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xx-like-a-villian-xx · 11 months ago

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I Hate You | Two

Here is part two! Thank you for all of your support on the first part. Enjoy!

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in future posts :)

CW: smut, jealous Noah and Reader, angry sex, possessive Noah, Noah is a munch, P in V unprotected sex, hair pulling, sneaking around, feelings (lots of feelings), alcohol consumption (but not much), let me know if I missed anything.

taglist: @concreteburialplot @lyschko666

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

Fuck this.

Noah was playing a dangerous fucking game and you were just about ready to grab him by the hair and drag him out of the damn club in front of everyone, or maybe scream in his fucking face.

It was the end of tour and of course you were celebrating at some fancy club, it was tradition. The issue? Well Noah had some blonde bombshell in his lap that had basically pounced on him the moment you walked in.

Sure, you weren’t dating, ew, why would you want to date Noah? He’s a piece of shit. But you couldn’t contain the anger boiling inside your blood at the sight. Her hands were all over him, making the same journey that yours did in the venue shower after the last show and the thought made you want to vomit.

Fucking asshole.

”Everything okay, Y/N? You’ve hardly touched your drink.” Jolly slid onto the barstool next to you, beer in hand.

Dragging your eyes away from the torturous scene in front of you, you smiled half heartedly, taking a sip of your vodka soda. “Yeah, just tired.”

When your eyes dropped back to Noah, Jolly’s followed and he rolled his eyes knowingly. Of course he knew about the little cat and mouse chase situationship you had with Noah, everyone did by that point except your brother (but he was oblivious to most things). No matter how much you pretended to hate each other, they could practically taste the sexual tension in the air whenever you were in the same room and the fact that they could never find you both just sealed it.

“How much are you betting that he takes her back to the hotel?” Jolly wanted to add salt to the wound, get under your skin to see if you’d actually do something other than pine after the guy.

Act cool. Act casual.

”Eh, I think she’s a bit too forward for his liking.” You finished your drink and stood from your seat.

Jolly watched you walk towards the bar, watching how your hips sway with each step and his eyes darted to Noah who was staring back at him with fiery eyes. Oh. Funny. Jolly smirked to himself. He had a plan and it could end with him receiving a broken nose.

Drinks were flowing and you were dancing with Laura, one of the lighting techs on the cramped dance floor, moving your hips to the loud R&B music. You were feeling less tense now you were away from the quiet area, away from Noah but you could still see him with the blonde out of the corner of your eye.

Your brother was smoking outside with Bryan and Matt. You had no idea where Nicholas was but you could see Jolly eyeing you from the bar and maybe it was the alcohol but there was something in his gaze that made you beckon him towards you.

Jolly’s huge hands were on your hips then, his head buried in your neck as you started to grind your ass against him, throwing your arms back around his neck. You were lost in the music and the heat from his body moving against yours, weightless on the middle of the dance floor. Until you heard the blonde yelp over the music.

”You. Outside, now!” Noah looked furious and your thighs pressed together with need. His face was flushed red, eyes so dark they may as well have been a black abyss. He looked almost demonic and god it was a gorgeous sight.

You looked around him at the blonde who looked utterly flabbergasted at his actions and smirked which Noah noticed, dragging you by the arm out of the busy club.

”What was that?” He had dragged you outside, around the corner where no one would be privy to the conversation.

You shrugged, clicking your tongue. “What was what, Noah? Can’t a girl have a little fun? Seems like you were quite content with blondie, huh?” You spat venomously.

He only caged you against the brick wall, looming over you and you could almost see the flames of rage dancing in his irises. “Don’t do that shit, Y/N.”

You pouted up at him sarcastically. “Oh no, did I upset you? Seems like double standards though doesn’t it? God forbid I dance with a friend while you’re practically making out with someone ten feet away.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s not like we’re dating is it?”

You attempted to slide underneath his arm to walk away but he only pulled you back and pressed his body against yours, pulling your face to his with a tight grip. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

Before you could respond his lips were on yours, teeth clashing together as he kissed you hard, with so much ferocity that it made your head spin. His hands were gripping your hips so tight you would feel bruises in the morning and it felt like heaven. Gasping for air, you pulled away, only to whine when his teeth grazed over your throat.

”You’re mine,”

What did he say?

Your fingers gripped the hair at the base of his neck and pulled his head back, a sly smirk dancing across your lips.

”In what world am I yours?” You chuckle darkly.

“Every fucking one of them.” He growled, pressing his lips back to yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It didn’t take long for an Uber to arrive and Noah was quick to tell the driver to step on the gas as his hand gripped your thigh possessively. You were back in your hotel room in no time, his body pressed against yours before you could even turn to lock the door.

You were on fire, face burning, thighs pressing together to gain some kind of friction, anything. His huge hands were all over you, fingers finding the hem of your dress to yank it over your head and you couldn’t get enough.

For weeks you had been sneaking around with him, finding yourself being dragged into bathrooms and broom closets after verbally berating each other, catching yourself sending pictures to him just to hear him groan from his bunk like a feral dog. You were obsessed with making him go insane for you, for your body but this felt different.

There was now something else in his touch, something so much more possessive and animalistic that it made your stomach lurch with need and an arousal like no other pool in your underwear, just begging to be quenched.

Fuck, was it feelings? Did you have feelings for Noah Fucking Sebastian? Surely not, right?

”Fuck me, you’re fucking stunning.” His words were gruff, his lips latching to your throat as his hands slid up waist, your stomach, everywhere, finally reaching your bra to slide the straps from your shoulders and pull it down.

His fingers found the hardened peaks on your chest, softly pinching them, pressing his forehead against yours to revel in the gasp that left your lips. His eyes were so dark, almost black, staring down at you with an unhinged lust that had you silently pleading with him to stop the fucking games and fuck you, please.

”Fuck, please.” With a soft moan, you rolled your head back against the wall,

He chuckled darkly. “You’re so fucking needy.”

Before you could retort, he was lifting you, wrapping your legs against his hips just to throw you onto the bed like you weighed nothing, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your pink thong to pull them down at a pace that was criminally slow.

“Look at you, so fucking wet for me.” His smirk was so cocky and if you weren’t so far gone, you might have used the leg he wasn’t pushing to your chest to kick him.

He settled between your thighs, eyes trained on your dripping cunt, running his tongue over his lips as though he was starving and you practically drooled at the sight, your hands reaching out to latch on to his hair, tugging at the roots.

His tongue darted out to drag a long stripe between your folds, humming in delight at taste before diving in, dark eyes locked onto your face to watch every reaction he was pulling from you. Your back arched off the bed and the moan that left your mouth was filthy, disgusting when his tongue flicked against your clit. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy, his arms pushing your legs up so he could eat you exactly how you needed and it didn’t take long for that burning fire to ignite in the depths of your stomach, legs shaking violently in his hold.

”Oh fuck, I’m gonna c-cum!” You yelped, hands gripping his hair tighter and the growl that escaped him vibrated against your clit, sending you over the edge with a scream.

He lapped at your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore, weakly dragging him up to your face to pull him into a filthy kiss, your tongue licking your own arousal from his mouth. Fuck he tasted so heavenly with you on his lips.

His hands fumbled with his belt as he feverishly kissed you and before you could even catch your breath, he was pushing into you, groaning against your mouth.

”Fuck…” he whined, pressing his forehead against yours to give you a second to adjust. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.”

His hips snapped forward, burying himself so deep inside you that any thoughts in your brain were wiped. His hand slid up to your throat, gripping the sides just enough to make your eyes roll back in your head and he smirked, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

”You take my cock so well.” You whimpered at his words, revelling in how full he made you feel. “It’s like you were made for me.”

”It’s all yours.” God, you really were his, only his, no one could ever make you feel how he did and it was infuriating.

”That’s right, you’re mine.” He gritted, sharply snapping his hips into you, fucking you so deeply you thought you might pass out from the pleasure.

Your walls clenched around him, that warm feeling building up again, tightness pooling in your stomach.

”Are you gonna cum again, greedy girl?” He cooed, earning a brain dead whine from you.

His hand slipped between your bodies and his thumb pressed against your clit, cock hitting you so perfectly against that spot inside you that had you falling apart around him.

The noise that left your mouth as you came violently around his cock could only be described as banshee scream. Fireworks were bursting behind your closed eyes, your back arched so far off the bed, you were sure you looked possessed and god it felt so good.

”Good fucking girl.” Noah pulled you to him, kissing you deeply, tongue dancing with yours. With a whimper against your lips, he pulled out, emptying himself on your stomach.

You couldn’t move. You were so fucked out when he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet flannel to clean up your messes. The room was silent when he lay next to you, tracing circles on your stomach.

”Noah, what is this?” You sighed after a while, heart pounding in your chest.

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with soft eyes.

You couldn’t deny it any longer, all those weeks of messing around had changed something in you. All of the hatred had turned into something else, something that tugged at your heart and made your head spin. You fixed your gaze on the ceiling, bracing yourself for the let down.

”I already told you, you’re mine.” He laughed lightly and your eyes snapped to him. “And I think I’m yours. We’re past the point of hiding it.”

”Really?” You gulped. Was he admitting that he wanted you the same way?

”Yes, Y/N. I think I was yours a long time ago.”

You grinned, reaching out to push his messy hair from his forehead. “Mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Come on, we’re leaving in ten minutes.” Matt rushed around the lobby while everyone else dawdled along, hungover and exhausted from the previous night.

You picked your bag up from the floor, following him out to the bus that was waiting. You hadn’t seen your brother yet which was weird, you guessed that he was still getting his stuff together in his hotel room. When you stepped onto the bus, there you saw him, staring at you with fiery eyes.

“Everything okay, Nick?” You raised an eyebrow, placing your bag next to him on the couch.

His jaw ticked and his eyes darted to the door, watching Noah enter.

”Noah, when were you going to tell me that you’re fucking my sister?”

#noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens cult #bad omens band #badomens #bad omens #band fic #fanfiction

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luvzshy · 4 months ago

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Shattered Notes

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

The apartment felt like an echo chamber, each moment reverberating with tension. You stood in the kitchen, stirring the sauce for dinner, but your mind was elsewhere, caught in the web of uncertainty that had been spinning around you for weeks. Billie had been distant, an invisible wall separating you, and the cracks in your relationship felt deeper than ever.

You glanced over at her, slumped on the couch, illuminated by the blue light of her phone. It had become a familiar sight: her staring at the screen for hours, the glow casting shadows on her face that mirrored the growing distance between you. You tried to brush off the nagging feeling in your gut, convincing yourself it was just the stress of the upcoming tour.

“Dinner’s ready!” you called out, hoping to draw her attention. But she barely glanced up, her fingers dancing over the screen, absorbed in whatever had captured her focus. The rejection felt like a slap, and you tried to mask the hurt that pooled in your chest.

When you set the table, you stole glances at her, but each fleeting moment confirmed your worst fears. The way she would smile at her phone, the soft laugh that slipped out—everything felt wrong. You served the food, the steam rising between you like a chasm that had formed overnight.

Billie barely touched her plate, picking at the food without tasting it. “Are you okay?” you finally asked, your voice laced with concern.

“Yeah, just tired,” she muttered, the words feeling like a fragile cover for something deeper. You pressed your lips together, frustration and worry swirling within you.

After dinner, Billie slipped into the bathroom, and the moment you heard the door click shut, something inside you snapped. You felt an irresistible pull toward her phone, that damn device that had become a barrier in your relationship.

You hesitated, your heart racing. It felt wrong, but the urge to know what was happening consumed you. You reached for it, fingers trembling as you unlocked the screen. Notifications flashed by—messages from an unknown number, from someone named Alex. Your breath caught in your throat, and a sense of dread washed over you.

“Can’t wait to see you again,” one message read, and the words burned in your chest like acid. You scrolled deeper, the conversation revealing layers of intimacy that left you gasping for breath. “Miss you so much,” another message followed, dripping with affection that felt like a knife twisting in your gut.

Your world tilted, the ground beneath you cracking as the truth unfurled like a dark flower. Each word was a reminder of betrayal, a betrayal you never imagined could come from Billie. Panic surged through you, and you could hardly hear the sound of the bathroom door opening as you quickly dropped the phone onto the couch, heart racing.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Billie’s voice shattered the fragile silence.

You turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. “What’s this?” you asked, holding the phone up, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against your chest.

Billie’s face paled, a flicker of panic dancing in her eyes. “I can explain,” she stammered, her voice shaky.

“Explain what? That you’re cheating on me?” The words flew out, sharp and piercing. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No! It’s not like that!” she pleaded, stepping closer, her hands reaching out toward you.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, feeling the walls close in. “Because it looks pretty damn clear to me.”

Her eyes darted away, filled with a mix of guilt and fear. “It was a mistake… I was feeling lost, and I didn’t know how to talk to you,” she confessed, desperation lacing her words.

“A mistake?” you echoed, disbelief coursing through you. “You think that makes this okay? You think that justifies lying to me?”

“Please, I’m begging you, just listen!” Billie’s voice trembled, and the pain in her eyes cut deeper than any words could. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“Handle what? Betraying my trust?” you shot back, your heart pounding. “You’ve shattered everything we built together. I thought we were a team!”

The room felt electric, tension crackling in the air as Billie took a step back, her breath hitching. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear! I was scared. I didn’t want to burden you with my struggles,” she admitted, her voice breaking.

“Scared?” you scoffed, anger rising within you. “You think this is about being scared? You’re the one who turned away! You didn’t talk to me, you ran to someone else!”

Billie looked as if you had struck her, the pain in her expression nearly breaking you. “I thought it would help! I thought I could keep you from worrying!”

“But you didn’t think about how I would feel if I found out!” The walls felt like they were closing in around you, the reality of what was happening hitting like a wave, drowning you in despair. “How could you do this to me?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” she shouted, frustration boiling over. “I was trying to figure things out without dragging you into my mess!”

“Protecting me?” you spat, incredulous. “By cheating on me? By lying to me? That’s not protection, Billie! That’s betrayal!”

Silence fell, the air thick with the weight of your words. You could feel the chasm widening, a rift forming that felt impossible to bridge. The hurt in your chest was overwhelming, and you fought against the tears threatening to spill.

“I love you,” she whispered, but the words felt hollow, echoing in the emptiness between you. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

You shook your head, the finality of it all settling in. “I need space. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

Billie’s expression crumbled, and you could see the desperation in her eyes as she stepped forward, but you instinctively recoiled, the distance feeling necessary. “Don’t. Just don’t,” you murmured, your heart aching at the pain etched on her face.

“Please don’t leave,” she begged, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything to make it right.”

But you couldn’t bear the weight of her words, the promise of a future that now felt tainted. You turned away, the sound of her sobs echoing behind you as you made your way to the bedroom.

Shutting the door, you slid down against it, the cold wood pressing against your back. The tears fell freely now, each one a reminder of the love you felt and the betrayal that had shattered it. You felt utterly lost, the pain echoing in your chest like a haunting melody that refused to fade.

In that moment, you knew things would never be the same. The trust had been broken, the pieces scattered like glass on the floor, and you were left trying to pick up the fragments of your heart, wondering if it could ever be whole again.

#billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish imagine

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trippinsorrows · 7 months ago

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looking through your eyes + four

authors note: hi! thank you so much for everyone who has left such kind words for this story! i'm so appreciative for the support and interest!

this one, i think, depicts a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings for our two favorite characters. that's intentional.

i also take some creative liberties with medical and wrestling shit. let's just go with it, friends, por favor.

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

cw/tw: language, violence, sexual harassment, hints at past self-harm, allusions to past suicide attempt, references to traumatic pasts

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

words: 10k

Roman has spent years coming home to a dark, empty house. It’s been his preference for just as long, enjoying the isolation following day after day of shit that needs to be handled. Because that’s usually how shit plays out for him. Roman’s always calling the shots, always figuring out how to navigate difficult, sticky situations.

It's just what he does.

It’s why he’s been able to advance the Bloodline as much as he has. Because Roman is a man playing professional chess among a group of elementary checker players.

And he’d never voice or admit it to anyone, but the weight does sometimes get to him in one way or another. So, he’s learned to appreciate solitude.

But he’s not met with solitude upon entering his home, which is both surprising and irritating considering it’s pushing 2 o’clock in the morning.

The only sound he should hear is the sound of his heavy footsteps from the front door to the bedroom. Instead, his feet carry him into the source of said sounds that are more pots banging and dishes being washed.

That’s how he immediately knows who it is without needing to check. But, Roman is more curious as to why she’s in the damn kitchen at this time of night instead of sleeping than the noise itself.

And he goes to ask as such when he gets even closer and realizes there’s more to the sound than clanging pots and running water. A soft, melodic, almost soothing voice singing in a language he doesn’t understand but recognizes as Spanish.

Solana is singing, and she’s singing well, beautiful even. So much so that he finds himself leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, watching as she moves about, earbuds pressed in her ears making her oblivious to his presence.

There’s a sense of relaxation to her, an almost smile as she sings. She doesn’t seem nervous nor skittish….just at peace.

That is she turns around and realizes he's standing there, watching her.

She snatches her earbuds out and immediately jumps on the train of unnecessary apologies. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—-you said you’d be back late.”

He chuckles, calmly pointing out, “it’s almost 2am.”

Her face is flushed red with unnecessary embarrassment. “I thought—I guess I figured that meant you’d come back in the morning.”

