#it is impossible to make this simple BUT it’s at least simple enough to explain that gaiden and rgg8 are two different things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

azrielbrainrot · 4 months ago

Text

Under Your Sharp Teeth

Pairing: Vampire!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Vampire!Azriel, Blood Play

Description: Your curiosity about vampires leads you to a night you will never forget and a drastic change in your relationship with Azriel.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, a bit of edging, a bit of cockwarming, vampire bites, blood and blood play (some of this is definitely unhygienic), some dirty talk

Word Count: ~3,1k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I still can't believe I'm doing this, but welcome to the first day of kinktober. Also there's a lot of filthy smut on here, don't get me wrong, but this somehow turned out a bit fluffy too and now I'm contemplating writing more of these two. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Holding onto sanity was proving to be more and more of a challenge with each thrust of Azriel's hips, slowly stretching you out and driving himself impossibly deeper inside you. Fingers lost in the black strands of his hair, probably pulling too hard as you desperately tried to keep yourself grounded in the moment, desperate whines and embarrassing moans leaving your mouth unattended.

His mouth busied itself with leaving marks and small bites all over your neck and chest, his sharp canine teeth caressing your supple skin ever so slightly - a preview of what was to come. Gods, he hadn't even truly started and you were already losing your mind.

If you had known asking Azriel more about vampires would lead to this, you would have swallowed your nerves and asked a long time ago. The fact that he was one was never a secret between you - it really was impossible for Azriel to be mistaken for a human when his eyes glowed red and his teeth were sharp enough that a simple smile would put them on full display, he also looked too otherworldly beautiful, unbelievably so, - but you were scared of overstepping since you hadn't been friends for too long.

All those worries seemed silly now. Azriel had let you ask him as many questions as you wanted, answering them all truthfully, until you asked him about feeding and what a vampire's bite would feel like. The words had barely left your lips when a smirk grew on his face, his hand coming down to hold your neck, a scarred thumb trailing down your throat as his red eyes followed its path before meeting your startled gaze once again, offering to show you rather than explain it. You had almost forgotten how to breathe, nodding quickly in agreement.

He kissed you in the next moment, taking you by surprise, but with a couple strokes of his tongue against yours and a few sweet words he quickly explained that he needed you to relax before biting you, so he didn't hurt you. There seemed to be some hesitation in his eyes as he did, maybe this had been more than you bargained for, but you couldn't bring yourself to care, grabbing his neck and pulling him back to you, kissing him again in lieu of an answer.

From the moment his lips touched yours, a hunger rose within you, overtaking your every thought, almost making you forget you were the one about to get bitten.

“Azriel,” you whine for what feels like the millionth time, desperately trying to get his attention.

As quickly as he had agreed to show you, he seemed perfectly content with playing with you, his hips setting a delicious but slow pace, making him go impossibly deep inside you, rubbing against every pleasurable spot, keeping you stimulated enough to make you want to beg him to just do anything, be it fuck you into the mattress or sink his teeth into your neck.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against your neck, letting his teeth catch onto your skin, only enough to leave a mark, before licking the sting away with his warm tongue. He comes up to look at you then, searching your half lidded eyes before adding, “I told you I needed you to relax.”

“I'm more than relaxed, Az,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, hoping to at least keep him looking at you like this, even at his torturous pace you think you could cum if he kept watching you like you put every star in the sky, could bask in the way his brow scrunches softly with every thrust of his hips, knowing it's you who's making him feel good. Looking at him like this makes you wonder why you had never tried pursuing a romantic relationship with him before.

“Are you?” He leans down and pecks your lips. You nod as he moves even closer, your breasts pressing against his body. “There's something else you should know.” His hips stop moving as well, meaning he wanted you to pay attention, something you were somewhat unwilling to do in these conditions.

“Az,” you can't help but whine again, drawing out his name.

He shushes you with a kiss before continuing. “Vampires don't only bite someone to drink their blood.”

“Won't you drink mine?”

“I will,” he assures, voice deepening with hunger, hands tightening their grip on you. It looked like he was even more impatient than you, which meant what he needed to tell you was extremely important. “I want to taste you.”

“Then why won't you?”

“Vampires can feed off anyone, even animals. It's a clinical bite, meant to allow us to drink as much blood as possible without making too much of a fuss.” It's hard to follow along with his explanation while his hard cock is seated so deep inside you, but you do your best to understand. “That's the most common bite. That's not meant for you.”

Oh.

“It's not?”

“No. There's nothing common about us, love.”

Oh.

You let him kiss the momentary worry away, a funny feeling spreading to all your extremities as his words sink into your skin. “When a vampire bites someone, a venom is released from their teeth. It's usually used to numb them so they feel no pain or struggle too much as we feed, and to help the wound close up and heal quickly.”

Azriel trails off, leaning down to leave a sweet kiss over your skin, where you assume he wants to sink his teeth into. He keeps nuzzling your neck as he continues, looking almost scared of your reaction, “Vampires can bite their lovers too, and this venom will leave a mark behind,” he pauses, “I suppose it would be the equivalent of wearing a ring on your finger, one with my name on it.”

The weight of his confession sobers you, thinking back on all your memories with Azriel, all the times he made you laugh and held you when you cried, the advice he's given and asked from you, the way he's been by your side ever since you met, supporting and taking care of you. There isn't any doubt in your mind that you love him.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you massage his scalp softly, trying to get rid of some of the tension that had built in his body while you thought through his words. Azriel lets out a satisfied sigh, relaxing against your body, and you take the opportunity to pry him away from your neck, holding his face in between your palms and meeting his gaze.

“You want to mark me as yours.” It's meant as a question, but it comes out sounding like a statement. He nods in response all the same, closing his eyes and giving you another kiss, as if he was scared it could be his only chance to. “I'd like that.”

“Need you to be sure about this,” he whispers against your lips.

“I am, Az,” you reassure quickly. “I want you to make me yours.”

The next kiss is significantly more passionate than any other you've shared that night. He explores your mouth slowly, tasting you thoroughly as his hips finally start moving again, grinding into you deeply, still keeping you on the edge. By the time he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips, you were already on the verge of begging once again.

Azriel adjusts your legs, wrapping them properly around him as he positions himself at your neck. Goosebumps spread all over your skin in a mix of excitement and a tiny twinge of fear. You trusted Azriel with your life, but it's not lost on you that you're serving yourself up on a platter to a creature that could easily kill you. Unfortunately, that only makes it so much more exciting.

“Try to stay as relaxed as you can, and don't hold your breath,” he mumbles against your neck, “I promise I'll make you feel good, love.”

His teeth sink into your skin as soon as the words leave his mouth, too quickly for you to properly react right away, stunning you for a second before the sharp pain registers and you can't fight a small gasp from escaping you. You can feel your body tensing, trying to distract yourself from the pain and relaxing like he told you to, his hand caressing you softly, helping you calm down.

The pain doesn't last long, in reality it might have only been a few seconds before it started dissipating. He hums against you when he feels your body melting into his, his thrusts speeding up a bit. That venom of his not only took your pain away but is also increasing your pleasure somehow, every little sensation just feels heightened.

It takes you a moment to notice the warm liquid running down your chest and likely dripping into the sheets, knowing it's your blood doesn't make you scared or even the slightest bit worried. In fact, the only thing on your mind are the muffled, little noises escaping his lips as he laps up as much of it as he can - he likes it, Azriel likes your blood.

Your fingers had found his hair at some point, hips chasing his as best as you can, movements becoming more sluggish as he not only fucked so deep inside you but also drank more and more of your blood. You were close, embarrassingly so, but with how long he had been teasing you before and the almost aphrodisiac reaction your body is having to that venom, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Azriel knew how close you were, whether from how much you were clenching around him or from the whiny, unintelligible babbles of his name and pleas escaping your lips, and right when you were about to throw yourself off that precipice head first, he bites deeper into you. It sends you into that orgasm even faster, your body conflicted on pushing away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure and pulling him in deeper when it hits you.

You wouldn't call your previous sexual experiences lacking in any way, but nothing could compare to what you were feeling in that moment. The sensations rushing through your body are indescribable, it makes you forget yourself, drowning completely in the pleasure.

It takes you a long time to even catch your breath as you come down, and it's only when he caresses your face as you finally open your eyes that you even notice he had pulled away, looking down at you with a satisfied look in his eyes even though he hasn't finished yet and barely got any stimulation of his own.

The moan that escapes you when your eyes fully come into focus is downright sinful. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Azriel looked in that moment, with his eyes glowing a deeper red, hair messy from your fingers twisting around it, and his canines on full display, covered in blood, your blood, as was the rest of his mouth and lips. The possessive look in his eyes as he watched you, already marked as his, didn't help either, it triggered your own possessiveness, knowing that it's your blood in his mouth, it's just a shame you can't bite him yourself.

What you could do was kiss him. Using every bit of strength still in your system to lift your face up, you try to meet his lips. Azriel stops you before you can though, pushing you away gently with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Let me wipe the blood off my face first.”

