, staring at the packaged food –that had been coldly left behind– and reminiscing on how you could hardly get the same treatment from your parents growing up, do you begin to feel the ache of missing your best friend.

You couldn't dwell on it. Not when you had work.

Jihoon is as difficult as his mother. Purgatory thoughts playing in your mind over and over. Although your best friend Lia wasn't shy from being mean - borderline - a bully, she was still loyal and caring, and she loved jihoon. She would have had the best lines to say and tell; to convince him to get his act straight. But she wasn't here. And as his godmother, you had the responsibility to play mommy.

You really wished she was here. She'd know how to take care of these things. You've always been the softer one in the duo.

It's past 12, and you have an early shift tomorrow. You sit at the kitchen table, dazed and daydreaming as you wait. When you think over what could be happening, bile rises in your stomach. Jihoon hasn't returned home, and his phone is apparently off. He has been gone for hours. More so than usual.

What can you even do?

The front door is quietly unlocked in the silence.

You spring from the kitchen chair, watching the door be pushed in, followed by a hooded figure who doesn't bother to flicker on any of the lights.

Your hands are spinning him around the next second, although jihoon is taller than you- the veracity of your movement tugs him to face you.

You pull the hood down next, glaring his bruised face in-between broken orbs and clenched teeth, looking at the fresh cuts along his lip and nose. "Where have you been?" You say, as calmly as you can muster. Jihoons shoulders fall. "Out," he mustered, shrugging his shoulder past you to pull off his jacket.

You pull him back by his upper arm before he can go any farther. He winces but makes no move to push you off. His head is tilted towards the floor, and his breathing is labored - tired from whatever activity he had just gotten up to.

"Jihoon, your mom wouldn't want this -" his hand snakes out of your grasp as if you burnt him. "What did you just say?" He scoffs, clicking his tongue. You don't falter. "Yo-" "No, no, you don't get to do that. You don't get to use that against me cause I don't even know what she was like." You go to cut him off. "You know that's not true-"

His foot meets the stool as he kicks it frustrated, a silent curse coming from his mouth.

"I don't know if anything you say is true, I don't even know if you're really someone she'd leave me with to take care of. It's all just bullshit anyway, right?" His snarky tone wavers, his throat pinching close the longer he stays on this subject.

"I'm going to bed" he brushes you off once more when you attempt to reach out.

And you have the same lump in your throat. You don't know what to say yourself. You don't know how to fix this. You don't know what you're doing.

Friday.

Halfway through your shift, do you get another dreadful call- voice-mail this time, since you can't answer your phone during school hours. On the other end is changbin- but this time, he's just dropping information off for you.

"Hey y/n, I'm sorry to be telling you this, but -" he takes a heavy sigh, "one of my colleagues told me about seeing a kid similar to jihoon.. coming from this new operation we're in the middle of. It's a big nightclub - full of colors - hell, you can see it from a mile away, so just ask around. It just got up and running, we - don't tell anyone I said this - but we're looking at charges if he happens to be caught in there. It's not safe for him. that's all. Call me when you get this- we can go together. Do not go on your own. I'll talk to you later."

The end of Friday is full of dread. The streets are full of characters for the night. Fools and drunks and corner girls and the occasional normal group of friends, no matter who it is- you ask.

"The club full of bright lights?"

A man finally repeats your question. He's not entirely sober, nor is he blackout either. He points over his shoulder, giving lazy directions. But as you go, you thank him. Changbin was right. You couldn't miss it from a mile now that you were in a neighboring alleyway- heaving from having run everywhere to find this place.

The front is guarded with men in jackets, smoking cigarettes, and scaring the stragglers who stare a little longer than they should.

You power through, attempting to blend in with a crowd of rowdy girls who are easily let in- You're stopped by the collar of your shirt, pulled out of it and faced to face with a scarred man, eyeing you up and down.

"Are you trying to sneak in? Hey, why didn't you just ask to be let in? What kind of shit are ya trying to pull?" His heavy palm smacks your cheek, pat pat, your skin reverbs from the tiny hits- its a slap to your pride in a way. You scowl at the stranger.

"Theres someone in there I need to get" you defend yourself, pushing the man off your collar. His snarky grin drops into a scowl, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lip dangerously. "I'm not buying that princess." The man flicks the ash your way, glancing to the other man on the door.

Your appearance is a contrast to everyone else. Your in your best dress for parent-teacher day, having cut it short to find jihoon. You stick out like a sore thumb. Fuck. You're really not getting past this guy.

You had to do something.

"He's underage! He's a kid, a kid shouldnt be in there- If I can't go in and get him- I'm gonna call the cops!" You're making a scene now- you're panicking, you have no idea if jihoon is okay, no idea whether or not he's doing drugs or getting himself hurt.

You're scared for him. But the glance in both of the men's eyes is your top worry. Threats about the cops coming around seems to gather attention, onlookers glancing your way and beginning to crowd the front door. "Cops?" The first man laughs, snatching your arm up with an icy grip that has you hissing in pain. "Are you threatening us? Ma'am, that's not proper. We're running a business here." His tone is attempting to be lighthearted, but the danger behind his grip and smile is driving the breath out of your lungs.

You're dragged inside by the same guy, the lights, the music- everything screams danger with this situation, not only that but the faces- the troubled people around here is nothing safe. You catch glimpses of people snorting different color substances off each table, tiny shiny and distinct pills littered around. Smoke and the burning smell of cigarettes- and something else, something heavy and damp, funky smelling. Earthy. You body makes contact with the door to a room and you're pushed into it abruptly.

Your feet stumble forward towards the middle of the room, where you finally find your balance. Cards are placed on a wide and round glass table and this place smells the worse of the earthy smoke, it clings to every surface, making you cough. When you do, the man in the center of the red velvet couch in front of you peaks up over his glasses.

His hair is white- silver almost, long enough to tuck behind his ears. He gestures with a ringed finger to the man with you to speak.

"She's threatening to talk to the cops."

"She a regular?"

"No, never seen her around here before"

The silver haired man takes a heavy sigh,, he parts from the woman and men around him to meet you face to face. He's tall- intimidating. His height is no joke. He scans you up and down with dark eyes. Emotions you can't grasp on his features.

Whoever the people are, they aren't bothering to look your way, quiet and head down. Sheep's amongst a wolf. He's obviously in charge here. "Look- I don't know who you are but you have kids in here- this isn't a place they should be-"

The flicker of a lighter sounds through the quiet room. The sound of music muffled behind the door gaurded by the man and another. You watch the silver haired stranger take a drag of a cigarette after flipping his lighter closed, the red pulse of light igniting in front of you, it silences you quickly.

"Listen." He starts with a hum, nodding his head as the smoke hits your face, he takes your hand in his, gently patting his large, calloused fingers over yours. You hesitate to let him have it, unsure of his motive. "I understand your concern, but we don't have kids here sweetheart, we don't allow that. Youth is important to our future, right? Isn't that what everyone thinks?" He glances around shortly, switching out the hand holding the cigarette to cage your palm in-between. You can feel the heat of it, see the ash starting to form at the top.

"That's not true." You whisper. His eyes squint. "You calling me a liar?" He murmurs, stepping closer.

"I'm calling bullshit" you hold your head high.

It's silent. Air so tense and thick, you can't tell if it's the smoke or the feeling lingering in your chest. But this man, he's not safe. None of this is. And you're really testing your luck here. "I need-" you start again. But the sudden burn of specks on the back of your hand makes you whimper in pain, attempting to draw back your limb from the man.