“I sleep in my own bed, if I can help it.” It’s a comfort thing, a nod to his preference for solitude. He’s never even stayed the night with Samantha, mostly because he knows her ass would see that as a damn marriage proposal.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Why are you still up?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” It’s a simple answer he’s certain also includes a very real, dark backstory as to why she can’t sleep. He’s been there.

He gets it.

“I’ll be done soon—"

“You can stay up as long as you want. I don’t care.” And it’s true. The house is big enough for her to be making as much noise as she needs, and he probably wouldn’t hear anything from where his room is. He also recognizes the misery that comes with wanting but not being able to sleep, so if being in the kitchen is her distraction, then he’s good with that.

Of course, she continues with the apologies. “I’m sorry about the music—I just—the house was too quiet. I—I don’t like the quiet.”

“Solana.” He has to interrupt her. Roman’s not in the mood for her apology tour. Granted, he does hone in on the part of not liking the quietness of the house. Of course she would be the opposite of him. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Shit doesn’t impact me.”

Roman can see she’s unsure of how to take his words, most likely wondering if there’s some catch, if it’s followed up with a stipulation. But, there is none. As long as it doesn’t impact him, she can do what she wants.

“You have a nice voice,” he compliments, because again, it’s the truth. He’d never taken her as the singing type, but gradually, Roman is starting to see there may be more to Solana than meets the eye.

Her unsure expression remains unchanged with the exception of her blush deepening as she mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

Compliments of any sort seem to bother her, or maybe it’s less they bother her and more she’s unsure of how to respond because she’s not used to them.

He’d lean more on the side of that being the case.

Nevertheless, Roman decides to leave her be. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” she says almost sheepishly, adding a quiet, “goodnight.”

Roman takes her in, the quietness and passiveness no longer as irritating as he once thought and believed it to be. It might still irk him, but the level of irritation isn’t as high as it used to be.

Whatever that means.

“Goodnight, Solana….”

————

From day one of moving into Roman's mansion, Solana has noticed the watch dogs that occasionally patrol the premises along with the armed guards. And while she’s always been tempted to ask to pet one, she’s also always decided against it. These dogs, like their handlers, are trained killers, not emotional support animals.

They’re not there for her to treat like objects.

But it’s when she walks outside, ready to head off to work, that she notices one guard with a dog Solana hasn’t seen before, a puppy, that she finds it in her to approach. With a couple minutes to spare before she has to leave for work, interacting with a dog seems like a nice way to start off the day.

Hand on her purse strap, she shoves back her anxiety about approaching this strange man, asking in a soft voice, “i–is he new?”

The guard sizes her up and down, answering with a gruff, “yeah.”

Solana looks down at the dog who’s also staring up at her with just as much curiosity. Smiling gently, she carefully crouches down and waits for him to move closer. There's a generous leeway of his leash that would allow him to do so.

Sure enough, the dog walks over to her, ears down. Giggling, she cautiously moves to pet him. “You’re so sweet….” And he is. Solana wonders if he’ll retain that sweetness once he undergoes his training. Unlikely. “Good boy…”

“He’s not a fucking pet.” The guard harshly scolds, giving a tug on the leash that makes the dog start to growl. Solana frowns, recognizing he’s annoyed with her interruption.

“I’m sor—”

But before she can finish her sentence, there’s a flash before her that seems almost too quick for her vision to process. But, when she does, she realizes Roman is now present, directly in front of the guard, hand wrapped around his throat.

“Speak to her like that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out your mouth.” His voice is as menacing and terrifying as the fire in his eyes. Roman shoves the man forward and demands. “Apologize. Now.”

The man is coughing, struggling to regulate his breathing but still manages to cough up a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Solana feels and probably looks stumped at hearing such a thing. She can’t recall the last time someone has ever uttered those words to her. Understandably, she doesn’t know how to respond or react.

“Leave,” Roman demands. And Solana isn’t sure she’s seen a man haul off as quickly as he does, guiding the dog along with him.

Roman takes in her appearance as she stands up, nervously brushing any invisible lint off her pants. “You good?”

She nods, still not quite knowing how to take this. How to take Roman seemingly defending her. Or maybe he’s just defending what belongs to him. It has to be the latter of the two, because why would he care about defending her?

Red-faced, she tries to explain her actions. “It—it was my fault. I just—I saw the dog, and I just—I wanted to pet it.”

“Why are you apologizing for someone being rude to you? Does that shit make sense to you?” When he says it like that, no, it doesn’t. But it’s clearly meant to be rhetorical, as he then asks, “you like dogs?”

Nodding, she clarifies. “Small dogs, mostly. Big ones, umm, they kinda scare me.” As do most things. This, she’s sure, he’s noticed by now. “Uhh—what time do you want dinner ready?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” Solana is unsure why there’s a strange sense of disappointment in her belly at this. Late….

In her experience with her dad and brother, that usually means they won’t be back until the next day, most likely in the morning.

This should make her feel a bit relieved, not having to be on edge, feeling worried about upsetting him.

Even if the only thing regarding her that she’s seen upset him is when he perceives she’s being disrespected.

She’s not quite sure what to make of that either.

“Ayo, Lil’ Soso.” A new voice enters the conversation, one she’s gradually growing comfortable and used to. Jey walks out with a rubbermaid container in his hand, chewing obnoxiously as he approaches Solana and Roman. “What are these things? They’re pretty good.”

There’s a couple of things to process in that one interaction, starting with the nickname Jey has used to refer to her in the times she’s run into him in the house. The twins, along with Paul, seem to be at the mansion often. The interactions though, have allowed her to feel less tense around him. Around Jimmy too.

She hasn’t had enough interaction with Paul to feel that way about him, and she’s certain that won’t change. He seems only concerned with Roman and no one else, which is valid and fair considering his role as Roman’s chief advisor.

Going back to his question, she answers, “conchas.”

“Con what?”

His expression and delivery make her smile. “Conchas. It’s a Mexican pan dulce. Sweet bread.”

“I don’t know half of what you said, but this shit good as hell. You got any more?”

“Don’t you have fucking food at your house?” Solana would never show or admit to it, but it’s sometimes funny to her how Roman seems almost always annoyed with his eccentric cousins. There’s no doubt in her mind though that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for them, that he’s probably done so. And vice versa.

But they also seem to get on his nerves just as much.

“Man, Nicki on that shit again, talking about she ain’t cooking until I start treating her right. Me and the kids been eating out.”

Kids? That surprises her. She didn’t know Jey was a father.

“Solana! When you train with Naomi, can you exchange some recipes with her or something?” Jimmy also joins in the conversation, walking over while rubbing his stomach. “Cause I don’t know what that meal was in the blue container, but shit slapped.”

It takes a minute for her to remember which one that was. She’s always been a bit meticulous about separating her meals accordingly. “Carnitas Huevos Rancheros.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Yeah sure, that.”

“Am I running a fucking food pantry?” It’s hard to tell if Roman is genuinely annoyed. Something tells her it’s that type of irritation he naturally gets with the twins but won’t actually do anything about. “It’s not her job to feed you idiots.”

“I don’t mind,” she offers, adding. “I–I like to cook.” And it’s the truth. It reminds Solana of her mom, of all the times she’d spend in the kitchen learning from and spending time with the one and only person on this planet who ever loved her.

“See, Uce, she likes to cook,” Jey points out, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on his pants and tucking the now empty container under his arm. “I’ll just take this off your hands.”

Solana’s watch vibrating, reminding her that her shift starts in half an hour, is the perfect reminder that while this conversation is comical, it’s also interfering with her schedule. She’s also certain Solo is waiting patiently, or impatiently, by the SUV for her to jump in so they can get a move on. “I—I’ve gotta get to work, but I can have the food ready by tomorrow. I’ll just come home and cook after training.”

“If you feel like it,” Roman adds, and she knows better than to push back and tell him cooking is one of the few escapes she has. It’s become even more of an escape without the anxiety and pressure of her dad and brother demanding the food always be ready in sometimes unrealistic time frames and lashing out when that doesn’t happen.

To Roman’s credit, if he’s ever been annoyed with waiting a few extra minutes for meals, he’s done a perfect job not showing as such.

She simply nods, acknowledging his stipulation, offering a quiet ‘bye’ as she jogs off to the SUV with Solo ready to escort her to work.

It’s when she’s gone that Jimmy walks up beside Roman. “Man, she can cook, she don’t got a smartass mouth, and she got a body? Shit, Uce, ain’t you glad I told you to go with her?” Roman doesn’t offer a reply, but he definitely gives Jimmy that look that lets his cousin know to get away from him. Roman’s always been big on personal space.

“Does she cook every night?” Jey comes up, asking with an almost level of excitement. “Shit, me and the kids finna start coming over here.”

“Shut up.” The hell they will. Roman is still adjusting to living with someone. The last thing he needs is his cousin and his spawns running around his place, making noise, breaking and touching shit. Not going to happen. “Is Paul already at the office?”

“Yeah. He’s got the updated figures for you to go over. And the RKO proposal was sent over as well for you to review.”

Nodding, Roman starts to create a mental agenda for tasks he needs to complete for the day. And it goes without saying that he’s forever impressed how his cousins are easily able to slide back and forth between professional bag and bumbling morons.

It’s one of the reasons he keeps them around and as high up in command as they are.

“Good,” Roman acknowledges, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

————

“Hey!”

Naomi’s smile is just as bright and genuine as the first time Solana met her, and that’s something she doesn’t know how to take. A part of her figured Naomi was just being nice to her because Roman was around, because she was given an order, and no one defies the Tribal Chief’s orders.

And maybe she could even chalk this up to being an order as well, Roman tasking her with training Solana on how to fight, hence the continued kindness.

Regardless of the motivating factor, this woman is clearly a capable and trained fighter. A killer.

Solana would do well to stay on her good side.

“It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much, but obviously, I’m Naomi. Jimmy’s wife.” For some reason, Solana can see it. Can see these two together, even if she’s only been around both less than a handful of times. “I train a lot of the new recruits, mostly women, some men.”

“Men?”

Naomi chuckles. “That’s typically their reaction too. Right before I remind them who I am and what I can do.”

Solana isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to either of those.

“Just out of curiosity, do you have any kind of combat training? Fighting knowledge in general?” It’s a valid question that only has one embarrassing answer. Solana guesses that Naomi picks up on this embarrassment, adding gently, “it’s okay if you don’t. It just gives me a baseline on where we should start.”

“No—I—I’ve never done anything like this before.” And she’s still not sure if she wants to, not sure what Roman thinks she will get from this. Him, along with everyone else around her, learned how to shoot a gun at the same time they learned how to walk. She doesn’t think she’s ever even held a gun. There’s no way humanly possible she could ever be even a fraction as good at this.

And Roman has to know this.

So, why is he making me do it?

Again, either Naomi is insanely perceptive or Solana is much worse at hiding her emotions than she initially believed.

She’d bet on the latter of the two.

“He doesn’t want you to be like us. He just—”

“He wants you to stop being so damn weak,” a new voice interjects. Solana recognizes the tall, intimidating woman from before when Roman had taken her to the Warehouse. She hadn’t had any direct interaction, but just the mere fact alone that she’d simply looked at Solana with disgust told her all she needed to know. “Wants you to grow a backbone.”

“Nia.” Naomi’s smile is dropped, traded for an intense stare. “Lay off her, okay? You heard what Roman said.”

“Oh yeah, we have to be nice to her.” Nia’s smile is mocking, her unimpressed gaze taking in Solana from head to toe. But Solana focuses on what Nia just said versus her judgmental countenance. Did Roman really tell them to be nice to her? Why? Why would he do that?

Nia walks over, crossing her arms over her body. “Well, here’s some kind advice, I can tell from one look at you that life hasn’t been very nice to you. But that doesn’t make you special.”

Naomi steps in. “Nia!”

“Bad shit happens to people all the time. At some point, you have to stop allowing yourself to be a victim.” If not for the fact that Solana knows Nia can’t stand her, she’d almost think Nia is offering what she believes to be genuine advice vs judging her. “You’re here. You survived it. Make that survival worth something.”

Naomi pushes Nia away from Solana, saying something to her that appears to be in defense of Solana, which she’d appreciate if not for the fact that she’s now in her head.

Nothing Nia said is inherently wrong. The world is undoubtedly both good and bad, perfect yet imperfect, wholly and incompletely balanced. These are all facts she’s well aware of, but what Nia doesn’t know or understand yet is that a person still being here doesn’t mean they survived.

Solana is already broken.

There is no survival.

There’s just existence.

“Don’t listen to Nia,” Naomi advises. Looking around, Solana sees that at some point in her dissociation, Nia departed. Naomi continues with that same warm smile. “She can be a bitch sometimes, but she does mean well…..occasionally.” Hands on her hip, Naomi brings the attention back to the whole reason Solana is even at the Warehouse. “How about we just start with flexibility and mobility? Most of us are smaller than the men, and you definitely are, girl.”

Small……

That’s a word Solana has never thought to use to describe herself.

“Being smaller means we can move around faster, can navigate around an attacker in a bit of a quicker way. But, you also have to be able to move in a way that’s lithe. Don’t worry. I gotchu, girl.”

They are reassuring words, words that Solana is grateful for, especially as they begin and she feels completely out of her element. Because she is. Solana isn’t the least bit lithe, and she’s certain her hand eye coordination is straight up shit.

But regardless of all that, Naomi remains kind, patient, and even makes conversation with her.

It doesn’t feel like she’s being made to do this, but more like something she gets to do. And Solana is grateful for that interaction, for the space to not feel like she’s burdening someone. That feels nice. So, so nice.

But equilibrium is a hard thing to achieve and even harder to maintain, so while one safe space is being created, another unsafe space is gradually forming in the midst of her oblivion.

Austin Theory and Grayson Waller, two upcoming, arrogant, fighters and wannabe heads have used the Warehouse for their training space for the past few months after finally proving and gaining access to the elite training grounds.

And while the initiation and acceptance process was brutal and would ward most off from fucking up their membership status, Austin and Grayson have always been hardheaded, too blinded by their own hubris to recognize when they’re about to shoot themselves in the foot.

And shooting themselves is the least of their worries when Grayson is casually surveying the gym to see who’s present, his eyes landing on a woman in particular who catches his interest almost instantaneously.

“Well, who do we have here?” Austin is confused initially, Grayson motioning across the way to where Solana completes her cooldown with Naomi.

Immediately, Austin scoffs. “Since when does this place offer a weight watchers class?”

Chuckling, Grayson still pushes back. “Hers is in the right places though, mate,” Grayson again advises Austin to watch Solana as she happens to be leaning back, palms flat on the ground making her top hug against her chest.

Austin makes a face. “Decent.”

“Who is she?” Grayson asks again as Austin notices a semi-familiar face walking nearby.

“Melo.”

Carmelo shifts his Beats headphones so they’re no longer covering his ears. “Whassup?”

Austin subtly gestures to Solana, asking, “who is that?”

Carmelo follows the line of vision and almost immediately snatches his eyes back to the duo. “Yo. You fuckin’ crazy?”

“What?”

Carmelo repeats himself, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you know who that is?”

“Pretty sure that’s what we just fucking asked you, dumbass,” Austin slaps him upside the head. “Now who is she?”

“Solana Miller. Well, Solana Reigns now, I guess.” Carmelo lowers his voice, as if speaking too loudly will attract too much attention. And he’s not entirely wrong. “Roman’s wife.”

Grayson makes a face, looking between Carmelo and Austin for elaboration. “Reigns got married? Bullshit. That bloke is the last man to ever walk down the aisle.”

“You two would do well getting your head from up your asses every once in a while. It’s a recent thing, but still a thing. So unless you want your insides literally ripped from out of you, it’d be best to leave her the fuck alone.”

Austin, the most smug of the two, is the first to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. Everyone makes Roman out to be this big bad who can’t be touched. He defends, what, once every six months?” Austin scoffs. The fear that the “Head of the Table” seems to have over everyone has never made sense to him. Sure, he’s heard things, even seen some things, but that’s always been because Roman called the shot. He’s not the one actually taking or making them. “Everyone knows he has his heron boys do his dirty work for him.”

“Plus, isn’t the guy pushing 40? What the fuck is he going to do?” Grayson laughs.

“Break his fucking hip trying to chase us.”

Carmelo shakes his head as the two dipshits laugh at their unfunny humor. “I’m telling ya’ll. Messing with her is a death wish. Plus, I heard she’s not even like that. That’s she’s like….shy and shit.”

If intended to ward the two off, it does the complete opposite. Theory smirks. “Those are always the freakiest.”

Carmelo backs away, lifting his hand in a surrender motion. “Can’t say I ain’t warn you. Dig your own graves.” With zero interest in having any part of what these two are clearly planning, Carmelo puts his headphones back over his ears and jogs off to start his training.

And it’s a wise decision as Austin and Grayson, forever the patient predators stalking their prey wait for Naomi to walk off, time it well so that there’s an appropriate enough time for Solana to walk off to the showers, get clean, and walk out at the same time they happen to be lurking in the halls that lead to the locker rooms.

That’s exactly how it plays out too, Solana looking down in her bag to grab her phone and text Solo that she’s done and ready to leave when a voice nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Hi there.”

Solana gasps as loud as the sound of her back colliding with the brick wall behind her from how startled she is.

Instantly, she’s met with a set of cold blue eyes and wicked smile. “Solana, right?”