It was sweet that he was worried about you, but that was the last thing you wanted him to do. You wanted to taste him, needed to taste yourself on his tongue, and that's exactly what you did, grabbing the back of his neck firmly and pulling him down, meeting him halfway in a messy kiss.

You can feel the exact moment he realized you weren't worried about the blood, groaning into your mouth, a needy sound coming from deep within his chest, his hips stuttering into you. The kiss intensifies, sharp teeth clashing against yours, letting you taste yourself like you wished. You may not be able to sense the mark he left on you, as you were not a vampire like him, but the way he kissed you with your blood still in his mouth felt like a mark of your own.

Azriel pulls away after a while, letting you catch your breath, sitting up so he can properly look down at you. His red eyes took note of your entire body, starting on your heavy lidded eyes, still clouded with remnants of the intense orgasm, your abused lips, saliva and your own blood coating them, trailing down your neck, where he could see the puncture wounds healing thanks to his venom, but also his mark, the one that would let every vampire that came into contact with you know he was yours.

He had tried to not make too much of a mess, but it had proven damn near impossible when he tasted you, your sweet blood making him momentarily lose himself. Blood had dripped down onto your bed, thankfully he had put a towel under you beforehand, it also trailed down your neck, paving a delicious path between your breasts, pooling at your belly button, only a few drops managing to make their way down to your stuffed cunt.

There was little room for hesitation when you were looking up at him like that, basically begging him to do something. Azriel leans down for a moment, licking the bite mark once more, reveling in the tremble that runs through your body at the sting. As tempting as it was, you couldn't handle another bite. He'd have to do with the blood you had already let out for him.

He comes back up, gaze locking with yours, hands falling to your hips as he finally starts thrusting into you properly, a hard but slow pace, so he could still play with you without overwhelming you too fast.

“You're doing so well for me,” he murmurs more to himself than to you, but you hear him all the same, rewarding him with a sweet moan.

One of his hands abandons its grip on your hips in favor of running a thumb down the valley of your breasts, gathering the blood collected there and carrying it to one of your nipples, circling it slowly, making an even deliciously bigger mess, goosebumps running through your body as he does.

You looked unbearably close to another orgasm, the venom that heightened your pleasure still present in your system, but he wanted to keep you like this, you looked too adorable when you were this fucked out, letting him do every little dirty thing he wanted to you. He had always known you would be perfect for him, but you still managed to surpass his expectations.

Azriel switches hands and gathers up more of your blood, giving your other nipple the same treatment. His eyes constantly darted from the way you desperately tried to keep watching him, eyebrows scrunched together, to his thumb rolling over your nipple, and the way you took his thick cock so beautifully, unable to decide what sight was more enticing.

“Never thought ah- that you'd be so mean,” you manage between harsh breaths and needy whimpers.

He can't help but chuckle at that, stopping his movements around your nipple just to see the pout form on your lips. “I think I'm taking very good care of you, my love.”

Raising his thumb to his lips, he sucks the leftover blood on it, watching your eyes tracking his movements carefully, before offering it to you, breathing out a moan as you eagerly take it into your mouth, circling your tongue around it and sucking it clean with a devilish glint in your eyes - a payback of sorts, shame he had you in the palm of his hand today, maybe you'd get to try reducing him to the same state with your pretty mouth another time.

His finger comes out of your mouth with a pop, clean of any blood. That wouldn't do. Dipping right into your belly button he drags his thumb down to your clit, coating it in blood and rolling it around the same way he had done with each of your nipples, letting out sweet praises at how well you're taking him as he watches your body tremble under him.

The sight could have been enough to send him over the edge, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his control slipped and both of your moans got louder, more desperate. Not fucking you senseless had been a challenge ever since he first slipped inside you, stretching you out slowly until you fit perfectly around his cock, and now that you both got what you wanted, he had no patience left in his body.

Throwing a leg over his shoulder, Azriel starts fucking into you at a punishing pace, your moans rising in volume as you clench wildly around him, hands coming down to hold onto his wrists tightly, nails biting into his skin, both the venom and the way he's been teasing you for so long making you that more sensitive.

“Want you to feel you cum on my cock again, alright?” You nod quickly, fighting to keep your eyes open as another mind breaking orgasm approaches. “I'm right there with you.”

It doesn't take long for both of you to reach climax, your arms coming up to grab him down to you as you get lost in the pleasure once again, holding him so close even as you came down that Azriel felt his heart swelling in his chest.

This hadn't been how he envisioned telling you about his feelings, in fact he still needed to actually talk them through with you after washing away all the blood and cum off your body, but it ended up being perfect nonetheless, and as he kisses the mark he left on you one more time, he finds he has no regrets.

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar kinktober #my writing

547 notes · View notes

revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

I love the idea of Everything is Alright being a reverse haram with megs, but I see you said originally. So might not happened, which I think is fine. Star doesn't need anymore trauma, but I can also see the possibility of a simple human mending the tension between the higher ups. Just might cause star, and possibly sounds to be very worried

I may still include Megs later on, just wasn’t sure if I could balance all three. It’s a lot easier when the guys at least kind of get along and this dynamic… not so much

Everything is Alright Pt 55

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Keeping you cradled to him as he types one handed on a report, he’s aware of the warmth of you leaning against him, little head resting against his chassis. “You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” You ask softly and his wings flick slightly, servos miskeying a glyph, because he should have realized you’d notice something is off. Always watching him, looking to him. You know him and it’s almost frightening. “You don’t have to,” you add when he’s silent too long, because how to even start? And there’s no way to explain how upset he is about finding out about your life span, without revealing that he cares too much. Without making himself vulnerable and risking rejection.

• Resting your ear against him to listen to the soft thrum of his spark, you don’t really expect him to answer. His feelings are something he hoards, keeping them to himself and only occasionally slipping and letting you see that not only does he care about you, but he needs you with him. “You know I care for you,” he says slowly, raspy words humming through you where you’re against him as one of his servos runs from your shoulder down your arm until you lay your palm against him and he vents. It’s not a question exactly, but not really a statement either. A reminder of how insecure he can be, as if trusting anything or anyone is almost impossible.

• “I care about you, too.” He knows. He really does, but something about hearing you say it settles warm about his spark. Tucking his chin so he can see you, there’s something uncertain in your expression that catches at him before you press your cheek against him so he can’t see your eyes, hiding your expression from him. “I like waking up against you. Like when you worry about me even if you don’t need to. Even when you get aggravated, I like the way your wings fidget.”

• Embarrassed, you keep your face hidden against him, trying to tell him how you feel without saying the actual words. Because telling him you think you might love him and you’re not sure when that happened? Especially if he’s only after something physical, needing someone to be there, but not the same way? It might just break you. You like his nervous tics, like the warmth of him and the way his servos feel absently stroking, touching you. You like him.

• Servos pressing you closer to him, grounding himself with the feel of you until you make a little noise of protest, mumbling that he’s squishing you and he relents. Again he thinks about how it would feel to entrust his spark to you, to feel you touch him that way. Would it only drive home the differences between you? Remind him painfully that there’s no way for this to ever be more, no spark in you to lose himself in? And so little time, he can feel it slipping away from him regardless. Head falling back against the back of his chair, he vents. Softly, hesitantly in Cybertronian, he begins to speak, knowing you can’t understand and feeling you shift to try and look at him as he shutters his optics so he won’t see your expression, because it’s hard enough to open up and this is the only way he can, this one sided conversation. Wishing for things not meant for him, swearing to protect you and cherish what time he has. That you’re his, spark or no spark. Regret and fear and love all tangled together. Feeling when you lay your head back down against him, listening to him without knowing how hard these words are.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #idw starscream

269 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 13 days ago

Text

CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ More Than a Friend

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.4K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: took her long enough

PAIGE COLLAPSES onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The sheets stick to her back, damp with sweat, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin should be a relief, but it isn’t. Her limbs feel heavy, her body exhausted in the way it only gets after something physical and intense. She stretches an arm over her head, her hand grazing the headboard as her eyes drift to the ceiling.

The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Hers is slow and measured now, but Celeste’s is lighter, almost content, a satisfied hum vibrating in the air. For a moment, Paige doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her, as if avoiding it will somehow make the growing discomfort in her chest go away.

Eventually, she turns her head, her gaze landing on Celeste. She’s curled up on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow in fiery streaks, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy. Her lips are swollen, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners, her cheeks still flushed. She looks pretty.

Paige should feel something about that. She should feel good, even great. Celeste is undeniably gorgeous, all sharp edges and bold features, with an energy that draws people in effortlessly. The sex had been good. Objectively. Celeste knew what to do, and, even when she didn’t, Paige is good enough to guide them both into feeling good.

But instead of any sort of satisfaction, all Paige feels is this strange, gnawing emptiness.

Her eyes dart back to the ceiling, her throat dry as she tries to make sense of it. She replays the night in her mind, searching for something to explain the heaviness sitting low in her stomach. It wasn’t bad—there was nothing bad about it. Celeste was enthusiastic, responsive, and confident. Technically, it should have been great.

But it wasn’t.