He holds it tightly in his, flicking ash onto the back of it, the sting makes you hiss, before he brings the cigarette back to his full lips, your fingers pale from the force.

He takes a drag, blowing it in your face once again.

"I don't like being called a liar." He pouts into his words, dusting the ash across your skin with his thumb, a warning at most. But it stings slightly when he flips your palm over to examine the lines.

"You come in here and threaten my place, I've only been nice to you this entire time." He holds his free hand over his heart. "What do you want exactly, sweetheart?" He squints down at you. The nickname makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"I told the guy at the front. There's someone in here i need-" "and who is that someone?" You go quiet, squinting up your nose at him. He stares back for the next seconds. One.. two.. three-

There's the stinging burn to your palm, it aches and you screech in pain. Attempting to bring your hand back from the heat. A cigarette that is searing into the soft skin in the middle of your palm. You wail at it, a pain so uncomfortable you forgot it even felt real. The ash darkens when he puts it out. Smearing it across your palm. His eyes are unlike what you've seen, no remorse or mercy, just evil.

"I'm not going to ask again. Giving me attitude when I've been sweet-" "i-im not please-" you beg, anything to stop the pain and sting on your palm, to get the man before you to stop before he does something else, something worse. "Shh, quiet, I'm talking." he pats his palm over the open wound. You whimper once more, tears welling in your eyes. It hurts.

Before his lips fall open again. The door behind you swings open.

It's the other man from the front door. Followed by.. a few individuals, you can hardly see with the blur in your eyes.

"Raeun?" The second man to walk through questions. He's taller- his body adorned in what seems to be the closest thing to a suit. A pair of glasses and short- almost buzzcut black and blonde hair. Raeun- the man who grips your palm looses his grip, and you pull it as quickly as you can to your chest.

"Mingi" he huffs. "Come to join so soon?" He laughs, glancing to you. The man, from towards the entrance does the same. "Yeah, Came as soon as I got the go ahead" mingi replies plainly, walking further into the room. "Leave" he gestures to the people across the couch.

An array of limbs and people pass you, but- when you turn to leave, you're stopped by him. "You, stay." Mingi swings his finger out to call you over to him. Gesturing to the couch.

You really don't know what's going on. But mingi is gentle as he grabs your palm, glancing for approval- you don't respond.

"Seonghwa said no more burns, whats this then?" Mingi tilts the wound towards raeun. The same man scoffs. "She said she was gonna call the cops." "And you think this was gonna stop her?" Mingi groans, letting your hand go. You cradle it back to your chest, watching the tall man step up to raeun.

"Get your shit and go, you're out" mingi turns on his heel, stepping back out of the silver man's way to let him leave. Raeun scoffs loudly, "you can't kick me out of here, I made this place what it is-"

"Yeah and where did that lead you?" Mingi waves his hand out to the club. Raeuns face drops even further into anger. "Fuck- is this about her? We can just pay the bitch off-"

"Raeun" mingi hisses his name. The tension could be cut with a knife and you try everything to make yourself smaller in it. "Get. Out." Mingi points to the door.

Raeuns fit seems to cease, a smile creeping up his skinny features. "Oh, you got the position didn't you? The captain finally gave you something huh?" Raeun laughs loudly, holding his stomach that pokes out of a silky cheetah print shirt.

"Which means you're out." Mingi confirms. "Go." He says once more, it's a threat, the tone speaks for itself. Raeun doesn't bother once more, kicking the door open on his way out.

Your heart drops when the door slams shut behind him. Your labored breath calming to accommodate the quiet in the room. Mingi heaves a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the far side of the couch. His hand rakes through his messy hair, parting the spikes to docile them down. With a single hand in his hair and another reaching out for a glass- presumably full of whiskey, mingi finally glances your way.

You're a shaking aching mess, it doesn't take a genius to notice you're not for this lifestyle. You're dressed like a librarian in the midst of a nightclub for fuck's sake. Your palm is clutched tightly, as if you're attempting to squeeze the pain away. Your eyebrows are knitted and you're curled into yourself. Lost in thought.

"What are you doing here?" Mingi breaks the silence. You jump, turning your head his way.

"I'm looking for someone." You quietly answer. Mingi nods, lifting the whiskey to his lips. "Who?" He asks before he takes a gulp of the alcohol. "A boy, his- he goes by jihoon, he's five-eight- probably taller now- i - we haven't checked in a bit, he's got messy an-and curly black hair- it, well.. he hasn't let me trim it in a while and-" your rambles encourages a bubble in your throat, a sob beginning to form.

You could have gotten hurt worse, you still can, you could die here, you could be trafficked, mingi seems capable of it if he was able to test someone like raeun. And now the only thoughts in your mind are how you wish jihoon hadn't been mad, how you wish he could know you love him- in case you do happen to die, or end up missing. How the last thing you did with him was argue.

Your throat closes in when an image of the younger version of the boy shows up in your minds eye. The sob breaks out "he's just a kid, he's all i got- I'm all he's got, I don't want him here, please" you beg, for his sake, more than yours- mingi is so quiet, his aura is scary, he's not like anyone you've ever met before.

"Hey," he calls softly, your face twisting to see his. His eyes have caved, soft and understanding, his eyebrows furrowing. "I'm going to go get your boy, and you're not coming back. You hear me?"

Mingi makes his statement clear just as he gets up to leave.

The breath lodged in your throat exits as you nod. The dull ache of your hand plays at the back of your mind - finally, you'll be able to see jihoon, and you'll both leave.

You'll leave. Together.

There's no windows in this room. There is no light besides the TV in the corner. It flickers with a show you don't know, a familiar actor beating down on multiple men. Your eyes are blurry - and you wonder if you happen to have a first aid kit at home, possibly - if you haven't used all of the content on jihoon from his many fights and bruises. It feels like an eternity while you wait, hoping for light in the darkness.

You hope jihoons okay.

Your hope is answered when the door once again swings open. Mingi is holding jihoon by the scruff of his neck, pushing him into the room, but he sidesteps out of the way to let someone else in.

The cast of the club lights create a halo around the man, the beads of the entrance jingle when he steps inside, like crystals, the light bounces off every inch of the glass beads, illuminating the man in the fur coat from behind.

His hair is a vibrant blue, His nose has a define point, his lips are naturally plump- He's pretty. Which is a surprise. And you thought Raeun was the boss. No.. it's this man. With his cream colored fur coat and his tight leather jeans, a buckle with a silver star to top it off and a sheer black and white top. His shoes are leather, reptilian in design. A pair of dark glasses slotted against his forehead when he pushed them up. Your eyes meet.

It's dangerous. He's dangerous. Everything screaming. This is the type of man you'd see on TV, draped in luxurious brands and with a snarky attitude to come with it, a past- and scars along his figure, fuck- this guy is no good. He's a snake in man's skin. A wolf in sheep's clothing. And you can tell.

"Mingi" his eyes never stray from yours, as if stalking prey, his voice is light and inviting. Mingi glances his way, then yours with a silent response to the man "captain." He pushes jihoon forward and drags the hilt of his shirt up. You stand- to protest, to tell them don't touch him.

But the ink along jihoons skin is a sign of surprise. Of fear to your racing heart.

"Your boy here," the captain pats the young boy on his shoulder, jihoon grimaces, head down turned. "Has our symbol, he has the mark of ateez, and that means he won't be leaving anytime soon."