Breathing feels like it’s an optional thing, her hands still gripping the brick wall behind her. She can only nod her answer.

“Austin.” He then nods to the other man that Solana realizes is leaning back against the wall opposite her. The anxiety intensifies. “This is my buddy, Grayson. You must be new around here?”

Solana doesn’t want to speak, doesn't want to be near these two who have her practically cornered. But, she also doesn’t want to piss them off either. “Y—yeah.”

Austin’s eyes twinkle with nothing that seems good. “You really are shy, huh?”

“They make the best.” Grayson comments from his propped up position. Solana doesn’t allow herself to think too much about what he’s implying. She just wants to get the hell away from them. One look, and she knows they’re up to no good.

It makes her sick to her stomach.

The idea of walking past these two brings a visceral, physical response that has her mouth watering. She feels like she’s going to throw up, but she also knows she needs to get the hell away from them. “I—I have to go.” From where the next thing to come out her mouth stems from, she doesn’t know, but it’s blurted with all the nerves in her body. “R-Roman is waiting for me.”

He’s not. She actually has no idea where he is, but there’s a part of her that wonders if reminding them of who she is, who her husband is will make them back off.

“Of course,” the one with an accent speaks, motioning with his arm for her to leave. “Don’t want to keep the Chief waiting.”

The mockery in his tone unease her even more. Does he not realize just who Roman is? What he’s capable of.

Regardless, the second Austin backs away a bit, she’s darting through the hall, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men, but she’s not far enough to miss the ominous departing statement from Austin.

“See you around, Solana.”

Something tells her this won’t be the last time she runs into them, and it leaves a deep, disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This isn’t good.

It’s not good at all.

————

Dear Mom,

I’m still alive.

That’s a good thing, I guess. Life with Roman has been….a strange experience. The most important thing is that he hasn’t hit me yet, but I’ve been trying really hard not to upset him or get on his bad side. I do my best to make sure all of his meals are ready and on time, which I guess helps.

But to be honest……he kinda confuses me.

He hasn’t been unkind, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced him really yelling at me. Not like I’ve seen him yell and scream at others. So, that’s also good. It’s a bit of walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to snap and hit me, but not as much as I was thinking.

I don’t know….it hasn’t been as bad here as I thought it would be. For the most part, he just leaves me alone. We don’t even eat dinner together, which is fine, cause I can’t see why he’d want to spend time with me anyway.

But, he confuses me because it feels like sometimes he’s defending me or something, which doesn’t make sense because why would he do that? That would mean he has to care to some extent, right? I keep trying to remind myself that it’s probably not me he’s defending but his pride and standing, because I think being mean or disrespecting me is like disrespecting him? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely a new experience.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Wes and dad. Roman made me get a new phone with a new number that I’m not sure either of them have. I don’t know if I want to think too much about how bad it’s going to be when I finally do see them again…..

Wes made it clear I was supposed to be keeping in contact with them, but that hasn’t happened. Truth be told, I try not to think about that. Think about the fact that I’m somehow supposed be figuring out a way to…..to kill Roman. I could never do that. I could never kill anyone. You know that, mama.

Even more….I feel like Roman is growing on me, like maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, like maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

I think….I think that I could learn to like living here.

—------

“WarGames?”

To Solana, it’s a simple question, because it’s definitely not an everyday term. But that’s clearly not the case given the startled expressions on both Bayley and Naomi’s face.

It’s becoming something she is slowly starting to enjoy. Not necessarily the training part, but the socialization. It’s something Solana has been deeply deprived of over the years, so to have someone to talk to, someone who wants to talk to her means a lot.

Even if it’s technically a job she was assigned by Roman, Naomi has never made her feel like their interactions are forced.

Moreover, it was just in last week’s training session, Solana was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to find out Bayley is also a member of the Warehouse and friends with Naomi, that reunion almost giving Solana a sense of giddiness.

She’s wanted to reach out since the wedding but never followed through based upon her fear that she’d be bothering Bayley.

Clearly, that’s not the case.

Solana is certain she’ll never forget Bayley’s kindness on a day where she really needed to believe in something, believe that there is always at least one reason to keep breathing, to be alive.

But, it’s when Solana asks about this topic Naomi and Bayley were discussing that attracts confounded expressions.

“You’re kidding right?” Bayley is the first to speak, glancing between herself and Naomi. “He didn’t tell you?”

Still confused, Solana presses, “tell me what?”

“I’m not surprised Roman didn’t, but someone definitely should have.” Naomi shakes her head, shifting into an explanation.. “War Games. It’s an annual match. Super big deal. It’s a show of strength and dominance for the Bloodline. Kinda hard to explain. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It sounds….intense. “I—I don’t think I’m invited.”

“Your hubby has clearly been a bachelor for way too long for him to realize that he has to tell you these things.” Bayley rolls her eyes but protests Solana’s belief that she would somehow not be invited to one of the Bloodline’s most important yearly events. “You’re definitely invited. As Roman’s wife, you have to be there. It would be seen as a sign of great disrespect to him if you didn’t.””

Disrespecting Roman…..never a good idea.

“When is it?”

Naomi seems to hesitate before answering. “Tomorrow night” And before Solana can panic at such short notice, Naomis is reassuring her that it will all work out. “Don’t worry. Bay and I will help you get ready.”

“Hell yeah.” Bayley already goes into strategizing mode. “I’ll handle your hair and makeup, and Naomi can find you a kickass dress.”

“Red, of course. That’s the only non-negotiable. Bloodline thing, ya know.” Solana figured as such. She also briefly wonders if that’s why Roman has been coming back home late the past few weeks, because he’s been training? “But, I will say we usually dress….well, like we’re going clubbing for these kinds of events, so it’s gonna be short, tight, and a tad bit revealing.”

That is something that gives Solana pause. None of those things scream appealing to her at all. She doesn’t have the body to dress like that. Not with the rolls, stretch marks, and scars that mar hers.

“I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she finds it in herself to voice her opinion. A rarity. “I don’t—I don’t think I’d look good in something like that.”

Both Bayley and Naomi cast her confused expressions, Naomi being the first to speak.

“Why?” Naomi presses, gesturing up and down. “Girl, you have a nice ass shape. You would fill out a bodycon dress nicely.”

Solana has a hard time digesting what Naomi is saying. She would look great in a dress like that. Naomi is both fit and curvy, the perfect amount of curves in the right places without unnecessary fat. Same for Bayley.

For Solana, the less skin she’s showing the better, though she wonders if the kind of attire they’re describing is some type of dress code, meaning there is no room to protest.

The last thing she wants is for it to get back to Roman that she’s being “difficult.”

Defeated, she murmurs an ‘okay’ as the two of them engage in more conversation about this WarGames as well as fashion options. To be fair, they try to include her in, but Solana is too into her head about what this alleged night is as well as what it could include.

—---

Naomi wasn’t lying when she said that Solana would have to see WarGames for herself to understand it. That’s the absolute truth.

It’s a spectacle, to say the least.

For one, it’s a ton of people packed around the ring, the massive room where fights take place. The noise is boisterous, almost deafening, people drunk, swearing, placing bets, most of which are on the Bloodline.

And thankfully, Solana and Co. are seated in the upper area, a VIP box of sorts, away from the unruly crowd. She’s thankful for this for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being the fact that she feels extremely uncomfortable in her dress. And just in general, but mostly with how much scarred skin is showing.

The dress is exactly as Naomi said it would be: short, red, and a bit revealing. Thankfully Naomi picked out a dress with a halter neckline that prevents any cleavage from showing, but there’s a split high up on the thigh that she finds herself trying to constantly adjust.

“You look great, Solana.” Bayley wears that same friendly, encouraging smile from Solana’s wedding day. “And I get that you’re self-conscious about your body, but I can guarantee these men would line up by the dozen for a chance to go home with you if not for your psycho-killer husband.”

Bayley playfully nudges her shoulder, and while Solana can emit a chuckle, she can’t bring herself to laugh. That line of men would be just as disappointed as she’s sure her psycho-killer husband was on their wedding night.

But, this isn’t the time and place for that.

“You look nice,” Solana compliments, partially a deflection technique but mostly the truth. Bayley, Naomi, and Nicki, who she met earlier that night and learned was Jey’s wife, all look exceptional in their numbers. Bayley is the only one not wearing red, for obvious reasons, but the jade green compliments her complexion well.

“We all look nice,” she says loud enough for the other two to hear.

Nicki opens her mouth to respond when the lights in the arena start to shift. “Ugh. This bitch again.” Nicki’s scowl and expression of irritation draws Solana’s attention to the woman in the ring, who now has the spotlight on her, a woman she immediately recognizes as being there that night Roman woke her up from a nightmare.

The woman is tall, curvy in the right places, beautiful, bouncy curls cascading down her back. If she has a lot of makeup on, Solana can’t tell because it’s painfully obvious she’s been blessed with natural beauty. Everything about her is just so gorgeous.

At the time, she didn’t think anything of it, too caught in the haze of trauma. But now, curious and believing she can receive an answer, Solana asks, “who is she?”

“The most annoying person ever,” Nicki answers, taking a swig of her drink. In only knowing Nicki for less than an hour, Solana both does and doesn’t understand the compatibility between herself and Jey. They seem very much alike yet dissimilar. It makes sense why they fight as much as they do.

“That’s Samantha.” There’s no way to misinterpret the disgust in Nicki’s voice even as she pronounces Samantha’s name with undeniable distaste. “She does the announcements for events, but her daytime job is being a professional hooker.”

“Nicki!” Naomi shakes her head. “I think she’s a paralegal for a lawyer or something, but she’s mostly known as a pain in everyone’s ass. Always has been. Ever since we were in high school. She thinks because she’s light skinned with ‘good hair’ that she’s better than everybody.”

“Don’t forget about Roman,” Nicki chimes with her nose upturned. “She really thinks she’s hot shit though because she’s number one on his ‘I want my dick sucked’ list.”

This causes Solana to pause for a second. “What?”

She’s not stupid. Why else would this Samantha have been over at the house that late at night? And with Roman? Solana figured early on that if he isn’t getting any from her, then he has to be getting it from somewhere. Truthfully, even if their marriage did involve sex, she’s not sure he still wouldn’t find his way in between the legs of another woman.

But, there’s something about having it confirmed, hearing for herself that he gets around, that he clearly has a high sex drive that adds a whole new layer of insecurity.

She’s known from day one she could never be anyone he wanted or needed, and he expressed as such that day at the library, but this conversation makes it feel more…..real.

And she’s unsure why or just what makes this bring on a sense of sadness.

“Come on, I get you’re quiet and innocent and shit, but everyone knows that man is a hoe. If you’re black or black–ish with a vagina, fat ass, and big titties, he’ll fuck you. Cause none of them fools fuck with white girls.” She glances at Bayley, almost sympathetically. “No offense.”

“I’m Mexican.”

This serves as a brief, nice distraction for Solana. She suspected that Bayley wasn’t entirely white, but hearing that she’s Hispanic, Mexican, makes Solana feel a small slice of excitement. She makes a mental note to ask her if she speaks Spanish.

Solana hasn’t been able to communicate in the language her mother made sure to teach her in secret given Xavier’s protest since her murder. So, the idea of being able to communicate with another person in that language makes her feel a bit excited. Maybe more than a bit.

Nicki is dismissive, though there’s a hint of humor there. Like she knows and is just messing with the other woman. “Sure you are, Bay.”

Bayley rolls her eyes and assures Solana. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Ya’ll, don’t lie to this girl.” Nicki seems dead set on stressing this point, and Solana can’t figure out if it comes from a good place, a drunk place, or somewhere in between the two of them. “If it wasn’t common knowledge he don’t fuck none of these bitches raw and makes most get on birth control, I’d tell you to not let that fool touch you with a ten foot pole.”

Bayley is watching Solana, sees the discomfort growing at this conversation and moves to change the conversation. “Why don’t we talk about you and Jey and why I literally saw him flirting with Sasha the other day?”

At that, Nicki drops her drink, cussing loudly, “man, fuck him! I don’t give a fuck about him or that bony heifer! I’ll beat the shit out both of them.”

“Nicki. Shut the fuck up. You may beat her ass, but you gon be right back to drunk spilling about how good Jey’s dick is when it’s all said and done.” Naomi dismisses, and something tells Solana she’s not wrong. Nicki and Jey seem to have a bit of a…..tumultuous relationship.

“I mean it this time!”

“Uh huh, sure sis.”

“And if you don’t give a fuck about him, why are you here?” Naomi challenges.

All eyes on her, even Solana’s slightly curious gaze, Nicki falls back in her chair and mumbles, “cause that’s my man.”

Naomi and Bayley are a chorus of laughter and whooping and hollering, roasting Nicki for her contradictory statements.

Flashing blue lights illuminate the arena as everyone immediately moves to their feet followed by opening music that almost instantly brings chills up Solana’s arms. The lights then transition to a combination of red and blue, the sound of cheering intensifying as she redirects her focus back to where the first group entered.

Solana’s eyes instantly, maybe even naturally, land on Roman. He stands first among the men, shirtless, ula fala around his neck, championship belt around his waist, a look of fierce determination and stoicism painted across his handsome face.

And that body…..rippling muscles glistening under the heat of the lights.

It’s a strange and miserable experience. Feeling all of the sensations and attractions a human typically has to another human being but having an almost inability to act on them. It’s not that Solana isn’t attracted to Roman. She finds him to be sinfully attractive. The issue is that whenever she thinks about what physical acts take place when two people find each other attractive is when her head is swarmed with vivid memories and flashbacks of being violated in the worst way possible.

And the attraction is stumped by fear and trauma. Fear of being touched. Fear of being with anyone in that way.

It’s like Roman said. He can get that from anyone, so why would he bother with her?

When he has someone like Samantha, prettier, smaller, easier, at his disposal?

It brings a wave of sadness over her that she’s grateful isn’t noticed by the other ladies who are focused on the start of the match.

And to her credit, Solana tries to pay attention, grateful and thankful for Naomi and Bayley occasionally pointing out certain aspects of how it works, why the two groups are separated, individual members from each side periodically being sent into the line of fire.

“Roman always goes last,” Naomi explains at one point.

“Save the best for last type shit,” Bayley adds, finishing off her beer and asking for another.

“More like once he gets his ass in there, it’s a wrap. Everyone left getting smashed.” Solana believes this wholeheartedly. She’s just not sure if she wants to see that, see that side of him up close.

It exists, obviously, but it’s hard to compare the killer she knows he is to the man he’s been to in the short duration of their marriage.

Almost….almost kind.

The fighting, brutal and bloody, all occurs in the ring, but Solana constantly finds her gaze falling back to Roman. He remains seated, patiently or maybe impatiently waiting for his turn, never once ripping his gaze from the match. She sees Paul outside the cage, occasionally speaking to Roman, advising as he always does.

Solana can tell he’s completely immersed, focusing solely on the match before him.

And it’s when there’s some type of in-ring argument between the twins and the other member-in-training of sorts, Sami, she thinks Naomi called him, that she turns to the ladies. “What are they doing?”

“Sealing a death wish,” Nicki answers with a shake of her head. “Roman gon’ have all they asses for this.”

Naomi sighs loudly, advising Solana after the bickering results in one of the men from the other group getting the upper hand, landing a particularly brutal looking kick to Jey. “There’s been some….contention between Sami and the twins, mostly Jey, but Nicki isn’t entirely wrong. They should know better than to let that shit interfere with a match. Roman will most likely make them stay after and……yeah.”

Solana doesn’t need a detailed explanation. She has a good idea of what Roman making them pay will look like. It’s also not something she wants to see.

The match, in and of itself, despite the excitement and pure interest of everyone around her, isn’t necessarily something she wants to see. Solana has seen, been exposed, and experienced enough fighting violence to last her a lifetime.

This is entertainment to them, but for her, it’s been her lived experience.

So, she doesn’t feel any sort of adrenaline rush watching grown men beat the crap out of each other, blood, sweat, and bruised, battered bodies putting themselves through hell. It gives her some relief to see that the Bloodline, for the most part, remains with the upperhand. Even with their in-house argument earlier in the fight.

But, it’s when the timer that ends with another man joining the brawl moves to a ten second countdown that her interest grows a bit more. It grows a bit because Roman is finally about to enter the ring.

She watches him, has mostly just watched him this entire time. He’s just as unbothered as he was the minute he walked in. Adjusting his gloves while Paul clearly tries to bestow some last minute wisdom before he makes his entrance.

It feels a bit redundant. She’s certain this man doesn’t need anyone helping him with anything.

And as soon as the timer winds down to zero, Roman gradually making his way to the ring, Solana knows she was right. Knows he doesn’t need help, because he’s been studying and planning for the past almost 45 minutes. Strategizing.

It shows the minute the men, all 10 of them go at it. It’s hard to keep track of all of the mayhem, fists flying, kicks landing in areas that are sure to require a couple days to recover. But, it’s Roman who still manages to catch and hold Solana’s attention. He moves with such precision and accuracy, blows every bit as barbarous and violent as his reputation warrants.

There’s a small part of her that experiences something she can’t quite label or understand when he takes a hit, especially when a member of the other team manages to catch Roman off guard, sending him into the table, the weight of him snapping it in half.

At that, she nervously starts to move her fingers up and down the side of her dress. But, Roman, while clearly impacted from the blow by the blood starting to stream down the back of his arm only seems further enraged. Like being attacked has somehow refueled him, recharged his already pre-existing rage.