Paige’s gaze finds Celeste again, drawn back to the red of her hair and the sharp green of her eyes, colors so vivid they almost don’t seem real. She watches the way Celeste’s lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. Celeste looks completely at ease, and for a fleeting moment, Paige envies her.

But as she stares, the unease in her chest only deepens. It’s not something tangible, not something she can name, at least not at first. It’s just there, this persistent, nagging feeling that won’t let her settle.

And then it hits her, creeping up slow and quiet before slamming into her with full force.

Her eyes are green.

And her hair is red.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tightening as the thought lodges itself in her mind, impossible to ignore now. Celeste’s eyes are a vivid, almost unnatural green, like gemstones catching the lights. But they’re not soft, warm brown. They don’t have that quiet, steady depth that Paige knows so well. They don’t look at her with that mix of amusement or exasperation, or light up when she says something stupidly charming without meaning to.

And that hair—bright, bold, unmistakable—is nothing like the soft brown waves that fall messily into the face Paige could pick out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

Her stomach twists, the realization settling like a heavy weight she can’t shake. The reason it didn’t feel right—the reason she feels so off now, so unsatisfied—isn’t complicated, not really. It’s actually painfully simple.

Celeste isn’t Jo.

The thought feels almost treacherous, and Paige immediately tries to push it away, to rationalize it. This isn’t about Jo. It can’t be about Jo. Jo’s her best friend, and Celeste is someone she’s been flirting with on and off for months. That’s all this is.

But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the comparison, can’t stop her mind from drifting back to Jo. To the way her laugh sounds when Paige says something ridiculous, to the way her eyes soften when Paige is hurting and tries too hard to hide it. To the way Jo feels safe in a way no one else ever has.

Her vision goes blurry as she continues to stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t just a crush. It isn’t some fleeting infatuation she can laugh off or dismiss. The way her chest aches at the thought of Jo, the way her body feels like it’s caught between fight and flight—it’s too much to be anything simple. This is something deeper, something terrifying, something that feels like it has the power to completely ruin her.

Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with her bare hands. Every thought she’s been suppressing, every feeling she’s tried to bury, comes rushing to the surface all at once.

She likes Jo. She really, really likes Jo.

Jo is straight. That’s the first thing her brain throws at her, as if it’s some immovable fact that should end this line of thinking entirely. Jo has been with Asher since the eighth grade. Asher, who’s practically a part of her family, who’s been there for every milestone, every major moment in her life. Asher, who Jo is probably going to end up marrying and have perfect little babies with.

Paige’s jaw clenches at the thought and she tries to push it aside. But it’s not just that, though—it’s everything else. If she acted on this, if she said something, it could ruin everything. The team chemistry, the easy friendship they’ve built, the balance that holds her whole fucking life together—it could all come crashing down.

And even if—if—Jo liked her back, which she absolutely, definitely doesn’t, what then? What would that even look like? Relationships don’t work. Not for Paige. Not for anyone, really.

Her parents are the perfect cautionary tale. Their marriage had been a battlefield, full of screaming matches and screamed doors that Paige can faintly recall despite being so young. Eventually, they gave up and split. And then her dad remarried, and her mom remarried, and Paige got front-row seats to not one, but two more failed attempts at love.

She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do love. It’s a joke, a setup for inevitable heartbreak, and she’s not stupid enough to fall for it.

But as much as she tries to convince herself, the thoughts keep circling back to Jo. To the sunshine in her veins, the sugar in blood, the constant smile on her face. She thinks about the way they’d slept last night, tangled up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Paige’s brain pulses in the confines of her skull, the overwhelming mix of emotions bubbling up until it feels like too much to bear. She can’t stay here. She can’t lie in this bed next to Celeste, her skin still tingling with the remnants of something that feels absolutely meaningless, and keep thinking about Jo.

Paige abruptly sits up, the sheets sliding off her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. She glances around the dark room, searching for her clothes in the scattered mess on the floor.

Celeste stirs on the bed, her voice groggy as she props herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?” she asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“I, uh…” Paige stammers, pulling on her sweatpants quickly. “I need to go. Something came up.”

Celeste sits up fully now, her confusion melting into mild irritation. “It’s, like, two in the morning,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What could possibly have come up?”

Paige doesn’t look at her, doesn’t stop moving. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements rushed and clumsy. “I just… I forgot I got somethin’ early,” she says vaguely, the words tumbling out in a way that even she knows sounds ridiculous.

Celeste sighs, her irritation softening into something more resigned. “Right,” she says, flopping back against the pillows. “Okay.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her as she finishes gathering her things. She knows she’s being rude but she hardly cares.

All she really cares about is getting out of there, away from the suffocating realization that has completely consumed her.

PAIGE PRACTICALLY sprints back to the dorms, the cool night air doing nothing to calm her racing mind. Her heart pounds, not just from the hurried walk but from the weight of, well, everything. She keeps pace, her thoughts a chaotic mess of Jo’s face, Jo’s laugh, Jo’s touch—Jo, Jo, Jo.

When she reaches her building and finally climbs the stairs to her apartment, she pauses, hand on the door handle. Jo’s probably inside, either in the kitchen making some late-night snack or curled up in the living room watching The Vampire Diaries and talking to Asher on speakerphone.

The thought makes Paige nauseous. She can’t face Jo right now—not with the realization still so fresh, so raw. She knows she’ll give herself away the second their eyes meet, and she can’t risk that.

So instead of opening the door to their apartment, Paige pushes herself up one more flight of stairs to the next floor, where Aubrey, Caroline, and Aaliyah live.

When she steps inside their apartment, the soft hum of a TV fills the air. Carol and Lili are nowhere to be seen, but Aubrey is sprawled on the couch with Azzi, the two of them laughing at whatever show they’re watching. Paige’s heart lifts slightly at the sight of Azzi—she hadn’t expected her to be here, but her best friend’s presence feels like a lifeline.

Both Aubrey and Azzi glance up as the door shuts behind Paige. They take one look at her face, and their expressions shift immediately, concern knitting both of their brows.

“You good?” Aubrey asks, sitting up straighter.

Azzi echoes the question, tilting her head slightly as she studies Paige.

Paige hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob, her throat tightening as her eyes start to well up. She can feel the tears coming before she even has a chance to fight them back. She bites her lip, staring at the two of them as the words she doesn’t want to say sit heavy on the tip of her tongue.

Finally, in a voice so quiet and pathetic it doesn’t sound at all like her own, she croaks out, “You were right.”

Azzi looks lost, scrunching her face up. “Right about what?” she asks, glancing between Paige and Aubrey.

But Aubrey’s already caught on, lips parting as the realization dawns on her. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the couch, giving Paige a look that’s equal parts knowing and sympathetic.

Paige presses her lips together, her chest tightening under the weight of Aubrey’s silent understanding. She glances down, blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill, before finally crossing the room and flopping down onto the floor in front of the couch. She lays on her back, burying her face in her hands.

Azzi frowns, her confusion only growing. “What’s going on? What’re you taking about?”

Paige lets out a shaky breath, her voice muffled by her hands. “I like Jo,” she finally says, her throat thick with emotion. She pauses, her heart hammering as the words settle in the room, as real as they’ve ever been. “More than a friend. A lot more than a friend.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, the confession lingering in the air like a raw wound. Eventually, Paige hears the shuffle of the couch cushions, followed by the quiet creak of Aubrey leaning forward.

“So,” Aubrey starts carefully. “You like Jo. Like like her.”

Paige groans in response, dragging her hands down her face. “Didn’t I just say that?” Her voice is still muffled, but the frustration seeps through anyway. She glances up at them briefly, only to drop her head back down against the floor. “I’m so fucked, bro.”

Azzi shifts next to Aubrey, her long legs stretched out on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, watching Paige with an expression that Paige can’t quite read. It’s not shock, though. In fact, Azzi looks almost… resigned. Like she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

“I mean,” she says softly, “it’s not like it’s a huge surprise.”

That pulls Paige’s head up. Her eyes narrow at Azzi, her stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”

Azzi shrugs, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her amusement. “Come on, P. You’re not exactly subtle. The way you’re always looking at her, how you laugh at everything she says even when it’s not funny—”

“She is funny,” Paige cuts in defensively.

“Sure,” Azzi says with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s more than that, and you know it.”

Paige groans again, louder this time. Her eyes wander to the ceiling, the harsh overhead light making her eyes sting. “God, this is so—fuck, man.”

“Look,” Aubrey says. “I get it. Jo’s… she’s great. She’s funny and sweet, and yeah, she really pretty. But she’s got Asher. And she’s straight.” She pauses, letting the words settle. “You’re kinda setting yourself up to get hurt.”

Paige clenches her jaw, kissing her teeth. “You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, sitting up abruptly, her eyes a blue fire as she stares at Aubrey. “You think I don’t know that she’s got her perfect boy next door that she’s gonna fuckin’ marry and have kids with? You think I don’t know that this is never gonna happen?”