The lines of an 'A' are sharp, a circle to encase it, it spans almost the entirety of jihoons left pec. It's fresh ink. your stomach churns and twists. You think you're going to be sick.

"Jihoon is one of ours now." He finishes, clicking his tongue.

"Jihoon?" You quietly call. For him to say it's a joke, a sick one- but his face remains the same. Furrowed and ashamed.

Tears well up in your eyes once again. You've failed - failed as a guardian and failed your best friend. You failed the little boy you were given, and you've failed his father and future.

"Please. Please- okay- he's a child- he's only fourteen!" You plead with the man, slipping to your knees, desperate as you are- you're willing to do anything to prevent jihoon from throwing away his future.

The captains' fingers hold a coin- something you haven't seen before then. The men peer back at you in the dark of the room. "I-" "the ink is already there." He nudges jihoons left side, the boy groans in pain, most definitely sore.

"There's no changing that," he nods towards you, flicking the younger boy's cheek. His eyes are demeaning when he stares down at your figure. This all seems like a joke to him. With one final glance to your shaking body, the vibrant haired man turns away towards the door.

"Please. I'll do anything." You beg.

His steps falter. The coin makes contact with the metal of his rings as he plays with it. It dings every so often, like a clock in the silence over and over.

Clink, clink, clink, clink- ...

"Don't make promises you can't keep." You can hear the perk to the man's voice, a smile through his tone. "I can keep it." You confirm without another beat, gulping back your tongue.

"I can keep my promises."

"I swear on my heart."

[swmzq]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄!

pairing:taylor swift X fem!singer!reader

authors note:Based on good luck, babe! By chappell roan cause I’ve been absolutely obsessed with her lately! A little bit of Austin butler x reader

warnings:smut, mdni, fingering, rushed lol, reader getting jealous of Travis and taylor (no hate to Travis I love him)

dividers: @tattooedeverything

masterlist

I sighed tossing my phone to the other side of the bed. My gaze fixed on the ceiling, it’s clear that keeping things hidden with Taylor was probably for the best, but it wasn’t what I wanted. But how exactly do I label it now?

Friends with benefits? Just casually messing around? Fuck buddies?

I honestly couldn’t define it myself; it’s complicated, because I’m certain friends don’t sneak out of parties or fancy dinners to pleasure each other.

Taylor always said that we’re nothing but two really close friends in Interviews even though she knows the truth. It only made me feel like the fool here, thinking that it’d ever work between us.

My train of thoughts got abruptly interrupted by a soft knock on the door, prompting me to groan and get up from my cozy spot on the bed.

I sigh walking over to the door swinging the door open revealing Taylor standing there with a bright smile on her face

“Hello, Taylor. What brings you here?”

Taylor groans tilting her head back. “Long rehearsals for the upcoming tour, and I realized I’d be bored if I just came home to the cats even though i love them more than anything. Then i figured that I’d come over cause my dearest friend is sick and would probably like some tea and chai sugar cookies. So here i am!”

Gosh I fucking hated it every time she called me her friend, I love her as my friend but she knows deep inside as much as I do that we’re more than just friends. Friends don’t kiss each other or touch each other when nobody’s watching.

I quickly masked my thoughts with a bright grin. “God, what would I ever do without my best friend and her amazing chai sugar cookies,” I exclaimed dramatically.

Taylor playfully roll her eyes in response. "But seriously, are you feeling better today?" She asks, concern evident in her voice.

I give her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I promise I'm feeling much better, especially with you here," I reply warmly.

I welcome Taylor inside, the warmth of her presence filling the room and easing the lingering discomfort of my illness. With a soft smile I gesture for her to make herself at home.

After some time I find myself sitting on the counter, idly swinging my legs as Taylor stands nearby, leaning against the opposite counter. The comfortable silence between us speaks volumes.

As our eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between us, unspoken words dancing in the air. In that moment, it feels like we share a secret language.

I feel a rush of heat as my gaze drops down to Taylor's soft, inviting lips, my heart quickening at the sudden surge of desire that courses through me. In that fleeting moment, the air between us crackles with a newfound tension, a palpable awareness of the unspoken desires that linger just beneath the surface.

As Taylor pushes herself off the counter, a sense of anticipation builds within me, my heart beating faster as she makes her way over to where I'm seated. The air seems charged with an unspoken energy, a magnetic pull drawing us closer together.

I feel a shiver run down my spine as Taylor's hand gently rests on my thigh, the closeness between us electrifying. Our noses almost touching, I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her words sending a rush of emotions through me.

“I've missed you, more than I should” she whisper meeting my gaze with a mix of longing and affection.

“Taylor,” I whisper, the name falling from my lips like a reverent prayer, the urge to bridge the remaining distance between us almost overwhelming. Leaning my head forward, I inch closer, the magnetic pull between us drawing us into a moment fraught with unspoken desires and untapped longing.

I feel a surge of electricity shoot through me as Taylor's hand delicately tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek, gently urging me closer.

As the gap between us closes, a surge of desire courses through me, and I press my lips against Taylor's soft ones in a tender yet passionate kiss. The world falls away, leaving only the sensation of her warmth against my skin and the intoxicating thrill of our forbidden embrace.

I let out a moan into the kiss my body responding to Taylor's touch as her hand grips my ass, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. The intensity of the moment heightens, the boundaries between us blurring as desire takes hold.

My breath hitches as Taylor pulls away, her fingers deftly unbuttoning my silky pajama shirt. “So pretty,” she whispers, her voice filled with admiration as she slides the shirt off my shoulders, revealing my bare breasts to her hungry gaze.

I gasp in pleasure as Taylor's lips close around one of my nipples, her tongue swirling deliciously around it, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through me. The sensation of her warm mouth on my sensitive flesh heightens my arousal, and I arch my back, offering myself to her touch. The intimate connection between us deepens as she lavishes attention on my breasts, each touch and kiss stoking the flames of desire within me.

Taylor's kisses trail down my stomach, each touch sending a shiver of anticipation through me as she stops right at the edge of my silky pajama shorts. The air is heavy with desire, the tension between us palpable as we teeter on the brink of a newfound intimacy.

“You want this, baby?” Taylor looks up at me, her gaze filled with a playful yet seductive glint, teasingly playing with the band of my silk pajama shorts.

I nod eagerly, my breath coming in short gasps as I meet Taylor's gaze with a mix of desire and longing. The question hangs in the air between us, charged with unspoken anticipation and need. With a silent plea in my eyes, I offer myself to her, my body aching for her touch as she plays with the band of my pajama shorts, each moment drawing us closer to the edge of forbidden pleasure.

I feel a rush of heat as Taylor slowly slides off my pajama shorts, revealing my light pink underwear. “So pretty,” she whispers, her voice filled with admiration and desire as she gazes at me.

I gasp as Taylor slowly pulls off my light pink panties, her touch sending a jolt of pleasure through me. With a gentle yet firm grip, she pulls my thighs further apart, increasing the intensity of our intimate moment. The air crackles with anticipation as we both succumb to the raw desire between us.

Taylor kisses sloppily down my stomach, each touch sending a wave of pleasure through me. The sensation of her lips on my skin ignites a fire within me, heightening the intimacy of the moment as we both surrender to the raw passion between us.

I moan out in a mix of pleasure and desire, unable to contain the raw intensity of the moment. “I need you” I breathe out, my voice laced with need and longing as the passion between us reaches a fever pitch.