“They are in trouble now….” Naomi murmurs, shaking her head, as if she knows what’s about to come. “Roman hates getting hit, and they made him bleed too?”

It’s the blood part, maybe, that bothers Solana. It’s silly given who he is and the fact that he’s clearly holding his own just fine, but Solana wonders why he doesn’t or can’t have that tended to. It has to hurt.

But, then again, it all hurts, so maybe the pain just numbs itself out.

And maybe Roman is clearly caught up and consumed in adrenaline, in the mad rush of the battle, because it seems from the table slam on out, no one is touching him. He’s all over the place, strong blows resulting in grown men crying out in pain. She’s certain those closer to the actual ring can hear the sound of bones crunching, an inevitable thing given the abnormal distortion of limbs she sees on the other team.

He yells and taunts his opponents, one by one, laying them out with the somewhat assistance of the rest of the men. Truth be told, Roman could have probably tagged out the other four men and handled the other team all on his own.

He’s just that effective.

And when there’s only one man standing, barely, Roman moves to the other side of the ring, face turned up in rage, watching and waiting for the perfect moment for him to dart across, laughing into a spear so forceful that it knocks the man unconscious instantly, guaranteeing an instant, easy pin.

The crowd erupts in cheers, Roman’s music sounding as Samantha formally announces the Bloodline as the winners.

There’s a strange sense of relief that Solana has at that, at the fact that this is all over, that the fighting is done. That Roman is done, because her mind keeps going toward the fact that he probably needs some level of medical attention and when said attention is going to happen.

But while she expects the Bloodline to start their exit, she’s instead met with security dragging the unconscious bodies of the losing team outside of the ring.

“What’s happening?” Solana asks Bayley, realizing that the women are starting to pack up to head out. “Isn’t—isn’t it over?”

“For us, yes.” Her eyes set on the twins, Solo, and Sami. “For them, it’s just beginning.” Solana reflects back on their in-ring argument and Naomi’s foreshadowing about this happening, about this punishment.

And one glance at Roman, his hulking shoulders lifting and lowering with his heavy panting. His eyes are flaming with a fury he clearly intends to take out on his team.

“Come on.” Naomi draws Solana’s attention. “I’ll ride home with you, cause Solo ain’t gon be free no time soon.”

None of them will.

Solana recognizes this and agrees, but it’s not without a sense of disappointment at not leaving with Roman.

And that confuses her. It confuses her a lot.

She didn’t arrive with him, so why would she leave with him?

More importantly, why does she care that she’s not leaving with him?

—----------

“I–I can do that for you.”

There are some things meant to be thought and some things meant to be said. This is one of those things that should have stayed in Solana’s head instead of rolling off her tongue the way it does.

She was only supposed to ask him if he wanted her to make anything in particular for breakfast tomorrow, not offer to freaking suture stitches for him.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because as it’s almost damn midnight, she could and should at least be in bed trying to sleep. She’s been home for almost two hours, showered, changed into her oversized shirt and sweats.

She shouldn’t even be standing before him, but there was some type of unease she had at trying to fall asleep without making sure he made it home, without seeing to it that he tended to any injuries he sustained tonight.

Solana almost feels like that’s what she should do, like she should make sure she’s available to assist him with anything he may need. Like it’s just another thing that could keep him from directing his anger from earlier towards her.

And it’s slightly less stressful for her in knowing that he’s more likely to harshly dismiss her, maybe even chastise her for unintentionally implying he’s somehow incapable. However, instead of a rebuff, he simply looks at her, asking, “you know how?”

Solana doesn��t know why, but she takes this as a sign that he’s accepting her offer. Walking over to where he sits at the kitchen island, she sees he already has the supplies laid out. “I—I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Some of it from patching up her dad and brother but most of it from patching up herself over the years, from watching and learning from her mother tend to her wounds after sustaining beatings from Xavier. “My mom was also a nurse. She—she taught me a lot.” Like the proper way to suture. “Did—did you already disinfect?”

Solana is slightly nervous when he says no. That means she’s the one that’s going to have to inflict that brief but potent burning pain.

Lovely.

Nonetheless, she readies the cloth, holding it over the cut before warning, “this—this might sting.”

“I don’t care.” And she believes it. Seeing him in the ring tonight, his prowess, his brutality, she’s not sure if anything could hurt him.

Solana proceeds to clean and disinfect the area before grabbing the sutures to start stitching him back up.

Roman suddenly asks her. “Did you want to go into the medical field?” Roman recalls from the file he read on her that she never pursued any higher education beyond high school, something else he marked against her at the time. Education and knowledge have always been important to him.

But meeting her and slowly learning more about her backstory, he wonders if that was of her own choosing, hence his asking.

Solana, meanwhile, can’t figure out why he’s even talking to her in the first place. He seemed, justifiably, annoyed with and not wanting to be bothered with any and everyone post match. Now he’s asking her questions about things she hasn’t thought about in years.

Still, she answers with the truth. “I—I wanted to be a nurse. Like my mom.”

This doesn’t surprise Roman as he follows up with, “why didn’t you?”

A lot of reasons. Many of which she has very little desire to share, not that she could or would even want to ever voice as such to the man sitting in front of her.

That’d be an instant death wish.

“My—my father. He, umm, didn’t want me to leave home.” It’s a version of the truth, the unabridged version being he didn’t want her to leave home because he wouldn’t be able to control her if she did so.

And Solana has a feeling that she doesn’t need to share all that, that Roman already knows this.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Roman’s delivery, like most of the time, is insensitive. But, he genuinely wants to know. For what reason did she stay there all those years, in a house of horrors instead of just leaving and never looking back?

It’s a fair, simple question with a complex, layered answer that she greatly simplifies.

“I tried. It—it never worked out.” And it’s when Roman hears the sudden sadness in her voice, sees the way her eyes temporarily shift to her inner forearms, horizontal faded scars that he’s just now able to see from how close she is to him that he gets it.

He realizes that she tried in more ways than one, none of them being successful.

And in a truly coincidental way, Solana notices he’s also cut on the back of his bicep. It’s also in her being so close to him that she realizes underneath the intricacies of the tribal tattoos on his forearm, there are scars. Burn scars, nothing severe, but visible enough for her to notice.

It makes her wonder about where he got them, how he got them, not that she’d ever have enough bravery to ask.

She instead clears her throat and gestures to the cut. “Do–do you want me to do that one too?”

It takes a second for Roman to think about what she’s asking. “Is it deep enough?”

Without thinking about it, she brings her hand to finger to lightly feel the cut that was clearly poorly and in a rush patched up post fight. Nodding, she explains, “it’s deeper than about 1/4th an inch, so yeah, I—you should let me.” And in realizing she’s touching him, like she isn’t doing the same thing while suturing, she snatches her hand back, apologizing quietly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had a woman apologize for touching him.

“Okay.”

And that’s it, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t chastise her for making it seem like he doesn’t know or understand injuries. He just allows her to work on him, Solana doing her best to ignore the fact that he’s so close to her, his big, strong body, even while seated, overwhelming her.

But while this would typically cause Solana to go into panic mode, being so close to a half dressed man, she doesn’t feel that with Roman. She doesn’t feel anything at all. No anxiety, no fear, just some nameless emotion that doesn’t evoke her typical nervous responses.

“Okay.” Finishing up, Solana moves to clean up the supplies, discarding what is no longer usable. “Just….don’t get it wet for next few hours, and apply the ointment as needed, but—I’m sure you know all this already.” She feels silly for speaking to him as if he hasn’t patched himself up or been stitched up countless time before. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Not wanting to risk embarrassing herself further, she turns on the heel of her foot and starts walking off, only to stop when he calls for her.

“Solana.”

She turns around, and Roman is briefly caught up in how she presses her lips together, trying to suppress a frown. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

One more sweep of her frame from bottom to top, remembering the stunning complement and contrast of the red dress against her complexion. He compliments, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks absolutely taken back by what is an obvious statement. Taken back and confused. “M—me?” She’s pointing to herself, brows arching together. And for a second, there’s a small hint of a growing smile as she asks, as if he could have made a mistake. “Really?”

He didn’t.

Roman doesn’t make mistakes

Solana has a lot of things fucked up about her, but one thing not a damn person can deny is that she’s absolutely gorgeous with a body to match. That’s just a fact, why he felt the need to express said fact is a bit beyond him, but Roman doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it. It’s not a sentimental thing at all, just a plain fact being stated, if anything.

“Thank you,” she finally says as he notices the reddening of her cheeks. “Umm, good night.” Solana’s hand is on the banister, her finger squeezing tighter than the coils in her stomach. “Roman?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would have just ignored her, but he doesn’t. His gaze snaps up to her from the phone now in his hand.

The same hand she witnessed just tonight pummel grown men, just as muscular and intimidating as he is to a bloody pulp. The same hand that could easily take her life, could have her clinging onto life with just one beating. And that’s all she can see at the thought of telling him about Grayson and Theory messing with her, that it’s now happened twice, they’ve caught her off guard and alone, sexually harassing her.

Nia’s words from the other day return to the front of her mind.

“He wants you to stop being so weak.”

He’ll blame her. He’ll blame her the same way her father blamed her for what they did to her. He’ll blame her for being so weak. That’s what Solana knows will happen. Knows he’ll say she was leading them on, that she must have done something to garner their interest in her. And he’ll be angry.

He’ll be angry at her.

And nothing good ever comes out of Roman Reigns being angry.

She’s seen it for herself firsthand tonight.

Determine to find a way to deal with this on her own, she shakes her head, “nothing. S–sorry.” She’s turned back to the steps when he says her name this time. His tone clear and authoritative.

She jumps, immediately turning back around to face him. He’s now standing near the steps where she stands, halfway between rescue and ridicule.

Something flashes in his gaze at her obvious nervousness, but he quickly refocuses on the topic at hand. “You have something to say, so say it.”

A deep layer of regret and anxiety settles in at the realization that there is no lying to Roman. He’s adroitly skilled in reading between the lines and seeing through bullshit. Or maybe she’s just that bad at lying.

Hopefully not the latter because another lie is about to roll right out.

“I was just—I was gonna sleep in tomorrow, but I have to make your breakfast, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t have to do anything, Solana.”

Roman knows she’s lying. Knows she just pulled that out of her ass instead of sharing whatever it is she initially wanted to say. It’s probably something stupid too, something he won’t give two shits about, but something she thinks he gives two shits about. And he’d push her if not for the fact he can tell she’s getting all nervous and shit on him again. The last thing he needs is her having another panic attack.

“Sleep in,” he directs. This is a conversation, much to his chagrin, that will have to take part in sections. And it’s too late in the evening to hash out one of those sections. And to be fair, there is a part of him that recognizes she probably does feel like she needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn like him to have his first meal of the day ready to go. And his lunch. And his dinner.

Granted, Roman can’t and won’t complain about all of it, because the girl can cook her ass off.

But, it’s not necessary.

He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

He’s done so since he was 10 years old.

“Thank you.” She does that thing again where she smiles like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery or been given the cure to world hunger. It’s the simplest things that seem to make her happy. Considering the bar has already been set so low, it makes a bit of sense.

It makes a lot of sense.

“Goodnight.”

Roman is certain she’s intentional in the way she turns on the heel of her foot to move up the stairs, putting as much distance between the two of them to avoid a follow up question. Her avoidance behavior is a bit impressive, irksome, but still impressive, nonetheless.

And it would be remiss of Roman to not sneak a peak of her retreating form moving up the steps, his eyes glued to the sway of her ass, again remembering that short, red dress that momentarily distracted him when he laid eyes on her at the match.

Roman would never deny his physical attraction to her. That’s just a fact. She’s shaped in a way that makes his dick hard at the thought of having that body underneath his, writhing, begging for him to not stop fucking her in all the ways he would if he could.

But, that’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy because the reality is that he can’t even touch this girl without her freaking out on him, something that would annoy him greatly if he didn’t realize there’s a reason behind her jumpiness.

Something that’s beyond just her shitty father and brother.

Roman doesn’t allow himself to travel down that path, to see what it might lead to because just the thought of what might be the reason she doesn’t like being touched has his fist forming at his side, nostrils flared, and anger brewing at an accelerated pace that doesn’t make sense.

It also doesn’t make sense when he grabs his phone, navigating to the desired thread, sending a text he doesn’t think much about.

Roman: Get me a list of dog breeders. Small dogs. Preferably local. We can travel if necessary.

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Just do it.

Paul: I’ll have it to you by tomorrow morning.

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

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harrysfolklore · 1 year ago

Note

Okay I fucking love Priyanka Chopra and I want her to be the face claim of one of your insta blurbs 🥺 maybe older y/n? (the one you were recently talking about)

two things i miss: dadrry and tour, so this came naturally. enjoy !

SUBSCRIBE TO MY PATREON lots of more writing there

ask me anything | masterlist | likes and reblogs are appreciated !

liked by harrystyles, jessicachastain and 2,306,001 others

yourinstagram Daddy took the pic (and also picked the outfit) 🤍

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ynfan1 AWEEEEE

harryfan1 this is so damn cute

selenagomez ❤️

annetwist My cuties 💗

ynfan2 malti is so adorableeee i could cry

harryfan2 smh i still can’t believe harry is a DAD

harrystyles Fashion icon x

↳ harryfan3 PLEASEEEE

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 13,927 others

harryupdates Harry, YN and little Malti out in New York today 🥹

view all 1,028 comments

harryfan1 HAPPY FAMILY

harryfan2 SO CUTE

ynfan1 malti casually saying hi to the paps she’s an icon

ynfan2 she’s such an extrovert kid i love her

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift and 2,927,628 others

yourinstagram Getting glammed up for the final LA show 🕺#LoveOnTour

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ynfan1 MY HEARTTT

harryfan1 this is so cute i can’t take it

pillowpersonpp ❤️

ynfan2 MALTI’S FIRST SHOW WAIT

arianagrande excuse me i’m melting 🥲

harryfan2 AHHH

harrystyles Love you both so much.

↳ harryfan3 my god i live dadrry so much

liked by harryfan1, ynfan1 and 14,927 others

ynupdates Malti saying hi to HER fans tonight !

view all 1,088 comments

ynfan1 STOOOOP

harryfan1 SHES SO ADORABLE

ynfan2 this is the first time little malti attends one of harry’s shows and she looks like she’s having the time of her life 😭

harryfan2 that’s definitely harry’s kid

ynfan3 i love this family so bad

liked by harryfan1, ynfan2 and 15,927 others

harryupdates HARRY NOTICING MALTI IN THE CROWD TONIGHT 🥺🥺🥺

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harryfan1 MY HEART

ynfan1 I CANT DO THIS

harryfan2 he’s smiling so big oh my god dadrry

ynfan2 malti kept dancing and waving to everyone and having fun she’s the coolest kid ever

harryfan3 GIRL DAD 😭

"This is a very very special show," Harry said as he stood by his mic stand, "It's not only the last show here at LA, but it is also my daughter's first concert ever," at this, the crowd roared in screams and cheers, "She's right over there with her mum," he pointed at the VIP box of the arena, just to realize that no one was there, "Wait, she's not there, did she get bored of the show already?"

As the crowd laughed at his joke, he scanned the crowd again looking for his wife and daughter, only to spot them at the front of the barricade, his little girl waving at him frantically.

"There she is!" he cheerfully said, a huge smile appearing on his face, "Hi baby, I see you. Are you enjoying the show?" he got closer to them, bending down to press a small kiss on the girl's head, "Oh no! You can't take that, daddy needs that to sing," he said when he realized that the baby was grabbing his mic, trying to take it from him, "I guess she loves the stage already."

The crowd went absolutely crazy over the interaction, recording it and taking pictures that would make the internet go crazy too.

liked by harryfan2, ynfan2 and 16,927 others

harryandyn THIS IS SO ADORABLE SHE JUST WANTED THE MIC

view all 117 comments

harryfan1 AHH

ynfan1 she’s just like harry

harryfan2 DADRRY IS THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO US

ynfan2 MY HEART

liked by yourinstagram, selenagomez and 10,927,018 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Los Angeles XV. January, 2023

view all 82,928 others

harryfan1 NOO I CANT

annetwist ❤️❤️❤️

jefezoff Little rockstar

ynfan1 cutest picture ever

harris_reed Little angel princess 💗

harryfan2 A DAD

yourinstagram The best daddy in the world 🤍

harryfan3 this just added 912628 years into my life

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains s @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk k @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry

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werepuppy-steve · 8 months ago

Text

G | 753 words

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles' prompt: graduation tags: emma verse, modern au, famous corroded coffin, steddie being over the top parents

tagging some of the emma fans: @steves-strapcollection @tboygareth @patchworkgargoyle @steddieas-shegoes @theheadlessphilosopher

@worstsequence @hammity-hammer

"Does she know where we're sitting?" Eddie asks as they shuffle down the rows of plastic seats, his bulky digital camera hanging around his neck by the strap.

(Eddie wanted to bring their tour photographer, Cody, but Steve had to gently remind him that the school already had one hired. Eddie only sulked for an hour.)

Steve levels him a look. "If she doesn't see us, then she'll spot one of these goons and follow the line." He points over his shoulder to their accompanying party.

Wayne is directly behind him, followed by Robin and Chrissy. Jeff, Gareth, Freak, and the kids shuffle in behind them. As much as Eddie doesn’t like flaunting his celebrity status around, he had to call ahead the week before to request an entire row to be reserved just to fit all of them.