Her voice wavers, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how exposed. She looks down, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanna like her. But it’s just now that I’ve, like, figured it out… Ion know how I’m ever not. Because she’s—fuck, she’s perfect. She’s just… she’s perfect.” Her voice cracks on the last couple words and Paige hastily wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape her eye.

Azzi and Aubrey share a glance, and Paige notices it. She hates feeling like a charity case, like someone they need to pity or fix.

Finally, Azzi speaks, her voice quieter this time. “It’s okay to have feelings, Paige. You can’t control that. What matters is how you handle them.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, I’m handling them great, aren’t I?”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is firm, but there’s a softness underneath it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to beat yourself up for liking her. It’s not something you chose.”

The blonde lets a bitter laugh escape her. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosin’ this.”

Aubrey sighs. “No one’s saying it’s easy, but you gotta be realistic. We just don’t wanna see you torture yourself over this.”

Paige wraps her arms around her knees as she looks between the two of them. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? Just stop liking her? How do I do that? Someone, please fuckin’ tell me, because I’m losin’ my mind.”

Neither of them answers right away. Aubrey looks thoughtful, while Azzi stares at the TV, her lips pressed together. Paige feels the desperation clawing at her chest, her heart racing as the silence stretches on.

Finally, Azzi speaks. “Maybe you need space.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard. “Space?”

Azzi nods, still looking at the TV. “Yeah. Like… maybe being around her all the time will make this harder for you, just make your feelings grow. So, maybe you need to take a step back, give yourself some time to clear your head.”

Paige frowns. The idea of putting distance between herself and Jo feels impossible. But, at the same time, she can’t deny that Azzi might have a point.

“I don’t know,” Azzi continues, finally turning to look at Paige. “You’re going back to LA in a couple of days, and you’re gonna be there for a few more weeks. Maybe that’ll give you a better chance to figure things out without her right in front of you.”

Paige hesitates, her throat sore. She knows Azzi’s probably right, knows that putting some space between herself and Jo could be exactly what she needs. But the thought makes her ache.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.

JO SITS cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her fingers hovering idly over the keyboard. The document on her screen is due tomorrow, but she’s been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now. Her thoughts keep drifting, circling back to one person.

Paige has been distant. More than distant—aloof, like she’s there but not really. Jo hasn’t seen much of her since media day, which is strange. Paige always makes time for her, no matter how busy things get. They’re roommates, sure, but it’s more than that—they’ve become close, inseparable even, and it doesn’t sit right that Paige is suddenly pulling today. Especially this week.

Paige is leaving for LA again, and Jo was hoping to spend more time with her before she goes back. She wanted to squeeze in a movie night, maybe order some takeout and sit around laughing about dumb things like they always do. But instead, Paige has either been locked in her room or entirely out of the apartment for the last few days.

When Jo hears the door to the blonde’s room creak open, her heart lifts a little, and she shifts her gaze over, sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice warm and bright, like always.

Paige barely looks at her, muttering a quick, “Hi,” as she heads toward the kitchen. Jo frowns, watching her move with a sort of stiffness that’s entirely unlike her. It’s not just that she’s quiet—Jo’s pretty sure that Paige is avoiding her, and she feels the sting of it more than she’d like to admit.

She doesn’t say anything, though. Jo isn’t the kind of person who pushes, not unless she has to. She’s learned that sometimes people need space, and maybe that’s all this is. Still, her chest tightens as she watches Paige pull a water from the fridge, looking like she’s in a hurry as she does so.

“Am I still driving you to the airport?” Jo asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn’t think she’d have to question it because they made the plan together, but considering the fact that they’ve barely spoken the past few days, Jo can’t help but wonder.

And it seems she was right to because Paige pauses. “Oh, nah,” she says after a beat, her voice flat. “Azzi’s taking me.”

Jo blinks. She’s not really caught off guard just because Paige has been acting so weird, but she still feels the twist of disappointment in her stomach. She was hoping she’d be able to talk to her and see her during drive, but clearly she doesn’t even get that.

Still, Jo forces a smile. “Oh, okay,” she says lightly, though she feels anything but.

Paige doesn’t offer an explanation, and Jo doesn’t ask for one. She watched as Paige retreat back to her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the apartment suddenly feels heavier than before, and Jo lets out a soft sigh, sinking back into the couch.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Paige is probably just stressed or tired or something. It’s not about her. It can’t be. But the thought nags at her anyway, like an itch she can’t stretch.

And it continues to nag at her a few hours later as they hug by the apartment door, saying goodbye. Jo hugs her tightly, normally, but she can feel how stiff Paige is, how oddly awkward the embrace feels. It’s like Paige is already halfway out the door, and Jo’s heart aches with the realization.

“Bye,” Paige says as she pulls back, her voice quiet.

“Bye,” Jo echoes, her smile faltering as she watches Paige pick up her suitcase and head out the door. The sound of it closing behind her feels final, like a book slamming shut.

Jo stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Her mind raced, replaying every interaction they’ve had over the past few days, searching for something she might’ve done wrong. Something that could explain why Paige is acting like this.

She doesn’t come up with anything, but the doubt lingers, gnawing at her. Jo sighs, walking back to her bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. She presses her hands to her face, frustration and sadness bubbling up in her chest.

She tells herself that it’s okay, that it’s nothing, that by the time Paige gets back to Storrs in a few weeks, everything will be normal again.

She hopes so, at least, because she really doesn’t like the alternative.

IN LA, the sun feels sharp, unrelenting, even if it’s nearing November. Paige sits in her rental car outside the rehab facility, her phone in her lap, the screen dark but heavy. She knows what’s waiting for her in there—a grueling session of strength-building and balance work, another step toward getting back to basketball. But basketball hasn’t been the loudest thing in her mind for weeks now. It should be—God, it should be—but instead, it’s Jo.

Paige clenches her jaw and tosses her phone into the passenger seat, annoyed with herself. Thinking about Jo doesn’t help, not here, not anywhere. That’s why she’s done everything to avoid it: random girls in unfamiliar beds, their hands and mouths a fleeting distraction; sporadic texts to Jo, just enough to keep her from asking too many questions; ignoring every call, every FaceTime, and hoping Jo doesn’t notice the glaring difference between nearly every night and never anymore. She has to be catching on by now. Paige knows Jo isn’t stupid.

Still, the guilt doesn’t outweigh the distance. Paige grips the steering wheel, staring at the rehab center’s sliding glass doors but not really seeing them. Distance is necessary—it has to be. If Paige doesn’t put this buffer between them, if she doesn’t actively suppress everything she feels, she’s going to ruin things. She’ll make it weird, or worse, permanent. She’s trying to protect their friendship. She’s trying to protect the team. She’s trying to protect her own heart.

And yet.

Her chest aches every time she picks up the phone and sees Jo’s name, every time she types out a half-hearted excuse about being too busy to talk. Rehab has been fine, she supposes—her knee is slowly regaining its strength, her trainers say she’s on track—but Jo’s absence looks larger than it should. Paige didn’t realize how much Jo’s voice at the end of the day had anchored her, how their FaceTimes had become her favorite part of LA the first few weeks she was here, before she realized everything. She misses Jo more than she should—more than is safe—and no amount of flings with strangers or silent self-lectures seems to change that.

The worst part is that none of it is working. The random girls are a distraction, sure, but only in the moment. They don’t fill the void, not really. Every time Paige wakes up, whether that be alone or tangled with unfamiliar limbs, her mind inevitably drifts back to Jo. To her laugh, her smile, the way she tilts her head just slightly when she’s focused on something. It’s infuriating how vivid Jo feels in her memory, like she’s carved into Paige’s consciousness.

Paige exhales sharply and runs a hand over her face, the rough skin of her palm scraping against her jaw. She tells herself to get it together. She knows this spiraling isn’t productive, but the more she tries to stop thinking about Jo, the more Jo consumes her thoughts. She thinks of Jo’s hugs—warm, grounding, so completely Jo. She thinks about their so-called sleepovers, the two of them sprawled on either of their beds watching The Vampire Diaries, Jo throwing popcorn at Paige whenever she made fun of Stefan Salvatore.

The memory makes her chest twist painfully. She hasn’t even watched the show since she’s been in LA; it feels wrong to do it without Jo. It feels like cheating somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. Besides, it’s just another reminder of the girl she’s actively trying to not think about.

But, like always, she’s thinking about her right now and it reminds her of the text she saw pop up on her phone last night that she never responded to. Sighing, she reaches for the device and opens iMessages, feeling bad for taking so long to even read the text let alone respond.

Ma freshie 💘

hey, how are you? how’s rehab??

it’s been a minute just wanted to say i miss you

Paige stares at the message. I miss you. She knows that Jo misses her. She knows that. But she also knows that she doesn’t miss her in the way that Paige wants her to.

Her thumb hovers over the screen. She wants to respond. She wants to say, I miss you too. Rehab sucks, I wish you were here. She wants to apologize for pulling away, to explain herself, but how do you say, Sorry, I’m avoiding you because I kinda think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me?

Instead, she types a lie.