Taylor’s kisses went down to my abdomen and closer to my heat I gasp in shock and pleasure as her tongue swirls around my clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. The exquisite sensation of her touch leaves me trembling with desire, lost in the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

My hand grip onto the counter, crying out Taylor's name as she inserts a finger, the sensation sending me over the edge as pleasure washes over me in waves. Lost in the throes of ecstasy, I surrender to the intense intimacy between us, the connection deepening with each electrifying touch.

I let out a breathless moan as Taylor teases, her words sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “Yeah, feels good baby?” she teases, adding another finger and intensifying the sensation, pushing me closer to the edge of ecstasy. The raw desire between us fuels the intensity of the moment, drawing us deeper into the throes of passion.

“You like that ?” Taylor's voice is husky with desire, her words a seductive whisper that sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “I want to make you feel so good,” she murmurs, her fingers working their magic as she drives me to the brink of ecstasy.

Her fingers slipped in and out of me so fast I was scared she was gonna break her fingers.

Taylor locks eyes with me, a look of intense desire and passion reflected in her gaze. “Let go, baby,” she whispers, her voice laced with need. “I want to feel you come apart in my arms.” Her fingers continue their relentless rhythm, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

The familiar knot in my stomach tightens, a wave of pleasure building within me as I curl my toes, the sensations overwhelming my senses. Every touch, every movement from Taylor sends me spiraling closer to the edge, my body teetering on the brink of release. The tension in the room is palpable, the air heavy with desire as I surrender to the impending waves of ecstasy.

“I can feel you getting closer, baby,” Taylor's voice is a low, sultry whisper, her gaze locked with mine as she drives me towards the peak of pleasure. “Just let go and come for me,” she urges, her fingers working their magic to push me over the edge into a blissful release.

With a gasp of pleasure, I cry out, “oh fuck yes,” the words escaping in a breathless whisper as the intense waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me trembling in the aftermath of my release. Taylor's touch lingers, prolonging the pleasure as I ride the waves of my climax, lost in the raw intensity of our shared desire.

Taylor leans in and gives me a gentle peck on the lips, her touch soft and tender, a silent reassurance of the intimacy we shared. The gesture speaks volumes, conveying a sense of closeness and affection that lingers in the air between us. The moment is filled with a quiet understanding and a bond that transcends words, deepening the connection between Taylor and me.

“You are amazing,” Taylor says, her voice filled with a mix of tenderness and desire.

I smile, my heart still pounding with the intensity of our encounter. “You always know how to drive me wild,” I reply, my voice filled with gratitude and affection.

Taylor's gaze meets mine, a spark of connection passing between us. “I just want to make you feel good,” she whispers, her eyes full of warmth and sincerity.

My hand reached out, intertwining our fingers. “You always do,” I say softly, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me.

I hum along to the song playing in the background, the upbeat rhythm filling the bathroom as I apply the finishing touch of lip gloss. Taylor stands beside me, swaying her hips slightly to the beat as she applies mascara, a grin playing on her lips.

"So remind me again, what is this club we're going to?" I raise my eyebrows at Taylor, curious about our destination.

She shrugs, her grin widening. "All I know is that it's in Kansas City and has good drinks."

I chuckle and shake my head. "As long as I come out alive," I tease, the anticipation of the night ahead filling me with excitement.

We decide to take some pictures together in the hotel room, striking poses and capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie. Taylor and I playfully pose for the camera, our smiles genuine and our bond evident in each shot. We choose the best photos to post on our Instagram, sharing the memories of our night out in Kansas City with our friends.

yourusername

liked by taylorswift,blakelively and 973 816 others

yourusername do you guys feel …ready for it?

Taylorswift oh yes I do in fact feel ready for tonight ➥yourusername of course you do😉

swiftie4ever NO CAUSE I DONT CARE ANYMORE IM CLOWNING SO HARD NOW

User818181 excuse me miss Y/N Y/L/N what do you mean with …ready for it?

y/nlvrrrr okay so WHAT IF y/n and Taylor will have a collab on rep tv?

view other comments

As we step into the party, the energy is palpable, the room buzzing with excitement and chatter. The space is packed with celebrities, their presence adding an air of glamour and sophistication to the event. Taylor and I exchange glances, a mix of awe and thrill reflected in our eyes as we take in the scene before us.

I take a deep breath, feeling a surge of anticipation as I clutch onto Taylor's hand, drawing comfort and strength from her presence. Together, we step inside the party, the sounds of laughter and music enveloping us as we navigate through the crowd of celebrities. With Taylor by my side, I feel a sense of confidence and excitement, ready to immerse myself in the night's festivities.

Taylor drags me over to the bar and orders our drinks, the vibrant atmosphere of the party surrounds us. The pulsating music and lively conversations create an electric energy that fills the air.

“Hey, Taylor, I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick!” I shout over the loud music, the excitement of the night fueling my movements as I weave through the crowd towards the restroom. As I make my way through the bustling party, I catch glimpses of familiar faces and the glimmer of flashing cameras, adding to the allure of the glamorous event.

I step into the bathroom, the sounds of the party muffled by the closed door, I take a moment to touch up my makeup. I carefully apply my lip liner, ensuring my lips look just right, before adding a touch of lip gloss for a hint of shine. I glance at myself in the mirror, adjusting my hair and smoothing out my dress, taking a deep breath to steady myself before heading back out into the vibrant chaos of the party.

My mind couldn’t help but wander to what me and taylor was, cause one second we’re fucking each other but after that we act like lovers. But out in public we were only best friends, every time we went out to parties it always ended up with Taylor kissing her hundred boys in bars and brings them home. She always said that it was just the way she was, another stupid excuse.

It’s not fair, I’m the one who should be kissing her. I should be the one who’s on the news with her.

I sighed getting out of the bathroom walking over to were taylor sat. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the man sitting beside her, the one and only Travis kelce.

The way his hand rested on her knee made me wanna throw up. Of course the famous American-footballer decided to hit on her especially after all these news about him attending one of her shows with a bracelet with his number on. The thought of it made me wanna stab myself in my eyes.

Taylor locked eyes with me in the crowd waving me over with a smile plastered on her face. I pinched myself making my way over to them with a fake smile.

“Y/N! There you are,” Taylor exclaims. “This is Travis! Travis, this is Y/N, my dearest friend,” she introduces us with a warm smile.

I take a deep breath and compose myself, extending my hand to shake Travis's.

“Hi Travis, lovely to meet you,” I say with a bright smile, my tone warm and friendly despite the underlying tension I feel. Deep down, a pang of jealousy flickers within me as I notice Travis's hand resting on Taylor's knee, but I push the feeling aside, focusing on maintaining a pleasant demeanor in this social setting.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N,” Travis replies with a slight nod, his gaze meeting mine with a polite smile. Despite the subtle tension in the air, his response is cordial and respectful, easing the atmosphere slightly as we exchange pleasantries in the midst of the bustling party.

“Travis in fact actually came to one of my shows here, i can’t believe i never got the bracelet!” Taylor chimes in happily, I try my hardest not to roll my eyes.

“Oh yeah! I think I heard something about it!” I reply but I heard it everywhere I went. The crush Travis had on taylor was talked about over the whole internet, it made me wanna shoot myself over and over again.

”You and Y/N has been friends for a while now right?” Travis asks out of curiosity looking at us sipping from his drink.

“Oh um, we met during the music awards in 2018 i think” I reply with a nostalgic smile, the memories of the American Music Awards 2018 flooding back vividly. Taylor in her stunning mirror ball dress and matching heels, radiating confidence and grace, while I stood beside her in my light pink dress, feeling like a part of something magical.