His baby is graduating kindergarten, he'll be damned if he doesn't pull out all the stops. They’re even having a little graduation party for her at the house afterwards—a backyard BBQ with everyone and the rest of the tour crew and family who couldn't make it to the ceremony.

Not long after everyone is seated, Pomp and Circumstance crackles out of the loudspeakers and the kids start to walk down the aisle in pairs. It's definitely not perfect, some kids take too-eager steps and some stop to hug their parents, but the teachers do their best to guide them.

Steve starts recording with his phone the second they spot Emma, the digital chime of Eddie's camera shutter clicking away beside him. Her curls are barely tamed in the side pony she asked Eddie to put it in, but it matches the whole 'rocker' vibe she's got going on.

Amongst the sea of summer dresses and pressed toddler slacks, their little girl is wearing her black denim battle vest over a light purple Hannah Montana shirt Steve had gotten at a yard sale, with a pale blue frilly tutu and a pair of silver glitter leggings and her black boots.

She looks nervous, though. Tense. Her shoulders are drawn up and her hands are clasped in front of her. Brown eyes dart this way and that around the room trying to spot a familiar face in the crowd and it breaks Steve's heart to watch his kid be so anxious. Her teacher said she did great at practice yesterday, but that was without the fifty pairs of eyes on her.

Mike is sitting on the end and she finds him easily, her eyes lighting up in recognition, but there's still a worried crease between her eyebrows that doesn't smooth out until she's locking eyes with her dads. She gives them a tiny wave as she walks by.

They both give her encouraging thumbs up and Eddie wishes he could just snatch her up and run out of the building with her.

They eventually get all the kids filed in and the principal stands behind the podium on the stage to welcome everyone. She goes through the awards first (Emma receives one for reading above her grade level, something that Eddie is very proud of) before the kids line back up to receive their little diplomas.

Halfway through the list, Eddie suddenly elbows Steve. "Shit, I didn't hear her name, did we miss her?"

His phone is still recording. "Dude, her last name is M, we're still in the J's."

"Oh, right."

Emma's class is only about 50 or so kids so it doesn't really take that long to get to her name, but Steve and Eddie are still vibrating with the anticipation.

"Emma Munson."

Immediately, their entire entourage is up on their feet and cheering and yelling. It's way too loud for the cafeteria setting they're in, and it echos, and you can definitely tell which of them are in the famous metal band.

Emma's little cheeks turn the same color as her glasses but her grin is big and wide as she holds her certificate in front of her for the picture. Both Steve and Eddie are rapid fire pressing the shutter buttons on their cameras.

Once she's off the stage, the principal clears her throat. "A reminder to please hold all applause until the end of the ceremony, thank you." She gives them a not-so-subtle glare over the rims of her own glasses.

Sheepishly, their group sits back down and is quiet once more.

"We're gonna be worse during her eighth grade graduation, right?" Steve whispers to Eddie.

"Oh, absolutely. She'll want to kill us afterwards."

#my school district only did graduations for preschool/8th grade/high school so idk how accurate this is #cj talks #cj writes #🐣#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie dads

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queenie-avenue · 1 year ago

Text

There's no solution for whatever this was.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> when you come crashing into his life, his focus for his studies are lost.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader's race is not mentioned but it does take place in korea, stalking, obsession, slightly suggestive, possessiveness, stealing, damage to personal, slightly suggestive, property, encouraging suicide, mentions of academic stress and korea's expectation for its students, inspired by @moyazaika 's academic rival yandere (go check the fic out, it's amazing), a drabble for now but I will be posting longer fics of him

🦋 ⤻ archives.

In Korea, students are shown to be almost always studying. Many news outlets have covered multiple schools and how much pressure Korean students are going through with their studies. It's difficult, no one can deny it. Yet, some of these students just find it normal, they view studying as perhaps their only form of control they have in their world.

One of those such students is Seo Min-Jun, a student belonging to a prestigious private high school. Someone who is in his final year of high school, soon to graduate and take his university exams. Top of his class, the son to a minister in Korea's government and a rather popular film actress, and the president of the student council. He was destined for success once he graduated.

The moment he crawled out of his mother's womb, his fate was paved for him in gold.

That was, until you — the sweet scholarship student — showed up.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

At first, he didn't understand you. Both of you were literally in your last year of school, but you waltzed in like you owned the place. At least, from his perspective. He thought you bland. After all, you got in from a scholarship. You may be smart, but were you as rich, or was your status in society as high as him? It didn't matter, he still viewed you as below him and didn't pay much attention to you, relegating his secretary in the student council to give you a tour of the elite private school that you should honestly be honoured to step your grimy shoes all over.

Sure, he'd never say these things out to you or anyone else in public. After all, he was still a model student, and he was taught to act humble. Key word: act.

He honestly didn't take an interest in you till he saw your name, above his, on the monthly test evaluations.

"What?" He muttered out, not believing his eyes. In almost every damn subject, you managed to score higher than him. He was almost always one mark off from you. His eyes shot to you, the you who stood there in your crisp and cut uniform on the other side of the crowd, looking up at the papers pressed onto the walls with a look of pride. What was that look of pride for?

Pride, something that existed strongly in almost every culture, and you had just ruined his.

Your life was never the same afterwards.

Letters of hatred piled in your shoe locker. They ranged from being written like some crazed man worshipping your feet like you were a god to someone who wanted to see you hop off the building of your school. The handwriting was typically crazed, but you could recognise whose handwriting it was solely because the both of you were in the same class.

As usual, the school board did nothing to help with that. And when you tried to accuse Min-Jun, the teachers especially scolded you for attempting to defame the student council president.

It got so bad that your things were going missing too, your homework — which the teachers unreasonably scolded you for even if you were user sure you placed it in your bag this morning — and then your notes too. Technically, they did return. They just returned torn up, and some were even burnt with mysterious stains on them.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore after receiving a death threat, and you stormed to the student council office, knowing that if you went to the general office, they'd turn you away again.

You would take matters into your own hands.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When Min-Jun first saw you enter the room, he was left breathless. Your blushed cheeks from running all the way here, no doubt, the way your uniform crumpled, his mouth was almost drooling. No, no. He refused to let himself lust over you in such a manner that you were a rival, for goodness sake! Not some... potential love interest. Though that thought did pique his interest but he pushed it down with any other thoughts he had about his rival.

"I can't take it anymore." You said, which shocked him. Was someone bullying you? Only he could do that! "I know it's you. I've seen your handwriting on tests before, I just know you're the one who's been planting those notes and stealing my things." You accused your one-sided academic rival.

He didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? His family would protect him, the school would protect him, and most importantly, the student body would rip them to shreds if they ever tried to act out against him. He knew how cruel students could be. After all, he had seen all the outcasts almost drowned inside toilet bowls by bullies multiple times.

He could not have that. Having you tortured would mean he would not be able to have a proper rival. As much as he disliked you for being in his way, he preferred to keep things... somewhat fair.

"And your proof?" He inquired.

"I have all those notes stored in my bag." You hissed.

For some reason, the thought of you keeping those notes made his heart beat faster. Were you a freak like him too? Did you have such sinful thoughts just like him? You broke his twisted fantasy with your next words, though.

"I don't understand why you're doing this to me. It's- it's," you struggled to find a word for his disturbing actions, "ceaselessly cruel!" You finally exclaimed.

Cruel? What was cruel were your actions, driving him mad, making him lose focus on his work. Who were you to call him cruel when you made him like this?

He got up from his seat and approached you, causing you to fall back, landing on the couch that you swore was not there when the entered the student council room. Taking this chance, he pinned you against the seat, taking in every part of your body, your face, your eyes... everything. God, you were so perfect but so infuriating. Just why did you have to confront him?

"Are you that fucking naive to think that when you present the school with your proof, they'll do anything about it for you? That they'll go against me and my family for the sake of defending the poor scholarship student?" He hissed, grabbing your face harshly as you whimpered. He wished the circumstances of your whimpers were different; in his bed rather than on the couch of the student council office. Still, that did breed intriguing fantasies into his mind. "You think they'll do that for you?" He repeated.

"I-" you started, but you had no idea how to end.

"Exactly." He let go of you, almost smacking your head to the other side as he straightened himself, readjusting the blazer of his uniform.

"You should get used to the circumstances of your situation." He said which only made you shudder. "Let yourself out." He said cooly as he exited the student council room, "I trust you'll keep this meeting a secret." He said with an air of finality before sauntering casually towards the male bathrooms where he promptly slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet seat, practically fuming.

That look on your face, the scrunch of your nose, the furrowing of your eyebrows. You were so unfair! He could practically feel all his blood flush downwards as he thought of you.

Now that you knew he was the culprit, what would you do?

It didn't matter.

He would find ways to pester you and find ways to mark you as someone who could not be touched by anyone else other than him.

"I left another note in your bag. You should look at it. Or else."

#male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere academic rival #yandere

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ingravinoveritas · 2 years ago

Photo

David has no idea what he’s doing and Michael knows entirely too well what he is doing...

Michael and David doing devil signs :) (SXSW 2019)

#they are perfect together your honor #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #good omens #sxsw #i miss this press tour so damn much #oh god this is so fucking adorable #love these idiots #the GO 2 press tour is going to be a ride #ineffable lovers #reblog

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sturnioloskies · 1 year ago

Text

Too Damn Long // C.S.

by 💋Natalie💋

summary: chris hasn't jerked off in six weeks and desperately wants to get off

mentions: @oversturn ily 😝💋🤭

warnings: SMUT / mommy kink / sharing is caring / minors dni

DISCLAIMER: these stories are fictional :) we do not actually legitimately think matt and chris would share a partner.

text - reader

text - chris sturniolo

text - matt sturniolo

Word Count: 4318

--------------------------------

It had been far too long for Chris’s liking. Six weeks and two days too long, to be exact. Of course he had enjoyed his time on tour with his brothers, he loved getting to travel the country and make all of these wonderful memories with the people he loved the most. The excitement had died down after the first few days, though. Not that he wasn’t enjoying his time or ungrateful for anything at all, he was just tired and missed the comforts of being at home. The car and late night rides with his brothers, his bathroom where he could take showers for as long as he wanted, his bedroom, his bed…he craved it. Being away from home for too long drained him of all of his energy.

Being back home was like a breath of fresh air. But being back in LA after their month and a half of touring didn’t eliminate anything in their busy work schedules. From recording videos, to designing merch, to meetings and sponsorships, the boys continued to stay booked and busy.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Chris looked up from his phone as Matt trudged over to the couch, leaning down to be eye-level with his girlfriend. She looked up from her phone as well, a smile finding its way onto her face when she made eye contact with Matt. “Okay, can you get me a couple things while you’re out?” She asks, earning an eye roll from him in response. His hands rest on the couch on either side of her, his weight being shifted as he leans closer to her and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“So needy. Text me a list,” he tells her. He looks over at his brother for a moment. “You need anything?”

Chris went to speak, but was cut off before he could even start.

“Pepsi, yeah yeah I know. Is there anything you NEED?”

Chris shrugged, leaning back and hooking an arm over the back of the couch as his gaze switched back down to his phone. “If I think of anything I'll let you know.”

Matt rolled his eyes again. A swift smack to his chest and his attention was back on the beauty in front of him. “Be nice,” she warned. “You’ve been at each other's throats all day,” she reminds him in a much more hushed tone.

“This is me being nice-“

“Matt-“

“I’m being for real,” he laughs.

“Matthew Bernard.”

“Okay, fine.”

Chris pretended like he hadn’t heard what she said, he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back the smirk that threatened to blow his cover. “Yeah, be nice,” he parroted, his gaze still locked on his phone. Nobody ever said anything about it, but they all knew who wore the pants in that relationship. Matt would crawl on hot coals if she told him to. Chris always teased him and gave him shit about being a simp. He used that facade to hide the fact that he would do the same.

Matt shot Chris a warning look, not in the mood to deal with his childish antics tonight. She rested her fingertips on Matt’s cheek, gently turning his head to face her once again. She leaned toward him, pressing a delicate lingering kiss to his lips. Matt caught himself from falling forward a bit when she pulled away, not wanting the kiss to be over with so soon. His girlfriend smiled at him, a soft laugh escaping her. “Go before you’re late. I’ll text you, and I’ll see you tonight.”

Reluctantly, Matt pushed himself back to an upright position. “Fine. I’ll see you in a bit. I love you,” He states, grabbing his keys and wallet off of the coffee table. His girlfriend repeated the last statement to him, a smile creeping its way onto Matt’s face.

Once Matt had finally left the house, Chris put his phone down on the couch and looked over at the girl sitting only a foot or two away from him. She wouldn’t agree, but Chris always thought she looked the prettiest like this; her messy hair up in a claw clip, loose hairs framing her face in long blonde waves, no makeup besides the sharp black liner that seemed to be almost engraved in her skin by how often she wore it, the comfy clothes she wore around the house when it was clear that she had nowhere to be anytime soon.

And neither of them had anywhere to be anytime soon.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

—————————

Chris wanted to be invested in the movie, he really did. But it was proving to be much more difficult than he thought it would. The smell of her perfume was driving him wild, he wanted nothing more than to just bury his face into her neck and suffocate himself in the sweet velvety scent. How he missed her soft skin against him and her gentle touch, the sound of her voice purring his name when she spoke to him. It had been so long since the last time, too long.

Normally he could control himself and keep his composure, normally he would be the one taking care of her whenever Matt was out of the house. But Chris had needs too, and those needs hadn’t been met in six weeks, two days, and eighteen hours.

The sheer glimpse of her nipples and the valley of her supple breasts through her shirt had Chris’s heart lodged in his throat. The blood rushed to his cheeks, his face feeling hot. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest as his mind flooded with many thoughts, all of which would grant him a one way ticket to hell.

He scooted closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She smiled, wrapping her arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer. Chris obliged, leaning into her and nestling his face into the crook of her neck. Every inhale had him floating in a pool of rose petals and strawberries, he could drown himself in the scent. Her shoulder was cold, and Chris prayed that she couldn’t feel how hot his cheek was against her skin. The bridge of his nose brushed against her neck, his lips ghosting over her soft, pale skin. The blood rushed straight to his cock as he thought about biting and sucking marks all over her, the sounds she might make if he found a particularly sensitive spot.

“What has gotten into you tonight?” She asks, running her fingers delicately through Chris’s hair, her nails gently dragging along his scalp. A shiver ran down his spine, his cock twitched in his pants, he felt his jeans beginning to grow tighter at the crotch. ‘Six weeks and almost three days is what’s gotten into me,’ he thought to himself.

What the fuck do I say? I haven’t jerked off in over a month? I ruined three pairs of boxers in my sleep because of the dreams I had of you? I’d get bricked if I heard you on the phone with Matt? I’d meet hundreds of people and the whole time I would only be thinking about you and how I'd kill to bury myself in you?

Chris opted on keeping his mouth shut and just nudged her with his nose again. He smiled to himself when he heard her laugh, his eyes subconsciously fluttering closed as she continued to play with his hair.

The tightness of his pants began to grow uncomfortable. His face scrunched up at the much too familiar ache, his breathing growing heavier as he did everything in his power to not touch himself right then and there. The sweet temptation of grinding his crotch up into the palm of his hand was taunting his mind, his cock throbbing, begging for any kind of friction. He buried his face deeper, trying so hard to ignore what he was feeling.

“Chris?”

Oh her voice was like honey, and the sound of his name rolling off her tongue made his cock twitch once more. He loved when she said his name. Especially when he had himself buried deep inside of her. Nothing in the world sounded sweeter to him than his name falling blissfully from her lips while balls deep in her.

Oh he missed that. Nothing satisfied him more than his brother’s girlfriend’s tight pussy. Just the thought of her pretty, drooling pussy on display for him made his dick ache. How something could be so slick and so tight at the same time, he had no idea. His cotton boxers became dampened by the precum leaking through the fabric. He spent so many nights dreaming of her thighs hooked over his shoulders, the bridge of his nose buried in her heat. Teasing her, tasting her, pleasing her.

A shaky breath escaped him. Chris brought a hand to his crotch, trying to stay silent as he adjusted himself. His cock stiffened even more at the contact, the friction sending waves of pleasure through him. Unable to stop himself, he began to stroke himself through the fabric of his pants. Slowly, not wanting to get caught. Fuck, how embarrassing would that be? But fuck…it’s been too long and it felt so good.

Chris’s head was clouded with sinful thoughts. The sounds she would make, the way she tasted, the passion, the heat, the excitement. He knew this wasn’t the time to be thinking about those things, it was just so hard not to with her right there. He let out another shaky breath as he continued to touch himself, warmth flooding his body with each pleasurable stroke. His face was flushed with a deep red blush, thank god they had decided to watch the movie with the lights off.

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“H-Have I been a good boy t-tonight?”

The question had her at a loss for words. It wasn’t unusual for Chris to act childish around her, everyone always joked that Matt and his girlfriend were practically co-parenting him. But it was rare that he wanted to be called a good boy, never mind refer to himself as that. However, it had been a long day of unpacking, meetings, scheduling, and creating more content for the three of them. He’s gotta be exhausted and probably doesn’t even know what the hell he’s saying.

She continued running her fingers through his soft hair. “Yeah, you’ve been good, Chris.”