PB 😱😱

Sorry I’ve been busy as hell

Rehab’s going fine tho

Hope you’re good don’t have too much fun at practice without me

Her chest tightens as she sends them. Jo deserves better then this, and Paige knows it. But then Paige reminds herself that she does have better than this—she has Asher. Which is probably all she’ll ever need.

Paige shakes her head, grabbing her water bottle from the cup holder and stepping out of the car. She can’t keep doing this to herself. Jo is back in Storrs, living her life, and Paige needs to do the same. She needs to focus on her recovery, on getting back on the court, on being the best damn basketball player she can be. This thing she feels for Jo? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

She slams the car door shut and heads toward the rehab center, trying to leave the ache in her chest behind. It follows her anyway.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #nobody gets me #wlw #lgbtq

210 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 6 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + nine

authors note: i know i've said this before, but this one might be my favorite. there are a few subtle hints spread throughout as well.....

i also listened to the song i named the story after while writing most of this chapter, so maybe recommended listening?

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

cw/tw: fluff, angst, language, inebriation, character being triggered, references to past csa, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i can't be stopped, clearly)

And I see a girl Who is learning to trust

---Leann Rimes

In many ways, Roman is a simple man. The kind that believes obvious gestures, actions, or even lack of inaction should speak for itself. That there are some things that are just so clear as day, it doesn’t make sense for him to have to explain himself.

For him to have to repeat himself.

Well, that’s gone out the window as of recent months, because he’s constantly found himself having to do just that. And his day is starting off no different with a surprising and unwanted guest showing up at his office demanding to speak to him.

Bayley stands across his desk with her arms crossed and an almost glare on her face. “I’ve been texting you.”

The fact that she even has his number is an issue in and of itself, but he’ll tackle that another day. “I’m aware.”

The avoiding of said texts is that obvious thing that she seemingly doesn’t understand the why behind.

Bayley nods, very visibly keeping in a comment she’s at least smart enough to not make to the head of the Bloodline. Friend of his wife, or not. “Well, I would like to talk to you.”

Roman rolls his eyes, moving up from his desk to his filing cabinet to swap out expense reports he was trying to review before her rude, unwanted interruption. “I bet you would.”

“Seriously?” Ignoring her once again is the plan, Roman hoping that’s all it takes so that he doesn’t have to lose his temper before he even has his first meeting of the day. “It’s about Solana.”

And that is what finally catches Roman’s attention. He’s quick to turn around, expression suddenly hardened. “Talk.” She has his full attention. “Now.”

Bayley takes note of how easily it is to gather Roman’s attention with the simple mention of Solana. It’s surprising to say the least and telling as hell to say the most, but she keeps this little observation to herself.

“We’re having a Cinco De Mayo celebration at my family’s restaurant tomorrow night.”

“What does that have to do with Solana?”

Roman watches her hesitate for a second. “I want to invite her.”

For a split second, Bayley thinks she may have hit a stroke of luck when Roman doesn’t immediately shoot down her request. He seems to actually be thinking about it. And then he asks the question she knew would be the nail in the coffin. “Will Escobar be there?”

She’d like to just say no, as it’s highly unlikely he will attend, Bayley unsure if her cousin is even in the country. But, lying to the man before her has never turned out well for anyone, so she answers as honestly as she can. “I don’t know. You know he pops up at random times—”

Roman doesn’t even need to hear the rest. “My answer is no.”

She can’t be too surprised. Bayley wisely anticipated getting Roman to budge would be damn near impossible, if not entirely impossible.

“Roman—”

“Why the fuck would I allow her to be anywhere around that son of a bitch?”

To be fair, Roman’s relationship with Santos Escobar is tamer than most. They’re not allies, certainly not friends, and he doesn’t hate the man. It irritates him a bit how Escobar is a stubborn bastard and refuses to pledge loyalty and allegiance to the Bloodline, but that anger is eased by the fact that Escobar gives an even bigger middle finger to the Nightmare Factory.

His loyalty is to himself and the Legado Del Fantasma. That makes him a wildcard and potentially dangerous.

Roman won’t have Solana anywhere where danger could be present.

“You know as well as I do that while both you and my cousin have this weird ass Qué en es más macho thing going on, there’s all but a ceasefire. You've never attacked one of his men the same way he’s never attacked anyone in the Bloodline. That’s not going to change overnight just because your wife is present at a chorcha.”

Roman isn’t too full of himself to admit when someone has made a valid point, but as this involves Solana, the standards are a bit different. He won’t give Bayley that much. “Why should I even take the chance? You want to do something with Solana, take her somewhere else that’s on Bloodline or neutral territory.”

“My family’s restaurant is on neutral territory.” Bayley is happy to have another point of his she can counter. “And contrary to what the average, ignorant American thinks, Cinco De Mayo is an important part of our culture and our heritage, Solana’s heritage. I think she would really enjoy herself, that it would….that it would help her feel close to her mom.”

Roman is excellent in the way he remains absolutely unreadable even at Bayley’s point that has him seriously reconsidering his prior answer.

He has no doubt that would help her feel connected with her mom, being around reminders and in a space that’s so representative of half of who she is, who her mother was. He can’t see her not enjoying herself, which is something that doesn’t seem to happen a lot in her life thus far.

Just as he continues to mull over the options, Bayley adds on another defense. “I get where you’re coming from with the safety angle, but I’ll be there and Naomi will be there. Between the two of us, no one will touch her.”

Roman easily reads between the lines and identifies her unspoken request. “You don’t want Solo there.”

On one hand, he can understand it. Bayley not wanting his Enforcer there. Solo’s presence could be seen as him potentially scoping versus the real reason of serving as Solana’s personal guard.

Bayley doesn’t seem to be backing down, reminding with all the confidence in the world of her capabilities. “Like I said, Naomi and I got this.”

Roman will give her that. Bayley and Naomi could fight on his team any day. They’re just as brutal as the men, if not more when pushed. He knows they’d be able to keep Solana safe if need be. It’s that realization as well as the concern of depriving her of something that could make her happy that brings him to a revised answer.

“Fine, she can go.” Roman is quick to add on as an ominous warning, borderline threat, “but if anything fucking happens to her while she’s with you—”

“It won’t,” Bayley vows. “She’s our friend, and she’s family to Naomi. We look out for each other.”

Roman believes that. Believes that Bayley has seemingly pledged a loyalty to Solana that matches that of Naomi, and while he’d never fucking tell her this, he’s grateful she has someone like Bayley to talk to.

At his fill of socialization with people he doesn’t like, Roman is quick with the dismissal. “If you don’t have anything else to discuss with me about Solana, you can get the hell out of my office.”

Bayley is actually surprised she made it this long without being kicked out, so it’s under her breath she mutters, “a true gentleman.” She’s halfway to his door when manners get the best of her. “Hey, Roman.”

He’s back at his desk, gaze as irritated as when she first stepped in. “What?”

With a nod of respect and appreciation, she simply says, “thank you.” Whatever his response, or lack thereof, is after that is unknown because Bayley is out the door and on her way to invite Solana to what is sure to be a night of fun.

________

“Man, I tell you every dish Solana makes seems to get better and better.” Jimmy is rubbing his stomach as he places the now cleaned plate on the coffee table. “Where she been at all our lives?”

Once upon a time, Roman had a nice, quiet house that was his and his alone. Now though, it’s shared with a wife who really isn’t an issue, two obnoxious cousins who need to start paying rent at this point, and a dog who’s currently at the sliding door leading to the backyard having a one-sided bark off with a squirrel.

“Why are ya’ll always fucking over here?” Roman’s question is said with all the irritation manifesting in his muscular body. At the same time, he stands up from the sofa to retrieve the puppy he doesn’t feel like yelling at to shut up.

She might piss herself in fear or something.

“Come on,” he grunts, leaning over and taking up Dulce who is almost instantly quiet. “Making all that damn noise for nothing.”

Roman places Dulce in her bed in the living room and returns to his previous seat on the sofa when she hops up and walks her ass right over to lean up on the sofa to stare at him with her unspoken request.

Jimmy is the first to notice this. “I think lil Nacho Libre likes you, Uce.”

Jey chimes in between bites of whatever Solana’s latest dish is that she’s made for them. “She know English yet or Soso still got her only speaking Spanish?”

“Man, the dog can’t speak.”

“You know what I mean, motherfucker. Damn.”

Roman ignores the two imbeciles currently freeloading in his house and relents to just letting Dulce on the sofa. He’s not sure why she’s downstairs with them instead off on the second level where the girls are getting ready, but she’s already here now, so no sense in transporting her.

Dulce seems satisfied with her placement right next to him.

“I still can’t believe we weren’t invited.”

“I can get why they didn’t invite us, but they could have at least given Nicki an invite.”

Jimmy is quick with the obvious answer. “You know Nicki don’t fuck with Naomi like that, or Bayley, and definitely not Soso.”

“Cause she’s fucking psychotic.” Roman has zero issues with his cousin’s wife having little to no interest in getting to know Solana. It’s for the better. As he said, the bitch is psychotic.

“Once again, Big Dog, you ain’t gon keep disrespecting my wife like that.”