Travis clears his throat, his gaze fixed on Taylor as he speaks. “So i thought that I’ll come next show to and maybe this time I can get backstage.“ he says, a hint of flirtation in his voice as he winks at Taylor, causing a faint blush to color her cheeks. I bite down on my tongue, stopping myself from saying something stupid.

With a forced smile on my face, I rise from my seat, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. “Well, I'll leave you two,” I say, my tone polite but tinged with a hint of underlying tension.

As I push past the crowded bodies with a drink in hand, the room swirling with music and laughter, I accidentally bump into someone, the cold liquid from my drink splashing onto my body.

“Watch where you're fucking going,” I snap, annoyed at the sudden collision, before looking up to see the one and only Austin Butler. “Oh, I'm so sorry, here, um, let me help you,” he immediately apologizes, his tone sincere and apologetic.

“No, no, I'm sorry for being rude,” I quickly respond, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me at my initial outburst. I appreciate his understanding and kindness in the situation, grateful for his quick response to diffuse the tension between us.

He chuckles and asks, “Rough day?” I offer a soft smile and nod in response, a hint of weariness in my eyes. “If only you knew,” I reply.

"Well, I gotta go to the restroom to clean this off," I say, looking down at my half-soaked dress, feeling a mix of frustration and discomfort.

“Want me to come with you?” Austin asks, his offer of assistance genuine and kind. I pause for a moment, considering his offer before nodding in gratitude. “Yes, that would be great, thank you,” I reply, appreciating his thoughtfulness in the midst of the chaotic party scene.

As I lock the door behind us, the sounds of the party muffled by the closed door, Austin approaches me with tissues in hand. “Here, let me help you,” he offers, his voice calm and reassuring. I feel a sense of gratitude for his kindness and assistance, allowing myself to relax for a moment in his presence as he helps me clean up the spilled drink from my dress.

“Can't wait for your upcoming album, your latest one was amazing. My favorite is probably 'Casual',” Austin says, his eyes lighting up with genuine enthusiasm as he starts to hum the lyrics to the song, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His appreciation for my music brings a sense of joy and validation, and I can't help but laugh quietly at his lighthearted gesture, grateful for the unexpected moment of connection over our shared love of music.

“Are you planning to start touring again?” Austin asks, his expression curious and interested as he inquires about my future plans in the music industry. His question sparks a flicker of anticipation within me, reminding me of the excitement and energy that comes with performing live for my fans.

“Yeah, I'm planning to announce it sometime after the whole album has been released. There's just this one song left that I need to finish,” I explain, a sense of anticipation and determination evident in my voice.

“Well, what about you? Do you have any upcoming movies? 'Dune' was amazing,” I say, shifting the conversation towards Austin and his impressive work in the film industry.

Austin shrugs nonchalantly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Can't tell you my secrets, can I?” he teases, winking mischievously as he hints at upcoming projects that he's keeping under wraps.

I playfully roll my eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I tilt my head, savoring the comfortable silence that settles between us.

“Did you come here alone tonight?” Austin asked, his tone casual yet curious as he sought to learn more about my presence at the event.

I shake my head, a hint of disappointment flickering in my eyes. “No, I came with Taylor, like in Taylor Swift, but she's been occupied with this Travis guy,” I explain, a touch of wistfulness coloring my tone.

“You guys seem pretty close, right?” Austin inquired, his tone gentle and observant as he picked up on the dynamics between Taylor and me. But oh boy if he only knew, I thought to myself.

“Yeah, we really are,” I respond with a fond smile, reflecting on the strong connection and camaraderie that Taylor and I share.

Austin's voice is tinged with a hint of curiosity as he asks, “Are you planning on heading home alone?” His question hangs in the air, but not in a creepy way.

I grin and reply, “Well, I don't know. Taylor's probably taken off with that Travis guy, and my hotel is just a fifteen-minute drive away.” The uncertainty of the night's plans adds a sense of spontaneity and adventure to the situation, leaving room for unexpected twists and turns as the evening unfolds.

“Well, my hotel is just five minutes away, and I could honestly use some company,” Austin says, his tone warm and inviting.

Well the next morning I found myself waking up in Austin's bed, dressed only in a pair of panties. The faint morning light filtering through the curtains painted a soft glow over the room, casting a dream-like quality over the scene as I processed the implications of our intimate encounter.

As the weeks passed by, Austin and I maintained a close friendship, the memory of that unexpected night adding a layer of complexity and unspoken understanding to our dynamic.

I was currently sitting in the sofa with Taylor watching some tv show on a random channel.

I shift on the sofa, feeling Taylor's curious gaze on me as we watch a random movie together. Suddenly, she turns to me, her eyes filled with playful curiosity. “So, how's it going with Austin? He's the one you left with at the party, right?” Taylor's question hangs in the air, laced with a hint of mischief and genuine interest in my connection with Austin after that memorable night.

I shrug in response to Taylor's question, a casual smile playing on my lips. “Just friends,” I reply, keeping my tone light and nonchalant.

“What about you and Travis?” I counter, turning the question back to her with a teasing glint in my eyes.

Taylor blushed slightly “I really like him, he’s the sweetest.”

I offer Taylor a supportive smile, masking the pang of jealousy that tugs at my heart. "I'm glad to hear that. Travis does seem like a great guy," I reply, my words genuine despite the internal turmoil. Keeping up the facade of happiness for my friend's sake, I push aside my own feelings to focus on being there for Taylor in that moment.

As Taylor continues to gush about Travis, I listen attentively, nodding along and offering encouraging words as she shares her feelings knowing deep inside that I just wanted to stab myself over and over again.

As months passed by and my album was released, with a tour on the horizon, Taylor and Travis grew closer each day. Despite their budding relationship, the undeniable chemistry between Taylor and me continued to simmer beneath the surface, leading to moments of passion and intimacy shared in secret. The tangled web of emotions and desires added a layer of complexity to our friendship, creating a delicate balance between loyalty, love, and hidden desires.

Taylor and I stood in the bathroom of the vmas, touching up our makeup, the buzz of excitement and anticipation filled the air. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated our faces as we exchanged small talk, the hum of chatter and music from the event drifting in from outside. The camaraderie between us was palpable, a silent understanding woven into the shared moments of preparation before the glitz and glamour of the evening.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage before turning to Taylor, the weight of my words heavy in the air between us. “Taylor, I think I'm gonna call it off. It feels... stupid, hiding what we have when you have Travis,” I confess, the honesty in my voice tinged with a mix of relief and apprehension. The realization of the need for honesty and authenticity in our relationships hangs between us, setting the stage for a moment of truth and vulnerability.

Taylor's voice carries a mix of confusion and concern as she looks at me, searching for answers in my eyes. “C'mon, Y/N, what's going on?” she prompts, her words pushing me to open up and share the thoughts and emotions that have been weighing on my mind.

I meet Taylor's gaze, my expression earnest and vulnerable as I lay bare my innermost thoughts. “I just want to love someone who can be seen with me and doesn't give a shit about their reputation,” I confess, the words carrying a mix of longing and determination.

Before either of us could respond, a voice calling our names interrupts our conversation, signaling the imminent start of the award show. We exchange a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between us as we set aside our personal revelations for the time being, focusing on the event at hand. With a shared nod, we gather our composure and make our way back to the main hall, ready to face the glitz and glamour of the evening ahead.