He let out a dissatisfied whine, brushing his stubbly cheek against her shoulder. It took everything in him not to bite at her soft pillowy skin. He twitched a little, his dick aching for more. Sweat began to form on his brow, the slow movement of his hand wasn’t enough anymore. He needed more, he needed so much more.

“J-Just wanna be a good b-boy for you,” he confesses. He couldn’t help it, he needed more. He sped up his strokes; not by a lot, but enough to satisfy the uncomfortable ache. Another shaky breath passes his lips. He couldn’t think straight, all he could think about was her and how badly he needed her. “M-Mommy.”

Her eyes widened a bit, her own cheeks becoming flushed and pink. Chris didn’t pull the ‘mommy’ card very often, but it drove her absolutely insane whenever he did. Normally he liked to be in charge, he liked to call the shots, he liked being in control.

That was clearly not the case tonight.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Chris.” She cooed.

The sluttiest of whimpers fell from his lips, though it was muffled against her neck. She smiled to herself when she felt his lips placing soft kisses to her skin. “M-Missed you s-so much.” His voice was unsteady, breaking a little at the end as another whine escaped him.

Her attention was no longer on the movie still playing. How could it be under these circumstances? She looked over, her breath getting caught in her throat when she saw what Chris had been doing. His hand strained, muscles tensed, veins exposed. She watched him for a moment as he fisted at his painfully hard cock through the thick denim of his jeans.

“Aww, did you miss me?” She asked, earning yet another whimper from Chris, his hair tickling her cheek as he buried his face impossibly closer into her neck. “You were gone for a long time, huh?” she continued, dragging her fingertips along his arm.

Chris froze. Fuck, there was no way she didn’t know what he had been doing. A wave of humiliation and embarrassment hit him like a fucking semi truck, and he covered his crotch with his hands as an even deeper blush rose to his cheeks. “I’m so sorry-“ he barely whispered, closing his eyes tightly, begging and praying to any of the gods that he’d wake up and this all would’ve just been some really weird wet dream.

“For?”

His cock jolted at the sound of her voice. God this was just getting worse and worse. He was digging himself a hole and every word or action was just making it harder for him to get out of it. Sorry for borderline beating off in front of you, I went six weeks without touching myself or you and my dick just couldn’t take it anymore.

Her touch left goosebumps along his arm, his breathing became more uneven as she dragged her fingertips all the way down to his hand. “I-I didn’t mean t-to-“

“It’s okay, pretty boy. It’s been a while for you, huh?” She asked, applying some pressure to where he craved it the most. Chris moved his hands, granting her access to whatever she wanted from him. His breath caught in his throat as her fingertips dragged slowly over the length of his aching, throbbing cock. Yet another whimper falling from his lips.

“I asked you a question, Christopher.”

“Y-Yes, been so long,” he whined. A wave of pleasure ran through him as her hand began to stroke him through his jeans. His hips subconsciously lifted to meet her touch, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more anything.

“Did you go all that time without jerking off, Chris?” She asked him, a knowing smirk growing on her face as she continued to tease him. He nodded, unable to form words as she kept touching him. His brain felt cloudy, all he could think about was how good she made him feel and how badly he wanted to feel her around him.

He didn’t have a shred of dignity left. He didn’t care either. He hasn’t felt this desperate to get off since he went through puberty. His balls ached, heavy with arousal. His cock sensitive, any movement made him shiver with pleasure. “P-Please mommy. I’ve been s’ good. P-Please help. It hurts,” he moaned softly, kissing her neck while she toyed with him.

“Do you want me to help you, pretty boy?”

He nodded desperately, grinding his hips up into her hand once more. “Y-Yes, i’ve been so good, mommy. Need it s’ bad,'' he whined, nipping at her soft skin.

She removed her hand from his crotch and Chris lifted his head out of the crook of her neck, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Did I do something wrong? Fuck, is she not into the mommy thing? Fuck, what did i do-

“Take your pants off, sweet boy. Let mommy take care of you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands shook as he struggled with his belt, huffing a little in irritation that his belt was choosing NOW to be a pain in the ass. “F-Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Easy, tiger.”

Her soft hands rested on his, steadying him. She helped him with his belt, and once it was undone he finished unbuttoning his jeans, lifting his hips up to push them down to his knees. He leaned back against the couch, sighing in relief. His cock, now only restrained by his soft cotton boxers, pressing up against the fabric, begging to be let out. He whimpered when he felt her hand on his crotch again, hissing in a sharp inhale when he felt her thumb massaging his clothed tip.

“Poor baby. Were you gonna wait until I realized you needed help? Or were you gonna ruin your boxers right here?” She purred, feeling the wet stain of his arousal. He let out a soft moan, her words making him lose all sense of his surroundings, his brain clouded with pleasure. She let out a quiet chuckle, removing her hand from him once more. “This isn’t gonna work if you don’t use your words, Chris.”

“F-Fuck, please ‘m sorry,” he looked over at her, his eyes full of desperation. His lip quivered as her fingers ran along his thigh. His cock twitched as her knuckles grazed his crotch, his jaw going slack as he let his eyes flutter closed. “D-Didn’t wanna bug ya, Ma. I-I’m sorry, sh-should’ve been more quiet,” he confessed.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I’m happy to take care of you,” She whispered, pressing delicate kisses to his face. “Don’t hide from me, tell me what you want.”

“A-Anything,” he replied, his voice wavering a little as her hand inched closer to his crotch. He pursed his lips, choking back another whine. His head fell back against the back of the couch. He looked over beside him, admiring the woman next to him. “P-Please, do whatever you want, I need it so bad, mommy,” he breathed out, their eyes locking as he spoke. “Saved it all for you, mommy. It was so hard b-but i wanted t-to be a good boy for you,” he whispered, a surprised moan interrupting him as he felt her hand beginning to stroke him through his boxers once more. “F-Fuck.”

She smiled, watching the way his face scrunched up as she gave him the friction he was begging for. She leaned closer to him, still pleasing him as she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Oh Chris, you’re such a good boy for mommy, hmm?” She purred, to which he replied back with a whimper, the word ‘please’ incessantly falling from his lips. She chuckled, kissing his cheek again. “So polite. How can I say no to that?”

“C-Can I kiss you?”

She laughed softly at his question. He knew he didn’t have to ask in moments like this, but he always did anyway. Although he loved the time he got to have with her, she wasn’t his and he knew that. The guilt would eat him alive if he did anything during these moments to make her uncomfortable.

“You know you don’t have t-“

“Please?”

Her free hand gently touched his cheek and he looked up at her, his eyes full of dumb bliss and desperation. She leaned in, her nose gently brushing against Chris’s, her lips ghosting over his. “You wanna kiss me, pretty boy?” She whispered, lips brushing ever so delicately against his as she spoke.

“God yes,” he replied. “Havent k-kissed you in s’ long.”

“I know, baby. It’s been too long,” she agreed, though she still didn’t kiss him. She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, her other hand still massaging his stiff aching cock.

“Fuck, I-I’m fuckin’ begging you,” he panted softly, his hot breath fanning against her skin. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple. “Please, I miss your lips, m-mommy.”

That was enough for her to close the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. Chris wanted to be good, he wanted to let her have control, but it had been too fucking long and he was desperate to be as close to her as possible. He kissed her back hungrily, his cock twitching at the sound she made. Something mixed between a whimper and a gasp. It drove him absolutely fucking crazy and he was dying to hear it again. Chris let his hands rest on her thighs, slowly trailing up to her waist.

She was surprised by his sudden confidence. She always loved whenever Chris took control. But tonight was different, and he needed to be fully aware of that. Just as his hands had made it up to her breasts, she pulled her hand away from his crotch, a frustrated whine escaping him. She brought her hand up to his neck, wrapping her fingers around his throat. His cock jolted, Chris could feel the precum drooling onto his pelvis. He panted as she pulled away from the kiss, her lips ever so lightly brushing against his. She was so close but so far at the same time, and every time he attempted to close that gap between them again, she pulled away further. “Tsk tsk, what happened to being mommy’s good boy, hmm?”

He gulped, heavy uneven breaths being all he could get out for a solid twenty seconds. “F-Fuck, ‘m sorry Ma, i just got carried away,” he panted. “J-Jus’ missed your lips s’ much.”

“Naughty boys don’t get rewards, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, p-please,” he choked out, eyes glossing over as the ache began to grow unbearable. “Please ‘m sorry, Ma. I-I’ve been so good, d-didn't touch m-myself all that time. I-I just got excited, ‘m sorry. F-Fuck, please d-dont stop. I’ll be a good boy, I'll be good-“ he rambled on, pleas continuing to spill from his lips, desperate for her to do anything. Her hand around his neck tightened, just the tiniest bit, and Chris let out possibly the filthiest sound she had ever heard from him.

She smiled. She was in control again. She hooked her leg over his lap, straddling his waist, hovering over him. “You like when mommy does that, hmm?” she cooed, earning a whimper from him in response.

He couldn’t focus on a damn thing. When she straddled him his cock throbbed, and he prayed that she would sink just a little lower, just so he could feel her on his lap. Just so he could feel her roll her hips against his. Just so he could feel the outline of her pussy through the thin fabric of the plaid pajama bottoms rubbing against his aching erection. He spent so many nights thinking about her on top of him, missing the feeling of burying himself deep in her tight, wet cunt. Nothing could satisfy him anymore, only her.

“God i’m fuckin begging ya, ma. I’ll do anything, p-please just- fuck,” he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as she tightened her grip around his neck once more, his brain feeling foggy, his face growing hotter. “Anything you want, mommy. P-Please, I’ll be a good boy. Your good boy. J-Just wanna be good for you, mommy. I-I-I wanna be good.”

“Oh but you are, sweet boy,” she purred in his ear, watching in amusement as he shivered at her words. She lowered her hips, seating herself onto his lap. His breath hitched, trembling hands grasping her waist. She bit her lip, he was painfully hard. Even through the fabric between them, she could feel the throbbing. His hips lifted to meet hers, desperate for more. “You really missed me huh?” She hummed.

“You have no fucking idea.”

“Give me an idea then,” she tested.

“Couldn’t get you outta my fuckin’ head, Mama.” He whispered, opening his eyes to look up at her. “Missed you so much. Your pretty face ‘n your sweet lips. You’re beautiful tits ‘n how you look when I play with your nips when you’re all stoned ‘n fucked out,” he spoke, his voice raspy, his accent growing thicker with each confession. “Couldn’t get your pretty pussy outta my head all fucking month. Every fuckin’ day, all day-“ he was cut off by her hips rolling against his yet again, pleasure running through him.

“So hard for me already, I’ve barely even touched you,” she teased, grinding against him yet again.

He felt that all too familiar feeling in his stomach, his hands holding her still on his lap. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum if y-you keep going,” he mumbled, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

“Isn’t that what you want, sweet boy?”

He hummed, pursing his lips. His eyes were hooded as he looked at the beautiful girl on top of him. “S-So bad,” he nodded.

“Let me take care of you then, baby.”

“Wanna…last…” he breathed out, head falling back again as she rolled her hips against his. His hips bucked up, the unexpected reaction causing her to let out a high whimper. “D-Don’t want it t’ be over yet,” he continued, though that was proving to be difficult as he could feel his orgasm inching closer and closer.

Chris felt her move closer to him, his face heating up even more as she pressed kisses to his cheek, eventually her lips ghosting over his ear. She was so close, her perfume swirled around him, his brain getting clouded with the scent. “Oh we’re not even close to being finished, pretty boy,” she giggled, dragging her hands slowly down Chris’s chest. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

He choked out a soft cry, warmth flooding his body. He brought his hand down to his crotch, stroking himself through his boxers to ride himself through his orgasm. His lips parted, soft pants escaping him. “F-Fuck, mommy,” he whined, a high pitched moan following his words as he reached his high. His hips subconsciously bucked up, his load shooting into the fabric of his boxers, his lower abdomen slick with his cum.

She continued pressing gentle kisses to his face. “That’s it, such a good boy. You earned this, pretty boy. You did so good for me,” she praised him, talking him through his first orgasm of the evening. She trailed kisses down to his lips, smiling to herself as he tried to catch his breath. “That’s it, baby. Let mommy take care of you tonight.”

-------------------

a/n: i already have three other parts lined up ready to go for this story

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfiction #sturniolo imagine #sturniolos #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #smut

651 notes · View notes

apclyptc · 1 year ago

Note

oh my ur writing is so good 😭 i was wondering if you could write something where chris is on tour and since he’s been away he’s been needy so like hes texting the reader saying how he’s horny and needs her, so the reader calls chris and they end up having phone sex and chris is like whimpering and unable to keep quiet.. sub chris please 🙏

foreword: aaaaahhhh i love this idea, and thank u! as for sub chris…. im not sure if i can fully capture that since i cant imagine it but i shall give you desperate chris!

enjoy ☺️

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

your boyfriend, chris, was steadily becoming one of the most famous influencers and with that came the task of touring the states.

he’d already been on tour with his brothers once before, but this time he’d gained millions more supporters.

he was midway through his travels, briefly stopping for a couple days from charlotte to nashville. you hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks, and you were starting to miss him.

you missed the way he made you laugh, always including you in his busy schedule, letting you bond with his brothers.

more importantly you missed his hands on you, gliding over your waist, his lips softly kissing the shell of your ear, down to your jaw, your neck, and then finally your lips.

you didn’t realise how long this month without him would feel like.

neither did he, which was why your phone buzzed at the side of your bed. his bed, which you were sleeping in for the next couple of days. his parents treated you like their own, so you graciously used the key they made for you to infiltrate your boyfriend’s room.

you picked up your phone, the screen lighting up your face as you read the message chris had sent you

chris: i miss you

you: i miss you too

i was just thinking about you

chris: yeah?

bet you were thinking something dirty

he knew you so well.

you: no…

i’m just in your bed

i hope you don’t mind, i got cold

*image attached*

chris: damn

so you raided the hoodies already baby?

you: i couldn’t miss the opportunity

chris: you know i love it when you wear my shit

you: of course

can’t you cancel your tour and hurry back to me

chris: if i could i would be home already

you need me that bad huh?

you: oh? but who texted first?

chris: you got me there

i just wanna see your fine ass

you: how bad

chris: bad

hard just thinking about it

wish you were here to help me out baby

you immediately pressed the facetime icon at the top of the screen, watching the phone ring.

after three rings, your boyfriends face appeared.

“hey ma.” chris’ voice cut through the speaker, instantly making you feel better. you rarely had time to speak to him on the phone since he was so busy with the tour.

“ew chris. stop saying ma when i’m in the room.” nick could be heard from behind. you giggled. it always made you laugh when nick expressed a clear dislike for PDA.

“hi nick, how’s tour?” you spoke. chris turned the camera to his brother.

“it’s good! i can’t wait to get off this tour bus though, i hate taking a shit in public bathrooms.” he complained, causing you to laugh at his outwardness.

“should i pass the phone to nick since you wanna speak to him so much?” chris taunted, angling the camera back to himself.

“don’t be jealous of your brother, chris. how is my handsome boyfriend doing?” you smiled at him.

“bored. come to nashville.” he replied.

you shook your head, “you know i can’t.” you had to stay home to work on your own projects. unbeknownst to chris though, you had already arranged with nick and matt to surprise him at the last show of the tour.

“hey y/n. bro do you want anything from target?” matt popped his head into the view of the camera to say hello, and you waved.

“obviously you know what drink i want. get me something sour as well. thanks bro.” he answered matt, then turned his attention back to you.

chris waited until he heard his brothers leave and slam the door of the tour bus.

“i love that pretty face.” he smirked at you.

even over the phone, chris had a way of making your cheeks tint a light shade of red.

“i wish you were here in bed with me.” you spoke quietly, even though no one was home.

“i know, baby. when i get home i’m gonna make you forget i was ever gone.” chris swapped the phone over to his other hand, while he snaked his free hand under his sweatpants.

“how are you gonna do that?” you feigned innocence, knowing exactly what he was hinting at.

“i’m gonna pick you up, throw you into my bed and fill up that throat real good.” chris palmed himself through his underwear, feeling his dick harden.

you felt that twang in your stomach that appears whenever you hear his filthy words.

you took it upon yourself to set your phone down on the bedside table and slip your hands under your panties.

“is that what you want? you want me to suck your dick, baby?” you asked him, while you lazily played with your clit.

chris groaned, not used to you talking like this to him, “yeah, gonna make you swallow all of my cum. god, i want to feel that pussy round me.”

chris, by now, had pulled out his dick, moving his hand up and down and squeezing slightly at the base. he wished it was your tight cunt squeezing around him.

meanwhile, the lazy strokes on your clit had turned into desperate circles, wishing it was his thick, long fingers playing with you. you used the slick building up to coat your fingers, then pushed them inside yourself.

“are you touching yourself, y/n? fucking yourself on your fingers pretending it’s me?” he moaned softly, his hand moving faster.

“yes… want you inside me.” you whined, giving him the vocal stimulation he needed.

chris angled the phone down to his throbbing cock, willing you to watch as he masturbated.

“you see this, baby? ‘s all for you, fuck.” chris let out a quiet whimper, imagining you were next to him right now, your small hands pumping him instead of his own.

you watched his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back as he stroked faster.

“take off my hoodie, let me those tits.” he demanded, though he was in no position to bark orders as he rutted into his hand desperately.

you paused the motion of your fingers inside of you to quickly discard his hoodie and your shirt, revealing your tits to the screen.