Roman is as unfazed by Jey’s threat as Dulce is.

“I gotta agree with Uce on that one. Nicki ass crazy as hell. One minute she love you, the next minute she pulling a Left Eye and burning your shit.” That emits a chuckle from him. His cousin's sneaker collection being burned in the backyard that one year was pretty funny.

“Look, that was during a rough patch. That’s all.”

“Damn bruh, ya’ll must got a whole goddamn quilt then, cause your relationship been nothing but rough patches since we was in high school.”

“So what, you and Naomi never have no issues, huh?” Jey lives up to his hotheaded reputation, jumping into defensive mode. “Ya’ll just got the perfect marriage, right?”

“Of course we got issues, man, but never to the point where she turned into a lil arsonist!”

Completely disinterested in hearing dumb and dumber argue, Roman grabs his phone and shoots out a text.

Roman: You almost ready?

Solana’s reply comes in less than five minutes later.

Solana: Just about…..is Dulce by you?

Roman: Yeah. Sleeping….as always.

Solana: Lol….sorry about that, I meant to grab her before we got started.

Roman: It’s fine.

Roman: I need to talk to you before you leave.

He’s not surprised by the longer time it takes for her to reply. He can imagine she’s reading too much into his text.

Solana: Okay....I can come now?

Solana: I just have to put my shoes on….

Roman: I’ll come to you.

Roman knows better than to ask the bumbling idiots to watch Dulce. Their attention span when they get this heated is almost non-existent, so he opts to just take her upstairs with him, figuring he can deposit her in her bed in Solana’s room and that’ll be it for the night.

One down.

Two more to get rid of.

Roman is standing outside of Solana’s door ready to knock when it’s ripped open, and he’s met with an instantly smiling Naomi.

She’s smiling at the damn dog, of course.

“There you are, Dulce.” Roman has no issue whatsoever with letting her take the puppy, talking to it in that weird ass baby voice everyone seems to use around Dulce. He doesn’t get it, but it’s not something he desires to try to get anyway. Naomi calls out over her shoulder, “I’m gonna take her out to pee.”

Bayley shouts from inside the room, “I’ll come with you.”

Roman also has zero issues with that as well. He wants to be alone with Solana before she heads out.

Naomi is heading to the steps when Bayley walks past him, throwing out a rushed, “tell her she looks nice.”

That’s a given, but he gives her a nod, easily stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looks around the room, eyes settling on the connected bathroom where the door is suddenly swung open.

“Guys, are you sure I should wear—” Solana stops when she sees that Bayley and Naomi are no longer present, just him. “Oh, sorry, I thought—never mind.”

Roman would call her out on her apologies, both in the text and just now, but his attention is on something entirely different.

Solana is fucking stunning.

Her dress is orange, thin sleeved and hugs her in a way that makes his jaw clench and dick stiffen. It’s more low cut in the front than he knows she’s probably comfortable with, but if anything, it accentuates just how fucking nice her chest is. There’s a slight split on the side of said dress that shows off her thighs, thick and soft to the touch, he’d imagine. She also has her hair down, something he hasn’t seen in some time, makeup that covers the scar, and lips painted in a teasing red.

Roman has to catch himself because for a brief second, he’s tempted to completely change his mind. She looks too good to leave the house, especially without him present because there’s not a single doubt in his mind that she’ll turn heads.

She always does.

Finally, he’s able to get words to leave his mouth that aren’t as filthy as the thoughts he’s trying to keep locked in the back of his mind. “Jesus, you look amazing.”

Roman has noticed an increasingly difficult time in restraining himself around Solana, not in the sense where he’d completely ignore her trauma and try to touch her in a way that would trigger her. Never that. More so in the way he fantasizes about her in that way, dreams of having her in that way, solely because of his growing physical attraction.

Granted, it’s always been there.

Anyone could see her beauty even in how she would dress down and try to hide her figure, but now that Naomi and Bayley have been encouraging her to be less conservative in her appearance, it’s increased that difficulty exponentially.

“Thank you.” The makeup on Solana’s cheeks helps to mask her growing blush at Roman’s unabashed compliment. She suddenly looks down, nervously running her hand down the dress. “Is it….is it too much?”

Not at all. He might not want anyone else looking at her, but Roman could see her dress like this everyday and never grow tired. Still, his approval isn’t needed nor should she ever look for it. “Do you think it is?”

“I always think it’s too much.” It’s an honest answer, one that’s followed up with a caveat he’s surprised but pleased to hear. “But….but, I do like it.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Solana’s smile does something to him. She looks even more beautiful when she’s smiling. “Look….” Roman steps closer to her, trying to ignore her perfume, sweet and soft, a dangerous combination that matches her perfectly. “You need anything tonight, you call or text me, alright?”

She nods and asks. “What about Solo? Isn’t—isn’t that his job?”

It’s not a conscious in as much it is a unconscious thing when he steps even closer to her, moving his hand to the small of her back. Roman gently tugs her toward him, and to his surprise, she doesn’t tense under his touch. “You’re my wife, Solana. My job is always to protect you. He just guards you when I can’t.”

She looks like she’s trying to memorize this piece of information, storing it for future use as necessary knowledge. “Do—do you want to come with us?” Solana’s hand resting on his chest is as surprising as her question. “I could talk to Bayley.”

Roman has never been a social person. To say he hates most people isn’t necessarily an exaggeration. So, the thought of being around a bunch of people he doesn’t know or like outside of Solana and maybe Bayley—she’s not entirely awful—is not appealing as well. That doesn’t stop him, however, from considering the question at hand.

He’s tempted to ask her if she wants him to come, because Roman can find it in himself to withstand socialization for a couple hours.

He’ll do it for her.

But, there’s another part of him, a larger part of him that thinks she needs to do this on her own. That she needs to establish a life and something for herself that doesn’t include him. It’ll be good for her.

“No.” Is his final answer, delivered much gentler than if she was literally anyone else. Roman reaches and plays with a piece of her hair. “Not my scene. Too many people.” Not to mention that his presence would draw too much attention, potentially not good attention. He won’t do that to her. Won’t’ risk ruining her night. “Go. Have a good time.” Again, for good measure, he reminds, “but I mean it. Something is wrong. You call me.”

She nods, and he readies to remind her of his need for words when she answers, “okay.” She then adds on, “I already gave Dulce dinner, so she should mostly sleep, but if you could take her outside every so often….”

“I got it.” He’d much rather sacrifice the couple minutes it takes to bring her outside than risk her shitting or pissing somewhere in his house. Granted, he has to give credit where credit is due. She’s doing great with her potty training. Solana takes great care of her, but that’s not surprising. It’s obvious how much she loves the puppy. “You should be back by midnight, though.”

It’s more a strong suggestion than a demand. Solana is a grown woman. He’s not going to dictate what she does and doesn’t do. She’s had enough of that in her life. He had to give his approval for her to go with Bayley because of safety issues, but this, he wants to leave up to her as long as she understands the later she’s out, the riskier things can get.

After a certain time, only bad or not so great things can happen.

“Of course.” She seems to understand this clearly, but he’d also bet that’s her preference to be back earlier than later. Solana grabs her purse and walks towards the door, having to pass him in the process. Roman catches her, arm around her waist.

She looks up, curious, and he makes note of how she again doesn’t tense under his touch. That’s happening less and less, it seems.

He likes that.

“Text me when you get there.”

She smiles, and Roman suddenly feels a layer of his irritation with his cousins melt away. “I will.” Solana gives him one more glance before walking out the room.

Roman scratches his beard, a part of him wondering if he made the right decision to let her go alone. Granted, he knows he would have never even initially agreed if he didn’t trust Bayley and Naomi’s abilities.

They’d defend Solana as ruthlessly and violently as any of his best men.

That helps to chip away some of his second guessing along with the fact that this is something she clearly wants, and he wants to give her that. Give her anything he can that makes her happy.

She deserves that much.

Granted, that temporary peace is short-lived with the shout from one of his cousins who are apparently still present.

“Ayo, Big Dog, did you change the WiFi password again!”

________

Roman needs a new house.

Maybe have Solana let him know what she likes as far as interior designing goes and have something built with an impenetrable wall around it.

That seems to be the only thing that will keep his annoying ass twin cousins from being at his place so much.

Roman just knew that when the ladies left, they’d leave too. But no, that’s too good to be true, because they’ve been gone almost an hour, and their asses are still here.

Even Dulce is sleeping peacefully like the unemployed bum that she is in her bed kept in the living room.

And as always with them, they’ve been talking damn near the whole hour. One would think Roman straight up ignoring them as he works on his laptop would be a clear sign they need to go the hell home, but that would be too much like right.

He either needs an Excedrin or for his cousins to leave, the latter being preferred most. It’s especially needed when they seem to be watching whatever dumb ass Tok or Reel video over and over again.

“Wait. I know that song,” Jey announces, face scrunched up as he tries to recall the name. All Roman knows is that it’s in Spanish and repetitive as hell on top of being played on repeat. Annoying as hell too. “That lil freak from Miami I used to mess with used to have this shit playing at her crib all the time.”