As the award show unfolded and the night came to a close, Taylor and I parted ways, our paths diverging in the whirlwind of the entertainment industry. The bittersweet realization that our time together had come to an end lingered in my heart, a mix of nostalgia and acceptance coloring my thoughts as I reflected on the moments we shared. Despite the uncertainty of the future, the memories of our friendship and the bond we once had remained etched in my mind, it was time to let go.

tags 🏷️:@cupidsvzq

[lucabyte]

If you wouldn't mind, could you explain to me in detail how your sifloop works? Would there ever be a romantic relationship between the two (and how do you think they would get to that stage) or do you just think they'll be stuck in this weird messed up obsession and loathing loop forever? Anyway your takes on sifloop are my favourite if you couldn't tell

Oh, I've been depicting it as romantic the whole time (remembers I'm asexual and aromantic and thus my depictions of such are alien at best) Er, though you'd be forgiven for not noticing.

I know I don't draw them being particularly traditionally cute (kissing, cuddling, etc) (even though I do envision that any time it's not literally extremely inconvenient that they are entangled like a pair of magnetised squiddles) particularly often.*

(Though, I do have some hints at that kind of behaviour: (x) (x) (x)) But this is where, hm, my particular readings of these characters' self-assessment comes in.

I believe that I (an aroace tumblr user who has been immersed in nuianced language about such things since i was an early teen) and Siffrin/Loop (a guy approaching their thirties who seems to have escaped social pressures primarily via isolation from their peers) will have some different views on things. Hell, Sif/Loop don't even have words for Asexuality and Aromanticism even if they seem to be able to point toward the feeling with roundabout language.

I think that their relationship, in the way that it would manifest, would first and foremost be Physical. Some real Maslow's hierarchy shit. Both of them are viciously touch starved and given the whole shared-ownership-of-body thing I keep alluding to (x) (x) I think they are prone to being a tangled pile of limbs both clothed and unclothed.

Now I (enlightened modern day asexual) do not think that physical/sexual/romantic are in any way synonyms unless you want them to be. I believe that literally all associated behaviours of these can be platonic if that's how you feel about it. Howeverrrrrrr. I really cannot envision "black-and-white-thinking-world-champion siffrin and/or loop" being able to disentangle that so easily. I think they would have trouble squaring the circle of certain actions not being reserved for romance, at least not until after several years of continued unpacking and philosophical discussion with Mirabelle and Odile.

And then there's the part where Siffrin/Loop (and also Isabeau!) have some absolutely insane Jealous streaks. Not even on the downlow, they just do. I think that combination of jealousy and posessiveness when paired with unevenly splitting time between A Guy You're Established To Be (at the very least on his side, romantically) In Love With, and Your Weird Fucking Clone Who You Keep Being Intimate And Intensely Emotional With, is going to cause some problems when it comes to labelling things.

I do not think Sif/Loop are stupid, but man do they ever lack emotional intelligence in a lot of areas (a thing the whole game hammers home). I do not think that they would be level-headed enough to independently invent the idea of "QPR, but the kind where you do basically fuck sometimes". I think they would just (agonise over cheating, first of all.) call it a romantic pairing and be done with it.

And then Isabeau is also there I guess. I gesture at him and at my aforementioned Iseabeau Torment Nexus thoughts (x)(x). I believe this polycule can work and even be healthy but hahahaha oh man they are gonna have some weirrrrrrd fuckin tension beforehand lolllll.

as for how i think they'd get to that stage? lol, lmao. I think of things with a lens of 'what would be the most narratively intense' a lot of the time, so my answer there is:

They basically act like one right out of the gate, at least to the average onlooker**. This makes the fights feel worse. This makes them both paranoid in different ways about how this affects Siffrin's relationship to Isabeau. This makes it more difficult for the party to go "hey so, your friend, we're all being very accepting of their sharp edges because they're clearly someone who's struggling, but why are they suuuuch an asshole?". They fret about this and it causes more push and pull as either side feels guilty about this relationship they're not 'supposed' to have. Even if their relationship woes could easily be squared away by either categorising it as a QPR or talking to Isa (who is vaugardian and probably thus lax about polyamory) neither of them are going to do that right out of the gate because they lack the language, are prone to being wracked by guilt, often assume the worst will happen should they talk about difficult topics, and straight up maybe just see intimacy/sexuality/romance as a package deal due to lacking the social expertise... You see what I mean.

I don't Know if what I envision is... The literal platonic ideal of "A Romantic Relationship". I don't know that if Cupid came on down and inspected my brain that they'd agree that this is romantic and not just like, something really fucking weird, man. I don't even know if I would call it romantic, necessarily. BUT. I Do Think. That These Two. Would Maybe Label It That Way. Because it would make it easier for them to understand and come to peace with that way. Which is what matters. Labels are Descriptive, not Prescriptive.

What I DO think i envision however is something so fucking aroace brained that i can point to sif/loop's canon labels, point to MY labels, and then give you a big thumbs up hoping that you won't get on my ass for implying several sentences upstream that "they probably basically fuck, or something, idk, does star-sucking count as sex? i'm not a doctor nor medical professional of any kind. you probably shouldn't drink whatever comes out of it though"

Implicit question 2: "Jesus Christ you make them seem to hate each other, is that not contradictory? Is that all supposed to be during them being romantically involved?" Yup! Sorry for the subtle undercurrent I haven't previously explicitly and overtly established literally at all but a good chunk of that percieved hatred is a byproduct of Loop keeping their identity secret. That's the space wherein I set most of my fanart. (x) Once that cat is out of the bag I think the heat cools off significantly because then they aren't both talking around each other trying not to actually say what they're fighting about. They can actually bond about shared experiences out in the open rather than keeping their traps shut in case the party overhears. They still fight and have problems thereafter, but it's not made worse by being unable to directly discuss the core issue (+ the party can actually contribute/try to shut things down rather than being unclear on what exactly the issue is)

The above ALSO not helping when it comes to jealousy/feelings of infidelity re: Isabeau. (When specifically in the context of Romantic Frustration here, since that jealousy extends to the whole party when generalised) So that adds another thing to, not necessarily fight about, but be bitter over.

As for hatred being contradictory. Mmm. Nah.

The opposite of Love is not Hate. It is Indifference. (A theme ISAT notably gets at). Hate is distinctly something you do if you care. Often if you care Way Too Much.

I try not to write them hating each other, so much as feeling extremely intensely about each other. (x)

Feeling intensely Thankful, Understood, Sorry, Trapped, Devoted, Jealous, Protective, Pitying, Indebted...

^ Scary ! Complicated ! Hard to deal with ! Even the positive ones can be overwhelming! It's gonna make things weird!

So uh, Yeah. There's your answer? I suppose tl;dr: I view relationships as nebulous and only defined by those in it. (This is something I have previously yapped about at length in essays about my OCs lol) And generally view that there's no "true" label for any relationship except the one that doesn't cause undue distress. (which. i mean it does here. but it probably works out in the end with enough talking)

Asking me to define if something is romantic is like asking me to pin down the true form of the Human Soul. Like dawg i dont know how to do that i dont even know if that shit is real. there are merely actions and their constructed societal categories. If i tell you I think they kiss sometimes does that clear it up? (It shouldn't, obviously, but you get what I mean)

But yeah. Gestures broadly. Shipping an ace (and maybe even aroace based on some shit that little fella says) character like this means it comes with an essay. Because it necessarily interfaces with their nonstandard mode of interaction in that arena. The part where its weirdo fucking ♠ ♥ ♦ ♣ selfcest merely adds a layer.***

... Anyway I'll leave you with this. The mirasifloop qpr "so what is.... romance?" discussion sessions are probably downright dialectical aren't they. Feelings Buddies discuss the phrase "Self-Love" 23467324235 dead 3 injured

*i do have like . 2 wips. that would. include this kind of behaviour explicitly. but i simply have not gotten around to them yet. and also don't worry neither of them are purely fluff both of them still have an air of worrying fuckedupedness about them. yay !