“fuck… touch ‘em for me, i wanna see you touch yourself.” he whined at an unfamiliar pitch.

you grabbed your own boob in your hand, kneading it just like he would as you continued thrusting your fingers in and out of your aching pussy.

it was all too much, and yet not enough, without him helping you.

but even so, you felt the knot twist.

“i know that pretty face. you gonna cum?” he asked.

“yes! oh fuck, chris. fuck, want to cum on your face, baby.” you babbled, half incomprehensible.

your words drove chris into madness, moaning and whimpering as his thumb massaged his weeping tip.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. wanna feel that pussy around me, gonna fuck you good, shit, i’m–“ his own orgasm cut his words short, bursting out of his cock, coating his hands. a stray droplet landed on his stomach.

the sight of your boyfriend panting and moaning from his high prompted you to cream all over your fingers. your mouth dropped open as you continued to finger yourself through it, until your adrenaline finally depleted.

both of you took a second to catch your breath.

“i need to clean this mess up before my brothers get back.” chris tucked his softening dick back into his underwear and grabbed a hand towel next to him.

“i love you, chris.” you spoke after he was done cleaning himself up.

“i love you too. i can’t wait to see you after tour is over.” he smiled at you.

“that was the worst target ever.” nick burst through the door of the bus, scaring chris.

“jesus, nick! you scared the shit out of me.” chris clutched his chest and you laughed, quickly throwing your hoodie back on.

“wait why the fuck are you sweating?” matt asked, following his brother inside.

“chris was showing me some top secret basketball moves he’s been working on.” you interjected as you watched chris’ eyes widen at the question.

how embarrassing it would have been if they’d caught you.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

a/n: i hope that was what you wanted!! part two of reader surprising chris at the last show? lmk your thoughts :p

#chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo smut

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whatsk-poppinhomies · 1 year ago

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Pairing : Dad!Yang Jeongin x F!Reader TW : children ; mention of pregnancy ; slightly suggestive ; mainly fluffy though ; Word Count : 1.4k Request : nope! A/N : all of the skz snippets are done!! yay!! These little drabbles really helped me and I kinda want to do another group for the snippets of life... hmmm...

The lock on the front door clicked, alerting you to your husband's arrival. It would be his first day home after three long months of being on tour. Nights of phone calls between you and him would almost always be interrupted by your 4 year old son who missed his father just as much as you did.

“BOO!” You had been in the kitchen when Jeongin came through the front door, rather quietly as well, like he was planning on surprising you and your son, but Jeongyoo had different plans. Your boy had been in position behind the little table for a solid hour just waiting for his fathers return.

“Holy shi-!” Jeongin began, but you pointed at him sternly with the wooden spoon you were holding, stopping him before he could finish the curse word that you didn’t want your son to utilize just yet. “That was a good one, thanks bud.” Jeongin quickly said when he looked down and saw Jeongyoo still standing in front of him. “Do I get a hug? Did you miss me? Hmm?” Jeongin asked, crouching down in front of the boy who was almost like a statue at this point, just staring at his father as if he didn’t understand him.

A long moment of silence, and you were intrigued by it, wondering about what your son was about to do or if he was going to speak at all. He was a lot of things, but predictable was not one of them. “RAWR!” He suddenly shouted, his hands flying up into tiny claws before running off towards his bedroom.

Jeongin, in a pure state of reasonable shock, fell back onto his butt, his eyes wide as they followed the little boy that was full of scares right now. “What the fu-! FLIP!? WHAT THE FLIP?!” Jeongin screeched, quickly pushing himself up off the floor to go into the kitchen where you were, almost like he was hiding behind you. You couldn’t help but laugh, especially after hearing stories from Jeongins own mother about how much of a goblin-respectfully-he was as a child. “Does he do this to you? Are you okay, jagi? Has he been tormenting you for three months?”

You snorted loudly, rolling your eyes at your husband's dramatics before turning to face him, cupping his cheeks and pressing a kiss to his slightly pouty lips. “He’s been a good boy. You’re the only person he’s been scaring, unless he does it at the daycare and his teacher just hasn’t told me.” You explained, turning back towards the little lunch that you had been preparing. “I think he’s doing it because he misses you and he just doesn’t know how to express that feeling yet.”

You could hear the pop of Jeongins lips as his mouth fell open, clearly not on board with your reasoning, but he wasn’t going to argue with it. “Little dude could just give me a hug but he tries to make me shit my pants… got it.” Jeongin joked quietly, and you couldn’t hold in your laughter. “It’s not funny… I miss my son and he doesn’t even miss me enough to not terrorize me as soon as I walk through the door.”

Sighing softly, you turned around once again, your hands firmly placed on Jeongins shoulders so you could look at him and so that he would look at you. “He does miss you, very much actually.” You started, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of his shoulders, feeling him slightly relax under your hands. “He misses you so damn much, he wants to be just like you. Your mother came over and she was telling us stories about how you were as a child…” It was as if a lightbulb clicked inside his head and you could only smile and nod as you seemed to watch it all start to make sense in Jeongins head. “You really were a little stink when you were younger.” You teased and now Jeongin seemed to have both a sense of pride, and maybe just a hint of fear in his eyes. He knew how he was when he was younger, and now he wondered whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that his son wanted to be like him.

“I don’t think I jump scared my parents like he is though, or at least they never said anything about me doing that. Did they say I did?” He inquired, leaning back against the center island in the kitchen and pulling you closer to him as he did. His hands rubbed up and down your sides, unknowingly sidetracking your brain from answering his question until his head tilted to the side, prompting you to answer.

“Mm… No, she never said anything about you doing anything like that, but he put his own little spin on being a mini stink stink just like you.” You joked, and in retaliation he squeezed you hips, causing you to squeal and squirm against him. “Rude ass. Don’t get me excited. You know damn well we can’t do anything when Jeongyoo is awake.” You quietly scolded, but Jeongin seemed to find more fun in teasing you, his hand landing firmly against your ass with a loud smack that had you jumping and pressing further against him.

“Who said I was trying to do anyth-“ Before he could finish his sentence, Jeongyoo once again popped out, seemingly from out of nowhere, this time making both Jeongin and you jump in shock. His blanket was over his head, pretending to act like a ghost, but when he attempted to run off he ended up slipping on the blanket and falling to the floor. “Ah… shi- shoot!” Jeongin shouted, miraculously holding in his curse as he carefully moved you to the side and ran to help his son, scooping him up and holding him tight against his chest. “It’s alright, bud. Daddy is here…” Jeongin cooed, soothing the little boy's soft whimpers as he tried his best to hold back his cries to be strong in front of his father.

“Did I scare you?” Jeongyoo asked softly, his glistening eyes looking to his father for acceptance, and Jeongin nodded so swiftly, you could almost see the sadness wash away from your son’s face, replaced with a look of both excitement and pride. “I not hurt… I just fell down… I okay now.” He said, attempting to wiggle out of Jeongins hold, but he held onto him tighter, running crazily around the room while making siren noises just to elicit giggles out of your son.

“My boy! He’s gotten a booboo! Nurse Y/N, we need ice cream and stuffed animals! Quickly!” Jeongin shouted, gently dropping your son onto the couch as you swiftly jumped into the role of nurse to keep up with the impromptu game that your husband had just come up with. “Oh no! He seems to have a case of the giggles! What should we do?!” Jeongin wailed as your sons laughter only got louder, and you rushed over with all the stuffed animals you could carry from his room and dropped them onto the couch.

“I’ve never seen a case of the giggles like this! I think he needs Mr. MonkeyBoots!” You picked up your sons favorite stuffed animal, one that had been a gift from Jeongin when he had come back from tour last year, and Jeongyoo quickly grabbed his, holding it close to him and hiding his face in it as his laughter slowly died down. “We did it, Dr. Yang! We cured the giggles!” You cheered, clapping your hands together.

The game ended just as quickly as it started, and soon there was a silence, but it was calm, it was peaceful. Jeongin knelt down on the floor in front of the couch, his hand brushing through his son's hair and he had a smile that he seemed to save only for his son. “I missed you so much, bud.” Jeongin whispered before leaning his forehead against Jeongyoos and letting out a little sigh. “When you’re a little bit older, I’ll take you on tours with me. You and mommy. I don’t like being so far away from you two…”

“Three…” You corrected him with a soft whisper from the kitchen, and Jeongins head whipped up to look at you over the back of the couch, his eyes wide, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on his face. “You’re the one who wanted to give me a parting gift before you left for tour… It was one hell of a gift, thank you.”

Jeongin gasped loudly, causing his son who had at some point fallen asleep to stir. “That one better not get any ideas from my mom like he did… I don’t think we can handle another mini me.”

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 8 days ago

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I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 10

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

5.9k words

Warnings: Language, angst and pining, mentions of an almost-hookup, Roy is still an idiot

A/N: I know it's been a minute, thank you for your patience! I'm trying really hard to get back into good writing habits, especially because I miss all of you (and Roy!). I hope you enjoy!!

Roy swore the pounding was in his head. He wasn’t sure what kind of tequila he’d been taking shots of all night, but it sure wasn’t anything like he’d had at the clubs of London. It’d definitely done a number on him, based on the incessant banging that wouldn’t go away, no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut. No, wait, it wasn’t incessant, and it wasn’t even that loud. In fact, it was almost… timid. Like someone knocking on a door in the early morning.

He opened his eyes. It sounded like knocking because someone was knocking.

“Come in,” Roy grumbled, propping himself up on his elbows.

When the door opened, a pair of tired eyes met his. She wore pyjamas that were familiar to him now, but instead of the smile he knew so well, she wore seriousness all over her pretty face. “Hey,” she said plainly. “I know we were supposed to stay a couple days but…” She leaned coolly in the doorway. “I’ve got some things I need to finish. For the tour-” She held Roy’s eyes firmly. “For the album. So, if it’s alright with you, we’ll head out as soon as you’re packed.” She pushed herself off the doorframe.

Something in Roy’s chest tightened as he took in her stony expression. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, suddenly embarrassed by the fact that he was only in his boxers. “Listen, I-”

“We’re fine, Roy.” Somehow, her tight smile was worse than the blank expression. “Seriously. We don’t need to talk about it.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eye now. “We both drank way too much,” she chuckled hollowly, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. “And I think the alcohol made us forget that we’re pretending.” She nodded to him, that smile becoming her charming one, the one she wore at red carpet events and celebrity-filled parties. “We’re good, Kent,” she assured him.

“We’re good,” he echoed, wishing he could say something more, something to make everything better. “Alright, then.”

Good. Roy didn’t feel good while he packed his things back into his suitcase. No, he felt that pounding in his head and that tightness in his chest. He wanted to kick himself for listening to his drunken cock and ruining things between them. The evening- no, this whole ‘fake dating’ operation- had been going so well. The two of them had become real friends, close friends even. She had managed to become one of the most important people in Roy’s life in such a short period of time. He knew, deep inside, that even after all… this had ended, they would still be in each other’s lives. The press would go on about how refreshing it was to see exes remain so amicable, the way they did about him and Keeley. And he’d watch her move on to other men, to men she truly cared about, and he’d be happy for her as he listened to the beautiful love songs she wrote about them. And he’d move on too, wouldn’t he? And she’d be happy for him, right?

“Kent? You ready?”

Instead of answering, Roy blinked at the woman who stood in the doorway. Kent, she’d called him. In that same tone she’d used when they first met and weren’t friends. What happened to Roycito? And why the fuck did he care so damn much?

Her raised eyebrow reminded him that she’d asked a question. “Yeah,” he grumbled, grabbing his zipped up suitcase. “I’m ready.”

Once again, I sat on a plane with Roy Kent in complete silence while I wrote a song. Unlike our flight to L.A., this time we didn’t smile at each other or laugh or tease each other across the cabin. This time, something thick and heavy hung in the air between us as Roy read his book and I kept my head bent over the lyrics that flew out of my pen.

Maybe I should have asked Roy to talk about things. Maybe I should have let him explain. But, if I was being honest, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want his awkward mumblings about how drunk he was and how he didn’t mean any of it. I didn’t need another rejection. And I definitely didn’t need him suggesting that we end this whole arrangement. Because that would probably mean an end of our friendship, which, somehow, felt even worse than the idea of being blatantly told Roy wasn’t interested in me romantically.

As I snuck a glance at him through my eyelashes, I made a decision: it was better to be friends with Roy Kent than be nothing at all. Even if it meant pining over him throughout my tour and having him be clueless about how every word of every love song was for him. Even if it meant having to watch him move on once the end of this fake relationship finally reared its ugly head. I wanted to have Roy in my life, no matter what. Even if it wasn’t the way I wanted.

It was strange. I’d had plenty of boyfriends and plenty of platonic guy friends. But nothing quite like what I had with Roy. Everything was just so easy with him. While I was definitely attracted to him and spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about him, it wasn’t overwhelming the way it had been with other men. My feelings didn’t render me tongue-tied and unable to form a single coherent sentence; I was too comfortable with Roy for that. He set me so at ease and just felt like home.

And if I wanted to keep the home I’d found in this friendship, I needed to pretend like that’s all this was: friendship.

Feeling emboldened by my decision, I set my notebook down and crossed the cabin to plop down beside Roy. He looked up with raised eyebrows, as if he was waiting for me to break the silence. His eyes held that nervousness they’d carried all morning, tinged with what could be mistaken for a little bit of hope.

“Did you really bring the cowboy hat home?” I blurted out.

A surprised smile broke through that bearded face. “Fucking ’course I did,” he chuckled, shutting his book and laying it on his lap. “I looked damn good in it.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “And which one of my brothers told you that? You know they were just messing with you, right?”

“Fuck off.” He nudged me with ease, as if we hadn’t tumbled into my bed together the night before. “I think I should wear it to all your shows this summer. I could start a trend. Instead of those little friendship bracelets, people can trade cowboy hats.”

Pretending my heart didn’t skip a beat with each little touch, I shoved him back. “How about no,” I snarked. “I doubt Keeley wants you trying to start any fashion trends anyway, Roycito.”

His face seemed to brighten when I called him the silly little nickname. “Fine, sunshine,” he chuckled. “No fucking cowboy hats.”

“Thank you.” With a friendly smile, I settled into the seat, allowing my shoulder to brush his and stay there. He picked his book back up and resumed reading, with the corners of his mouth tugging upwards now. Deciding I had not gotten enough sleep the night before, what with all the tossing and turning and writing I’d done after Roy left my bedroom, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to rest my head on Roy’s shoulder. I was torturing myself, I knew. I was setting myself up for a future heartbreak that would stay with me long after the public relationship ended.

But fuck, Roy’s shoulder felt so warm and comfortable, like I belonged there.

Yeah, I lied to myself as my nap began to claim me. Friends is enough for me.

Roy couldn’t help but feel weirdly important as he sat in the recording studio. Jamie looked downright thrilled to be sitting beside him, grinning like a complete moron, wearing an outfit Roy knew the striker had spent far too long putting together. Keeley, unsurprisingly, was cool as a cucumber on Jamie’s other side; still grinning, but definitely more at ease.

Jamie had all but begged for the chance to come with Roy to the recording studio, to see the artist herself at work. Although Roy had initially shrugged the striker’s requests off, figuring the popstar would want as few people as possible to know details about the album she hadn’t even announced yet, she had surprised him by not only saying yes but by also inviting Keeley to the session. She’d even greeted the model with a friendly hug and a kiss on the cheek, eliciting a pleased smile from Roy’s ex-girlfriend. Roy scolded himself for ever thinking the popstar was jealous of his ex; he scolded himself even more when he felt slightly disappointed about that.

He turned his focus to the recording booth, where those pretty eyes were focused on her notebook. He wondered what song she’d be recording today; some part of him was hoping it was that lake song she’d sung to him back in L.A., the one that made his chest fill with warmth. It his favorite song he’d heard from her- maybe his favorite song ever now- and he was dying to hear it again.

Instead, her producer hit play and filled the studio with a different song, one Roy hadn’t heard before.

Drownin' in the Blue Nile

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

I hadn't heard it in a while

The hair on the back of Roy’s neck stood straight. He kept trying to tell himself that that night had been a blur, but he remembered every detail, every single moment- including the song he’d hummed on her front porch. It must be the favorite song of some rockstar prick she’d dated before. Because she couldn’t be referencing Roy in a song- right?

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and fallin' back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top-lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Without ever touchin' his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Her eyes locked on Roy’s, eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t quite identify. It sent chills down his spine. Her face was firm, determined, as if the two of them were having a serious conversation. For a moment, he forgot about Jamie and Keeley sitting beside him. Hell, he forgot how to fucking breathe as he absorbed every word she sang.

I keep these longings lockеd

In lowercase, inside a vault

Somеone told me, "There's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk"

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath, takin' all of me

We've already done it in my head

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

While Roy scrambled to understand the meaning of the words she sang- in a voice he could only describe as sultry and longing- Jamie leaned over, nudging Roy pointedly.

“Oi,” the striker hissed, eyebrows scrunched in repugnance. “Is she singing about having a fucking wank to you?”

If Roy wasn’t already blushing, he sure as hell was now. “Fuck off,” he growled, elbowing Jamie. When he glanced around the footballer, he caught Keeley’s gaze. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously- oh fuck. Keeley knew something was up. Whether they were dating or just friends, Roy had a hard time hiding things from Keeley. He must have had guilt written all over his face based on the way she was looking at him.