Jimmy sucks his teeth, asking. “What happened to her?”

“Man, she moved.” Jey shrugs. “She went to go be a freak in Cali.”

Finally, Roman snaps. “Would ya’ll use some damn headphones or something?”

Jimmy is the first to speak. “You might want to watch this, Uce.”

“I don’t care.”

Jey slaps Jimmy on the arm, knowing how to get his cousin’s attention. “Yeah, why would he want to see a video of Solana?”

At that, Roman lifts his gaze.

Jimmy smirks knowingly. “Naomi sent some videos. Check your phone.”

That would explain it. Why Roman was out of the loop. It wasn’t from Solana.

He’d selected a specific text and ringtone notification for her, so he wouldn’t be unnecessarily checking his phone. Hence why he hasn’t checked it since she text that they’d made it to the restaurant.

Opening up the thread that has himself, Naomi, and the twins, he sees the set of messages and videos.

Naomi: Having a blast! Solana especially. I kinda feel like the odd one out cause clearly I don’t know none of these dances 😩 I kinda got the Bachata one, but Merengue and Punta are killing me.

Naomi: Bay and Solana keep trying to teach me, but it’s not going well lmao

Roman watches them all. Every video shows Solana smiling and laughing as she dances with Bayley and Naomi. One of the videos shows her and Bayley trying to instruct Naomi who seems to be failing miserably at learning what he’d guess are traditional Hispanic dances. There’s even a clip of her trying to help a little girl learn whatever dance they’re doing, and she looks just as patient as he’s seen her with the kids she reads to at the library.

She looks fucking gorgeous and happy.

He likes that for her. After everything she’s been through, she deserves all of the happiness.

But, it’s in watching the last video with the song that he kept hearing on loop from his cousin’s phone that he understands why they have it on repeat.

It’s a different kind of dance Bayley and Solana do together along with other women he doesn’t know or give two fucks about. What he gives a fuck about and focuses in entirely on is the way Solana’s hips and ass move, rhythmically, teasingly, drawing out an uncomfortable tightening in his pants.

Fuck.

Roman does his best to push his erotic thoughts away, still trying to figure out how to balance his sexual desire for Solana with the knowledge of her sexual trauma. It almost feels wrong, to feel and want her in that way when he knows how traumatizing that subject is for her. It doesn’t stop the desire though.

“Damn, I knew it had to move, just not like that.”

“Like water.”

It’s probably a combination of his pent up usual, general and sexual frustration, but the dangerously slow way Roman lifts his head and equally slow way he sets his murderous gaze on his cousins is all they need to see to know they’ve gone too far.

And they know it.

Jimmy is instantly on damage control. “I meant—Bayley—you know, cause she—she’s also thick.”

Jey coughs awkwardly, hitting Jimmy on the arm. “I think, uh, we should—we should head out.” And Roman is just as slowly rising from the sofa when the twins literally almost trip over their feet and make a mad dash for the door.

It takes a couple minutes for him to calm down, and he too suddenly finds himself watching said video, casually commenting to Dulce, “about time they fucking left.”

Dulce barks in agreement.

________

Solana laughs along with Bayley and Naomi as they plop down in their seats after an almost four minute song of full out merengue. All are reaching for their respective drinks as Bayley playfully nudges Solana.

“Aren’t you glad you came?”

Just then, Juanita Escobar walks over, Bayley’s mother who carries the same dimple and friendly disposition. She places her hand on Solana’s back, reminding in Spanish, “you must come back and see us again!”

Solana smiles, agreeing, “I will.” She then looks over at Bayley. “If that’s okay?”

Bayley waves her off. “Are you kidding? With how soft and girly you are, you can come be my replacement any time”

Juanita glares at her youngest, muttering to Solana, “maybe you can rub off on my Bay, hmm? Never wanted to do girl stuff. Always wanted to fight with the boys.”

Bayley chugs back some of her drink. “Hell yeah.”

Solana thinks she’d prefer the fighting too. Maybe then she could have defended herself better. Defended her mom even.

Juanita shakes her head, looking at Solana. “Yes, come again, child. You look so much like someone, but I can’t put my hand on it. I’m sure my husband would know. He knows everyone.”

That doesn't necessarily make Solana want to come back, meeting someone, a man specifically. However, if he’s anything like Bayley or Juanita, maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

And maybe…maybe she could ask Roman to come with her. That’d make her feel moderately to significantly better. Safer, even.

Juanita is soon pulled away from the table by a customer at the same moment Solana’s phone rings.

Roman: You good?

Solana: Yes.

She bites down on her lip, contemplating if she should hit send on her message. It feels like a risky thing to say, but it’s also how she feels.

And he’s always telling her to be honest with him.

So she is.

Solana: Kinda wish you would have came.

Her fingers nervously tap against the table as she wait for his reply that ends up coming almost immediately.

Roman: That’s your world. Not mine.

Roman: Do you not feel safe?

Solana: No, not that. I guess…...Nvm.

Roman: Tell me.

Again, more hesitation, and she’s not entirely sure where this desire to be honest and almost vulnerable with him comes from, but she does her best not to push it away, almost welcoming the slight discomfort that comes with sending such a risky text.

Solana: Idk, I feel better when you’re around.

He doesn’t reply after that.

Bayley and Naomi share a knowing expression, having watched Solana quietly for the past few minutes. Naomi ends up being the one to lead the conversation. “So how are things going with Roman?”

The question takes her off guard, Solana trying her best to think just how to handle said question.

Roman no longer confuses her. Not nearly as much as her feelings about him confuse her.

She wasn’t lying. She does feel better when she’s around him. And it’s not even that she feels unsafe currently. It’s just that he makes her feel safe in general. That’s such a foreign concept. One she hasn’t experienced in such a long time.

If ever.

Because the truth of the matter is that while Solana felt an indescribable amount of happiness with her mother, there was never really safety. Not with her father’s wrath always waiting around the corner.

So while this is new and unfamiliar, it’s also nice, and she finds herself enjoying his presence. She likes being around him beyond the safety aspect. The way he talks to and with her, like he genuinely enjoys their conversations. When he meets her for work and asks how her day was or finds her in the house to see how her day was, it makes her feel like he actually cares about what she has to say.

Like he actually cares about her.

It’s such a stark contrast of how she sees him interact with others. Always on edge, it seems.

He’s never made her feel that way though. Maybe at the beginning, but that’s starting to feel less like anything he’s done and more like her own trauma.

Trauma….

That’s also been an interesting experience. For the past few weeks, she’s worked out of The Courage to Heal, reading every page as instructed. And it’s been….an emotional time, to say the least. Definitely tears. A lot of them. Mostly shed in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep or on the bathroom floor as she sits against the tub, reading and writing, Dulce right beside her, offering that unspoken emotional support.

It’s been therapeutic and challenging and awful having to confront her demons but also freeing in a strange sort of way. Especially the poems. The words of other victims who express so eloquently and hauntingly beautifully what she still cannot.

One of the things she’s really latched onto and tries to remind herself of is that there are different kinds of touch. Because of the assault, her brain has naturally associated any kind of touch as dangerous, which isn’t always true. Especially in the past few months.

So, there’s been a conscious and active effort to remind herself when Naomi and Bayley hug her or playfully bump her, that it’s safe. That she’s safe.

Especially….especially with Roman.

Especially with how touch between them has seemed to also increase over the past couple weeks. Or maybe less increase in levels and more in frequency. She’ll find his hand on the small of her back, or him taking her hand in his, and sometimes, if they’re close enough, Solana also finds herself reaching for him, for his hand, her hand on his chest.

It’s all so innocent in presentation but something much deeper for her. A level of comfort she’s developed with him that she never had in any prior relationship.

She likes it.

She likes him.

“Solana.”

Jumping at being pulled from her inner dialogue, Solana remembers the initial question being posed.

She clears her throat, finally answering, “umm….good. It’s—it’s good.”

“He’s not being an ass to you, is he?” She asks, almost protectively. “I mean outside of the natural ass that he always is.”

Immediately, Solana is shaking her head, almost feeling a duty to defend him. “No. No. He–he would never. He’s….always nice to me.”

Bayley nearly spits out her drink. “Nice?” She coughs a bit, also shaking her head. “Are we still talking about Roman here? Roman Reigns? That man has never been nice a day in his life.”

Naomi shrugs. “I mean, she has a point. I don’t think I’ve seen him be cruel to her.”

Cruel….Solana also could never find it in her to use that word to describe Roman’s disposition towards her. Maybe others, but never her.

Bayley sits on Naomi’s point, suddenly sharing to the table, “you know what, now that you mention it, when I went to go ask him if I could invite you tonight, he was ready to bite my head off for bothering him. But, the minute I said it had something to do with you, he was all ears. Like an instant switch.”

Solana is also all ears, slightly intrigued. “Really?” Doubt and insecurity creeps in as she weakly suggests, “he was probably like that with Samantha too.”

At that, Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud, Naomi nearly in tears.

“Now that is funny. Solana, Roman don’t give a fuck about that girl. Not outside of sex.”