** inkeeping with my "geared for maximal conflict" mind, this can be flavoured with some "technically nobody can say it's not canon, I guess?" during-the-game Sifloop. By handing them the 'started leaning on each other for comfort more blatantly toward the end of a4' thing, since, well, I think exploring the "Loop expected at least one of them to be dead by the end of this/Loop never expected this to end, and thus began filling in that 'Lover' role as comfort/pity/selfishness/mercy given their knowledge that Isabeau is forever out of reach for both of/at least one of them" angle is... Well it's certainly fuckin' compelling that's for sure. Like oops, you let the timeloop malaise get to you and maybe started a trist because you thought you'd be dead before there'd be any lasting consequences. Here's those consequences, motherfucker !! But you won't catch me putting that explicitly in my comics because I don't want to change anything about the raw text of canon when I'm exploring its consequences. However, nothing I do is Incompatible with this read. And I enjoy making things more tortured so. Shrugs and hands this to you. Be free. (....x)

*** those of you that know what i mean by this just had all of it click just now didnt you. lol.

[graceofagodswrath]

Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

[meanbossart]

Hey! I was thinking of trying to write something for you about DU Drow but after a trying to gather stuff about him via your page I’m struggling to get something substantial for his personality- like I get it mostly (I think?) but it’s hard to put into words (which makes it easier for me) so if it’s not too much to ask; how would you explain DU Drows personality and maybe some of his values? - if you don’t mind! I love your art BTW!

Man, this is a tough ask and I MADE the guy. The fic is definitely the best place to see his personality in action, but it is also 20 chapters long so far - and I'm a fairly reasonable man.

Before I get to any descriptions, there's two important things to note: A) Overwhelmingly, his looks do not match his demeanor. and B) DU drow is extremely hedonistic in practice. He might claim to have certain beliefs or standards but hardly ever practices them.

Anyways, I present to you: The guy, more-or-less summarized to the best of my abilities.

BEHAVIOR: Purposefully standoffish. He wants to be noticed, but he does not want to be bothered. He's a little bit stiff with his body language and mostly makes use of head/neck gestures to assert his sentences and signal his level of interest. On that note, me makes it extremely obvious for the socially-versed individual to tell what he thinks of them - he hardly ever tries to hide if he's disinterested, annoyed, or having a laugh at your expense. He expresses emotion through his face a normal amount, but his default look is eerily bland, and subtle emotions might go unnoticed because of his eye-color and thin brows.

As it is with most people, the more uncomfortable he is with a situation the more stiff and inexpressive he becomes, and vice versa.

SPEECH: DU drow is very much well spoken, and simultaneously very blunt. He abides by most conversational formalities (definitely more formal than you would assume him to be) and basic etiquette. He will greet you and he will say please and thank you even if clearly not meaning it or feeling like you're unworthy of the gesture. Sometimes, he does it just to be patronizing.

With all of that in mind, he has a tendency to use violent turns of phrase and analogies to express himself, this applies to both negative and positive feelings. That being said he's aware of social norma and knows full well when things are or aren't appropriate, even if sometimes he chooses to ignore that and be weird anyway - usually with the purpose of intimidation.

He is the most earnest and sincere with very close friends (quite literally only Astarion and Shadowheart) and rather curt with everyone else unless you catch him in a particularly good mood. He's a little chummier with dwarves and duergar (he finds them amusing and fun to hang out with) and reserves a slight bit more tenderness and kindness for children and mothers, especially if they're elves. He's also fond of animals. He is dismissive of gnomes, goblins, bugbears, half/full orcs and hobgoblins. He despises githyanki and drow. He treats humans fairly respectfully but thinks they are a far lesser race than pretty much all others.

He has a very dark/offensive sense of humor and a tendency to make well crafted, but cruel jokes or quips about sensitive topics. This goes for everybody, including people he's on good terms with.

VALUES: Here's where things get tricky. DU drow is both a hypocrite and a unreliable narrator of his own story, not to mention deeply unfamiliar with his own inner-workings and feelings. Politically, he would be the guy who doesn't vote, doesn't want to pay taxes and dreams of living off the grid, who thinks everybody should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and that it's a dog-eats-dog world. He hates systems of government, authority figures, hierarchical structures and archaic customs. He believes it would a chaotic but functional world if people governed themselves.

In practice, he doesn't stand for anything and gladly overlooks injustices and things that don't align with his supposed values as long as they favor him, or just don't get in his way, and easily makes exceptions for things on a whim. He's indifferent to slavery; unless it's Astarion's. - He thinks humans are a worthless pet-race, except for his dearest and nearest friend, the half-elf Shadowheart. He thinks Half-orcs are intellectually inferior, but he will gladly be chummy with them if they amuse him and make for good-company during a night-out.

INNER WORLD AND INTIMACY: DU drow is extremely unfamiliar with his own emotions and very often comes up empty when he has to justify or explain anything that is based on feeling, while simultaneously operating on impulse and instinct for the vast majority of the time. He is subject to fear, resentment, and insecurity as much as anyone else, but carries a deep shame in acknowledging his own vulnerability at all. He is very intense when it comes to love, however, and shows no reluctance in expressing it through his words and actions towards the people he cares about. He does care for the levels of comfort of those dearest to him though, and doesn't bombard them with it unless the moment is right, or if overwhelmed into doing so. The same applies to physical affection - he's extremely comfortable with it, but cares deeply for respecting the boundaries of his loved ones. When it comes to strangers, he only touches them outside of combat if there is some kind of power-game at play.

A couple of other things that might be of note:

-He likes creature comforts, but is also fine with going without them and won't ever complain about having to live, sleep, or survive in less-than-ideal circumstances as long as he feels in control of the situation. -He can be enticed by valuables and gold because they make the immediate future easier, but he doesn't seek a life of vast riches. -He is not an alcoholic but probably has a binge-drinking problem. -While he is fond and respectful of animals, he has no issues killing them if the situation calls for it. -He pretty much always believes himself to be the most impressive person in the room. -He is not a vain man, but very much likes the way that he looks and to have it be acknowledged by his partner. -He believes faith, religion, and gods to be a waste of time.

[andieperrie18]

Watching her fall in love

A/n: DISCLAIMER, I just wanna clear out that I HATE Mikio, OR LOATHE him. The man died too quickly for my liking. But I am currently at an emotional but productive mode in my Mizu x Reader fanfic. I needed to vent some writing. I just needed to write somethings to hurt myself, so now I would like to share my pain. I kept this one vague but clear cause certain parts would likely be in the fanfic. So please bear with its corniness and i do hope you enjoy and share some thoughts at the comment section how to make Mikio's suffering a bit more satisfying

Pairing: Mizu x Reader

Series: Blue Eye Samurai

You know she deserves to be happy. There was no reason for her to continue her vengeance now that her mother was actually alive and now has been encouraging Mizu to leave your debt and settle down with the man her mother had found that will surely provide for her.