Rather than face Keeley’s glare- the one so harsh it would surely drag a confession of his stupidity out of him- he turned his attention back to the recording booth. She smirked as she sang; putting on an act for Jamie and her producer, Roy reasoned. He shoved away all those thoughts of her bed in Los Angeles; they’d just gotten past it, he reminded himself. No reason to keep dredging that shit up.

They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly

I choose you and me religiously

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and fallin' back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top-lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Without ever touchin' his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

I hadn't heard it in a while

Am I allowed to cry?

She closed her eyes, a look of sadness and peace crossing her face as her voice quieted. Roy felt something ache in his chest, an ache he squashed down as hard as he could. Something he’d been squashing down for a while now, actually.

He was still squashing that feeling when he was alone in his house that night, drinking a beer and reading a book. When the text alert went off, he expected his fake girlfriend, probably inviting him to another recording session, or maybe even a concert rehearsal this time; he’d jokingly asked for a sneak peek recently and had only received a teasing smirk in response. Maybe she was finally inviting him.

Instead, when he opened his messages, he found a text from Keeley:

What the fuck did you do?

A small groan slipped past my lips as I stretched on the floor of the studio where my rehearsals took place. I’d lost track of how many hours had just gone by, hours of dancing and jumping and strutting and singing. I glanced over my shoulder, at the dancers who were cooling down and chattering amongst themselves. They hollered my name and waved as they began to leave, reminding me for the millionth time how lucky I was to be touring with such an incredible and talented group of people.

“When do I finally get a preview?”

That gruff voice sent a shiver down my spine. I turned back around to see Roy standing over me, eyebrow quirked teasingly. He carefully sat down beside me, wincing when a small crack came from his knee. Another shiver rushed through my body when I saw his eyes rake down my bare legs before landing on my face again.

“No previews,” I reminded him, unable to help my grin as I looked at that hopeful face. “You get to see the show when everyone else does.” I shook my head. “Spoiled man, you hear a few new songs and think you get to see the whole damn show. Besides-” I gestured to the bare studio. “I want you to get the full effect, Roycito. The lights, the crowd, the costumes-”

“I bet Roy’s really looking forward to the costumes,” one of my dancers giggled as they passed by us.

My cheeks burned as I stuck out my tongue at her. “Good night,” I retorted before turning back to Roy. “The costumes are kind of amazing,” I admitted with a proud grin. “The designer I worked with is a genius.”

“You’re probably easy to design for,” Roy chuckled, shaking his head gently. “You look like a fucking Barbie doll or something.”

All I could do was blink at Roy and his compliment and his soft smile. A fucking Barbie doll. Was he really so damn clueless, I wondered. Every stupid thing that came out of that stupid mouth of his made this whole “friendship” thing harder than it needed to be. At least soon I’d be on tour, occupied and busy and distracted and working my ass off. Maybe that would help take my mind of the man who was still sitting there, smiling like everything was fine between us, as if we hadn’t almost-

Stop it, I scolded myself for the millionth time since we’d returned from L.A. Friends don’t keep thinking about the time they almost hooked up with each other- right?

“We should get going,” Roy finally said, nodding towards the door. “Sydney’s probably hungry.”

My idiot heart skipped a beat at Roy’s concern for my cat, who probably liked Roy even more than I pretended not to. “Yeah,” I sighed, standing up. “Let’s go, Kent.”

“Thanks,” Roy mumbled to the two beaming teenage girls who thrust friendship bracelets at him. He mindlessly slipped them onto his wrist, which was quickly becoming covered in the beaded gifts. At this rate, he’d lose circulation in his arm.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile back at the people, all dressed in sparkly outfits and wide smiles, who shrieked and waved when they saw him. He was no stranger to screaming fans, people absolutely thrilled at the mere sight of him, but this was…. different. First of all, he was usually fawned over by football fans, especially men who’d grown up watching him on the pitch. They chanted about him being here, there, every-fucking-where, asked him to sign kits and balls, praised him for Greyhound victories or chastised him for their losses.

These fans were excited to see him because he was…. Roy. The devoted boyfriend, the muse. It was utterly bizarre to see girls, not much older than Pheobe, shout his name and wave at him as though he was one of the teen idols that probably hung on their walls at home, as if he was still the hot young thing he’d been in his Chelsea days. What a strange new kind of fame, he thought as he, flanked again by Keeley and Jamie, entered the V.I.P. tent they’d be watching the concert from.

“Does that really say DADDY?” Jamie’s face was comically offended. “What the absolute fuck?”

Keeley grinned at Roy. “I think it’s cute how excited they are to see you,” she offered, nudging him playfully. “Word around the Twitterverse is that you’re quickly becoming her fanbase’s favorite boyfriend.”

Roy grunted and glanced down at his wrist; sure enough, he spotted the bracelet Jamie had been so offended by. “Don’t know why,” he grumbled. “I haven’t done shit.”

“Oh hush,” Keeley scolded. “You post lovely things about her, you showed up to her fundraiser and her niece’s birthday, you’re here accepting these cute little bracelets and smiling at her fans. Who doesn’t love a supportive boyfriend?”

Weird. Not too long ago, a comment like that would’ve had Roy’s heart skipping a beat, the idea that Keeley was reminded of what a good boyfriend he could be. But, not for the first time, he realized he wasn’t flustered or excited or anything when he looked at Keeley. She was just Keeley. Keeley, his ex, his friend, his publicist- who didn’t quite seem to believe his lies about nothing happening between him and the singer, but had still let him off the hook.

Maybe time really did heal all, he pondered as he waved stiffly at a beaming teenager who was filming him on their phone. Maybe, finally, after all this time, he was over Keeley Jones.

If that was the case, then why the hell was he still doing this fake relationship thing?

Before he could spend any time answering that question, the lights of Wembley Stadium went down, prompting the crowd to erupt into the most high-pitched shrieks Roy had ever heard in his life. Wild was the only word he could think of to describe the ear-shattering chaos. He tried to recall how loud the crowds were when he wore an England kit; were they this feral? Even if they were, that was for a team representing their nation; this was for one woman.

And before that woman appeared onstage, her voice filled the dark stadium, low and, once again, sultry. Roy’s heart skipped a beat when that familiar voice hit his ears, and he found himself fiddling with those damn friendship bracelets.

I was supposed to be sent away

But they forgot to come and get me

I was a functioning alcoholic

'Til nobody noticed my new aesthetic

All of this to say I hope you're okay

But you're the reason

And no one here's to blame

But what about your quiet treason?

She appeared, as if by fucking magic, on the now lit stage. Somehow, the crowd’s screams grew louder as she continued to sing, all glowing smiles in a sparkling bodysuit that left little to the imagination- not that Roy needed his imagination anymore.

Her movements were flowing and easy, reminding him of the way they’d danced together, with her hips swaying hypnotically. His face went warm with the memory of her body close to his at the quince, moving in sync, smiling and laughing together, exchanging light kisses for the benefit of her family.

Roy knew there were tons of cameras and eyes on him. Hell, Keeley and Jamie were both eyeing him; Jamie was smirking, teasing Roy with his raised eyebrows, and Keeley… well, Keeley looked as suspicious as she did that day in the recording studio, when they listened to Guilty As Sin…? and she interrogated him about the song’s meaning.

But he didn’t think about the eyes and cameras and the livestreams and the tweets and the TikToks, or even his friends beside him. He just watched her, amazed that one person could be so magnetic, so full of energy. She was fucking non-stop, singing and dancing and smiling and just sparkling. He couldn’t help his own grin as he watched, unconsciously bopping his head along to the familiar pop hits and tapping his fingers along the barrier in front of him. Somehow, in the crowd of thousands, her eyes met his more than once, prompting his smile to widen each time; in the back of his head, he noted that there would probably be some great photos and videos of those moments. Keeley and Lanie would be fucking thrilled. But those thoughts about publicity and gossip were buried deep behind his growing blush and racing heart.

His eyes never left the stage as he leaned towards Keeley. “D’you think you could get me and Pheebs tickets to tomorrow night’s show?” he asked over the music. “She’d lose her shit over all this.”

Keeley smirked as she studied Roy, more starstruck than she’d ever seen anyone in her life, even more than when she introduced Rebecca to Mel B at a charity event. She wanted nothing more than to ask him again about Los Angeles, about what had shifted between that had the charming singer serenading him with that song at the recording studio; but Keeley knew all she’d get were more growls and eyerolls.

So instead, she nudged him playfully. “Yeah, Roy. I think we could manage to get you tickets to your own girlfriend’s concert. Shouldn’t be too hard to arrange.”

The corners of Roy’s mouth ticked up at Keeley’s teasing tone, but, again, his gaze never left the singer.

Near what he knew was the end of the show, someone handed her a guitar and she approached a single microphone, looking, for the first time all night, a smidge nervous. But even that sudden shyness looked so lovely on her, charming and endearing. She smiled, a more timid smile now, and breathed deeply into the microphone.

“I hope you’ve all been having a great time tonight,” she said, laughter coloring her voice. The crowd went absolutely insane over the short sentence. “I love getting to share my music with you, getting to hear you all sing along and enjoy yourselves.” She strummed the guitar absently. “Would it be alright if I played something new for you guys?”

Fucking hell. If Roy thought the crowd couldn’t get any louder, he was proven dead wrong. Wembley was positively shaking with excitement and screams he felt sure could be heard well across the country. And there she stood, smiling as if this were the most normal thing in the world, as if her life wasn’t some fairy tale Roy couldn’t believe he got to see up close and personal.

It was an eternity before the crowd quieted enough for her to finally begin playing the tune that Roy was thrilled to recognize from those quiet afternoons by the lake, afternoons that felt like a distant dream now.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife

And if it was an open-shut case

I never would've known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine

The more that you say

The less I know

Wherever you stray

I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

He had a stupid smile on his face. He knew it. But fuck, there was something so thrilling about seeing her finally share those songs with her fans. After watching her toil away, listening to her wake up in the middle of the night to pluck away at the piano, trying to sneak peeks at the words she scribbled down on napkins in the middle of dinner, Roy couldn’t believe he finally got to hear her debut a piece of the album he knew this crowd would love.

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

As if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring

And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

Roy’s apparently permanent blush deepened at the mention of trophies and champion rings, at the way her eyes locked on his with the words that were clearly supposed to be a reference to him and his job. He really shouldn’t be amazed at her ability to put on an act, he scolded himself. Yet over and over again he let himself marvel in her ability to wear those smiles on her lips, to paint a sparkle in her eye and a blush on her cheeks, to act like there was something special about him, something as magnetic and magical as her.

“This is amazing!” Keeley chirped in Roy’s ear, grooving along to the mystical tune. “Really beautiful!”

“Yeah,” Roy huffed, shaking his head, eyes never leaving the stage. “She really is.”

Keeley pursed her lips and raised a cool eyebrow but didn’t utter another word. In fact, no one said another word to Roy for the rest of the song; he was clearly under some sort of spell, one cast by a guitar and a pretty voice. At the end of the song, he added his own claps and cheers, pride beaming from his face as he locked eyes with the singer.

She returned the guitar to a waiting stagehand and took the microphone in her hand. “I’m so glad you all liked it,” she giggled, awe on her pretty face. “How’s about another one?”

How the fuck did the crowd manage to get even louder? Roy pondered as his eyes scanned the faces of the crowd, mostly women, screaming and cheering and smiling and crying. It was like nothing he’d ever seen in his life. He snapped back to attention as a bouncy pop tune filled the stadium, lights shining on the popstar striking a confident pose that complemented the bright little skirt and top she’d changed into a couple songs ago.

Nice to meet you, where you been?

I could show you incredible things

Magic, madness, heaven, sin

Saw you there and I thought

"Oh, my God, look at that face

You look like my next mistake

Love's a game, wanna play?"

Roy couldn’t help but chuckle at the exaggerated expressions she made as she sang, as if showing that she was in on some joke. He’d heard bits and pieces of this song but, like many of the other tracks she’d been working on, she’d refused to allow Roy a peek at the finished product. Part of him wanted to be annoyed with her for keeping him in the dark, but now, seeing it performed live in front of a packed stadium, he couldn’t complain too much.

So it's gonna be forever

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cause you know I love the players

And you love the game

Oh fuck, did she really just point at him as she sang about players and games? It was so damn cute and flirty and fucking charming; it drove the whole stadium bonkers. Jamie threw an arm around Roy, laughing in the manager’s ear in a way that would normally have Roy threatening to throw punches. But, with all those smiling teenagers watching him and giggling to each other, he couldn’t help simply shaking his head and smirking, in absolute awe of the power a single woman could have over thousands of people.

The song was incredible. Pop perfection, one might say. It was clever and cute and, well, fucking fun. And she twirled around the stage, flanked by dancers Roy recognized from the times he picked her up from rehearsals, hoping for a sneak peek of the show he had to admit was pure spectacle. She was a spectacle, in the best possible way.

“Thank you!” she called out, miraculously not as out of breath as Roy felt. “That is Blank Space, and it is the first single from my new album, Calamitous Love!”

Roy was going to go deaf. How was he supposed to handle more of these shows, with all the screaming and cheering and hollering? But when he saw her, beaming with the album cover- with the Scrabble letters spelling out the title and the little details he knew he’d have to dissect later- on the screen behind her, laughing at the reaction from her fans, Roy couldn’t help but ponder if going deaf would be completely worth it.

Roy felt oddly proud of himself as he recognized the next couple of songs, mentally thanking Phoebe for all the exposure she’d given him and pretending that he hadn’t been listening to these songs in the car by himself these days. He knew the show was coming to an end, and some little part of him was genuinely… disappointed. But he didn’t focus on that, not when she was positively glowing as she sang, her expression sparkling as she gestured in his direction.

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

Someone prodded Roy’s shoulder. Turning around sharply, realizing how tense his shoulders had been as he watched the popstar, Roy blinked in surprise at the sight of April looking up at him expectantly.

“Come on, Kent,” the assistant said simply. She offered Jamie a small smile before returning her eyes to Roy. “Let’s go.”

A deep frown settled on Roy’s face, his thick eyebrows all scrunched. “But…” He shook his head. “The concert,” he said dumbly. “It’s not over.”

Something in April’s face softened as she gestured towards the exit of the VIP tent. “She’s going to come out this way,” she explained slowly. She leaned close to Roy, speaking so only he could hear. “Lanie and Keeley were thinking it’d be cute if you were there when she gets offstage. A little hug and kiss kind of thing, you know.”

Without even a glance at Keeley, Roy nodded numbly. “Right, right,” he mumbled. A little hug and kiss kind of thing. Fuck, they hadn’t kissed since…

Nope. Stop it Roy, he scolded himself. Nothing happened.

April turned on her heel and led a still thunderstruck Roy out of the VIP tent. He couldn’t quite help the way he kept glancing back over his shoulder, trying to catch one final glimpse of the popstar singing about being seen in someone’s wildest dreams. He’d heard the song so many times on the radio but now, seeing her up on stage, looking like a fucking princess, he felt like he was hearing it for the first time.

It felt like an eternity before he finally could see her again, from the half-hidden spot April had led him to so they could wait for the end of the show. Her eyes found his as the music slowed, her voice deep and almost quiet.

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just pretend

The lights went out as the stadium exploded into cheers and screams, the vibrations pulsing through Roy’s body as he stood still, hands behind his back so he wouldn’t fidget with his fingers so damn much. The popstar had disappeared from the stage, where Roy’s eyes were still locked, desperate as her fans to see her back up there.

Instead, he realized she was strutting towards him, flanked by her dancers, who were just as sweaty and breathless as she was. The fluffy skirt she’d been wearing onstage was gone, revealing one of those little bodysuits that hugged her beautifully. The moment their eyes locked, she broke both into a smile and a run, launching herself into his arms the way she had when the Greyhounds had been named champions.

Roy opened his arms for her automatically, chuckling into her frizzy hair and giving her a squeeze. He ignored the fact that fans were shouting their names and taking photos and videos of their embrace; he just wanted to hold her tight, to let his hug tell her how incredibly proud and impressed he was after watching her put on an impossibly incredible show.

She was the first one to pull back, laughter in her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Sorry,” she exhaled, still holding onto Roy’s arms. “I know I’m all sweaty.”

Her flushed cheeks and breathless chuckles had something short-circuiting in Roy’s still cloudy brain. “That’s alright,” he blurted out. “I like it.” Her wrinkled nose and small smirk brought Roy back to earth. “I mean, I’m used to it,” he clarified, shaking his head. “Because of football.”

“Sure, Roycito,” she laughed, releasing him and nudging him back towards the way he’d come.

Remembering April’s words- a little hug and kiss kind of thing- Roy paused and grabbed her hip. She quirked an eyebrow at him, wordlessly asking what he was up to. He pulled her to himself and cupped her face with his free hand, tilting it to his. Their lips attached effortlessly, as though no time or awkwardness had passed since that night in her bedroom. She tasted familiar, light and delightful, and she melted against him with ease. For a moment, Roy forgot where he was, content to just have her in his arms, feeling, for the first time in what seemed to be ages, that everything was alright between them.

He let her end the kiss, her eyes sparkling in that way he’d been missing. All she did was chuckle and shake her head at him, as if assuring him that she, too, was happy they were back on track.

Instinctively, Roy reached down and intertwined their fingers, giving her hand a small squeeze as they disappeared from the shouts and cameras of the crowd.

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