Not that Mizu was not cared for in your home, with a small dowry left by your deceased father and the a simple home on a piece of land from your husband who worked tirelessly to own for your future before circumstances decided to rob you of the life that you could’ve had with him let alone have a child of your own.

After coming to terms with things, you swear to never love any other man than your husband. But the tides of fate didn’t really like that.

You were on your way home when you found a wounded Mizu on your way. Lucky enough, your place was near when she came stumbling in your arms clutching her bleeding side. In your home, you treated her, fed her and provided her all the necessary things to hasten her recovery despite her constant attempts to deny any more further gestures.

Your persistence rivaled hers and she can’t really do anything than just accept it if she wants to continue her quest for revenge. But she days go by and she can finally function properly, the closer she has become to you. Of course you already knew that she was a woman, tending to her wounds did require you to have her lay bare before you while under unconsciousness. But her eyes, a part of  her body that she has come to hate as it was the most visible defect of how she is immediately considered as a monster. You were no stranger to being cast aside so you know how to provide her the right words and comfort.

From that point on, she’s been your constant company either at your small plantation or someone to share food on the dining table. With her harsh childhood and upbringing, Mizu’s cold exterior was very hard but once you do reach her,  she is as gentle as a spring water bathing you in in cold warmth under a harsh sun.

“You know that I’ll leave as soon as I reach recovery,” she said with a frown as she sat across from you from the entryway. The evening was  young but the skies were burned by a millions suns from eons away and the full moon lingering among them. You looked at her as she did as well, there was a hint of sadness in her icy blue eyes.

“I know, and I will not force you to stay, if this path is what you need to find peace at the end of your road, then do so. Just know that when you’re ready  to find your peace, my doors are open to your company,” you offered a smile, one that she did return. One that had you marveling at it all throughout the night.

You haven't come to terms with your feelings with Mizu for quite a while and believed that you really cared for platonically. She has found a great friendship with you and you to her.

As a ‘friend’, you were lucky enough to be there at the small ceremony. Mikio didn’t want anything to do with her and denied any act of consummating their union. But Mizu didn’t worry much as you have provided a great company. Cracks to your resolve showed when you had succeeded to provide Mizu an opportunity to create connection with her husband. You had encouraged her to try approaching the man and keep in mind how persistent he is with that one particular horse he has been taming for days in your observation. Soon, Mizu was having a small conversation with Mikio while you watched.

Watching Mizu’s rough demeanor crumble so easily in his presence was infuriating, an emotion you quick to shut out. Guilt tripping was made easier upon having small conversations with Mizu’s mother who Thanked you for being there for Mizu and helping her create a relationship with Mikio. 

“Now that she’s out of your hair, you can finally find a husband as well, your still you my dear,” Mizu’s mother trails, but your attention was on the couple emerging from the green hills riding a horse along the orange horizon. Your eyes on Mizu, laughing, so free. An expression you never once got from her.

The final realization of your love for her was followed by a tsunami of heartbreak as you watched her capture her husbands lips in a kiss by a big tree that you came passing by. You watch her submit to his touch, lifting her legs off the ground and press tender kisses on her neck. You hid by a tree, back against it. You stare up the orange skies as you feel every thing inside you tear itself apart.

A/n: I Just needed to feel pain.

[specialagentlokitty]

Sherlock x reader - my type

Hello, how are you mate, could you do a fic where reader is a pretty young lady with lots of male admirers and Sherlock thinks she’s out of his league. But he didn’t knew she was actually into him. Thanks! - Anon💜

Walking into flat with you looked around for your older brother but you couldn’t find him anywhere, but you did find his flatmate.

“Hey Sherlock, have you seen my brother?”

Sherlock looked up from the laptop.

“John isn’t here?”

You smiled a little, shaking your head at him and you walked over to him, leaning over the back of Sherlocks chair, you looked at what he was doing.

Sherlock glanced at your arm next to him but he said nothing about it.

“Why are you looking for John?” He asked.

“He was supposed to come to the shopping centre with me.”

Sherlock nodded his head and carried on scrolling through whatever webpage he was looking through.

It was silent for a moment.

“Come with me.” You said.

“Why?”

You smiled a little and walked back around the chair, placing your hands on your hips as you looked at him.

“Because I want you to come, it’ll be fun!”

“I’m busy.”

“No you’re not don’t lie to me Sherlock Holmes. Come on! Do you really want to leave a lady walking around the city alone?”

Sherlock went back to looking at the laptop and you huffed a little.

“Please Sherlock? I don’t wanna go alone.”

Sherlock sighed, closing the laptop.

He stood up and grabbed his coat and you beamed brightly at him as your an down the stairs.

“Thank you Sherlock!”

He complained the whole way to the shopping centre, but he went wherever you went even if he didn’t want to.

You were in a store looking for new tops and jackets, and Sherlock stood looking around.

He noticed how a lot of men would stop and look at you and he furrowed his brows slightly.

Sherlock looked at you.

You didn’t even seem to pay the other men any attention, you simply went about your business shopping for what you wanted.

“Hey beautiful, wanna grab a drink later?”

You looked up at the unknown man and blinked.

“Not interested.”

You walked away, grabbing Sherlocks arm so he would follow you.

“This is why you didn’t want to come alone.” He said.

“Yeah, John usually scares them away.”

Sherlock nodded his head and looked at the red shirt you were looking at.

“That’s not your colour. Here.”

He reached out and handed you a light blue version of the top and you smiled slightly.

“Thanks.”

You happily went to pay for everything, and started wondering again.

Sherlock noticed more and more men trying to hit on you, some offering to get you lunch, pay for your things, take you out.

You declined them all, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him slightly.

Sherlock wasn’t one for human emotions.

But you were beautiful, even he had to admit that. You seemed to have a sort of glow about you thay no matter where you were he could easily pick you out in a crowd.

You were absolutely stunning, he was sure if you wanted too you could’ve been a model.

And even though you declined the advances of other men it hurt him they had the courage to hit on you when he didn’t.

He didn’t know how.

But not just that, he was certain that there was no way you would date someone like him. He was sure of that.

He sighed softly, and glanced at you, seeing you stopping by a small bakery.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

“A little. I just want to look.”

Sherlock nodded and gestured for you to go in, and he followed you, watching as you showed interest in different things.

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Okay!” You beamed.

Sherlock went back around and gathered a few of each thing you seemed to like or he knew you liked and brought them.

Walking outside, Sherlock held the bag out to you.

“Sherlock?”

“Well take it then, it’s for you.”

You took the bag and looked inside.

“Aw Sherlock you didn’t have to!”

“You wanted them and couldn’t make up your mind, so I got them all. Are we done shopping?”

You looked up at him and you smiled softly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, we can go home now.”

You got a cab back to the flat with him and happily skipped up the stairs, and you sat on the arm of his chair.

Sherlock walked over and sat next to you, and you held out the bag of baked goods.

He looked up.

“They’re yours.”

“And I want to share with you.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock took one and you smiled, leaning against him and he couldn’t help the fact his heart skipped a beat a little.

“So, why did you turn down all of those men?”

You hummed a little.

“They’re not my type.”

“You have a type?”

You nodded.

“Oh yeah. Tall, brown messy hair, blue eyes, really smart but kinda oblivious to normal emotions, lives with my older brother and he buys me food from the bakery.”

You jumped up and beamed brightly at him, giving him a wink you grabbed your stuff and ran away while he sat there processing what you said