Solana must look unconvinced, so Bayley points out, “think about it. She’s been around for years, and it’s not her he took down the aisle, so…..” She then adds, “arranged marriage or not.”

The girls bringing up their points takes Solana back to her run-in with Samantha in the bathroom and Nia’s jaw-dropping information.

An idea appears, and Solana is instantly torn on whether to pursue or pop it. Something tells her it’s a bad idea, that she should take his information to the grave, but there’s also that side that feels like she can trust Bayley and Naomi to keep it between the three of them.

Sitting forward, Solana decides to take a risk. “Can I—can I tell you guys something?” Nervously, she stipulates, “but it has to stay between us.”

They look expectedly worried. “Solana, if it has something to do with your safety—”

“No, no that.” Solana almost feels confident enough to say that she’d go to Roman if that was the case. She trusts that she could talk to him if it was something like that.

“Of course, then.”

“Solana, you can tell us anything.”

And for some reason, she knows this to be true. It’s why she battles against her trepidation to open up. “It’s—ummm. I….I found out that when….when Roman was…..having sex with Samantha, he….” There’s a pause caused by the discomfort of such a discussion, but Solana manages to push through. “He said my name.”

Both Bayley and Naomi wear shocked expressions, the former of the two whispering harshly, “holy shit, what?”

Bayley then asks, “wait, how do you know?”

“Nia told me.” Solana has zero desire to wholly revisit that night in the bathroom with Samantha, so she only provides the important part. “She said that Samantha told her friend, I guess. T something?”

“Tiffy.” Bayley rolls her eyes. “Makes sense. That girl can’t hold water.”

“I don’t get it then. He obviously was imagining it was you and not Samantha, so why go fuck her and not you?”

Naomi’s question makes all the sense, but Solana doesn’t really know how to tackle it. This conversation is already difficult enough for her.

But her face must give it away, Bayley seemingly putting two and two together.

“You two haven’t slept together…..have you?” Solana simply shakes her head, unable to verbally confirm and slightly mortified that it’s reached this level of detail.

Solana is certain they must have a million thoughts floating around their head, starting with the how and why. That part…..that part she doesn’t know if she is ready to discuss.

An ironic thing considering she’s just started the chapter in her workbook on sharing her story with trusted people.

The irony.

But instead of invasive questions that heighten her anxiety, Naomi places a comforting hand on her arm.

“Look, I’ve known Roman my whole life, and the guy has been a dick the entire time. He would never hurt a woman, I know that, but he’s also never given a fuck about any of them either. So for him to be the way he is with you when you two haven’t even had sex……there’s something there, Solana.”

“I agree,” Bayley cosigns, saying what Solana has struggled to admit even to herself. “I think he really does like you. In his own Roman sort of way.”

Solana can’t deny the fact that it’s getting increasingly difficult to push away that possibility, even if she still can’t understand the why.

Just what has she done to deserve him liking her?

Maybe it’s not like. Maybe he just tolerates her better than he does others for some reason. Whatever it is, she can’t negate the fact that it must mean something if Naomi, who’s known him her whole life, believes that something is there.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Solana just needs to get away. Just for a couple minutes. This conversation took a turn she wasn’t expecting, and she needs to settle her emotions.

Bayley seems cautious. “Want me to come with you?”

“No.” The rejection is paired with a kind smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

And before she can get any pushback, Solana makes her way through the dancing crowd and to the back restroom that she’s grateful to see is vacant. Closing and locking the bathroom door, she goes straight for the mirror.

Despite the unexpected amount of dancing and slight sweat, she still looks relatively the same.

The same….

Same.

Even with the makeup and tight little dress, she’s still the same person. She’ll go home tonight, take off the makeup and remove the dress to find the same damaged, scarred girl who can never have something like what Jimmy and Naomi have.

Even if Roman does like her, it won’t last.

She can’t please him.

She could never make Roman happy, could never truly satisfy him, satisfy his needs.

She’s too broken for that.

It brings tears to her eyes.

Unable to withstand the sight of herself, Solana grabs a couple napkins to blow away her tears, tosses them out and heads out the bathroom. Instead of heading back to the table, Solana makes a beeline for the bar.

She’s only had white wine, but white wine isn’t enough. She recognizes where her emotions are taking her, and it’s nowhere good.

Solana refuses to ruin this night for Bayley and Naomi.

The bartender is a young girl, pretty, early to mid twenties. She asks in a friendly, deeply accented voice, “what can I get you?”

Solana is naive to this, to the great array of alcoholic options that litter the counter before her, so she answers the best way she can. Thinking back to the few events she’d be forced to attend with her father and brother, the drinks she always heard people order before getting drunk.

“Vodka and Gin, p—please.”

________

Meanwhile, Bayley and Naomi sit at the table still partially stuck on this unexpected news. But also not entirely surprising. With how sittish Solana can be at times, they have a good, albeit depressing guess as to why sex hasn’t happened between them.

It does bring up a valid question though.

“Wasn’t the whole marriage for the purposes of giving Roman an heir? How is that—”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Naomi murmurs. “But, I think we both know it’s obvious Solana has some trauma. Touch is clearly hard for her.”

“I know.” Bayley frowns. “I guess I’m just surprised Roman of all people has been so….patient with her.”

“You and me too.” Naomi blows out a breath before again reiterating what she said to Solana. “He must really like her.”

“It’s just hard to tell with him. He’s so damn stoic, but….I think you’re right. I think she likes him too. She’s just…..scared.” Fear is also something Solana deeply struggles with, though Bayley and Naomi both can recognize the progress she’s making towards overcoming those fears.

With a gasp, Naomi grabs her phone, directing Bayley. “Get your phone.”

Bay is confused but follows suit just as Naomi says, “I know who may know.”

Less than a minute later, Bayley’s phone dings with a text notification from a new group she’s in that includes herself, Naomi, Jimmy, and Jey.

Naomi: Sooooo, Bay and I were just talking, and between the four of us, how do you think Roman feels about Solana?

Bayley: And please be honest.

Bayley quickly ensures. “We’re not going to tell them what Solana said, right?”

“Hell no. We could never betray her trust like that.” Bayley is relieved but also not surprised.

Naomi values loyalty just as much as she does.

Jey: Man, I think he really like ole’ girl. Bruh got her a dog, seems to drop whatever he doing when she needs something, and I don’t think I ever heard him say nothing bad about her.

Jimmy: He was definitely annoyed at first when Soso had her lil breakdown at the Warehouse, but that didn’t last long at all.

Bayley: Plus Roman is always annoyed with something or someone.

Naomi: Except her 👀

Jey: Why ya’ll ask?

Naomi: We think Solana really likes him too but is scared to push on it because of her past and just don’t want to encourage her to give it a chance if he’s just gonna hurt her. Ya’ll know how Roman is.

Bayley: A certified ASSHOLE. And a hoe.

Bayley: But, it seems like that’s not the case with her.

Jimmy: I would say he definitely likes her too.

Jey: I mean they are married so….

Naomi: It was arranged. That doesn’t count.

Bayley: Do we know if he’s still fucking around? Primarily with Samantha since she’s been his go-to the past couple years?

Jimmy: I don’t think so. Matter of fact, I guess she said some smart shit to Soso in the bathroom on NoC and Big Dog wasn’t having it.

Jey: He’s apparently planning to pay her a lil visit….with Nia.

Naomi: Oh my god, is he finally gonna let Nia kill her?

Jimmy: Naw, just fuck her up real good, I think.

Naomi: Damn.

Bayley: That’s wild for him to cut her off like that after all this time. Def sounds like he likes Solana to me too…..

Jey: Ya’ll really think he about to admit that shit though?

Naomi: No more than she is. He’s stubborn, and she’s so insecure.

Jimmy: Ya’ll thinking what I’m thinking? 👀

*Jimmy changed the group chat name to Operation RoSo*

Naomi: Bae, what is this damn title?

Jimmy: It’s our latest covert operation. We gotta get Roman and Soso to admit they like each other!

Jey: And just how the hell is we supposed to do that? Like Bay said, Uce is an ass sometimes.

Bayley: All the time unless you’re Solana….

Naomi: I mean, not to be vain, but if you look like Roman, you can kinda get away with being an ass. To some extent.

Bayley: You’re not wrong. He is gorgeous. 😮‍💨

Jimmy: He alright, I guess. His ears kinda big.

Naomi: Bae, I love you, but let’s not lie. Your cousin is an asshole, yes, but he’s also fine as hell.

Bayley: That’s not the only thing said to be big…..

Naomi: Girl….

Bayley: They can’t all be lying.

Jey: ANYWAYS!

Jey: What if they’re coming together at they own pace and we should just leave shit alone?

Jimmy: 😐

Jimmy: That’s about the dumbest fucking thing I done heard all day. What next you gon say, huh? That they just magically gon fall in love on their own too? No! They clearly need our help!

Naomi: Maybe less help and more a shove in the right direction?

Bayley: A gentle push!

Naomi: Yes!

Jey: All I know is if shit backfires, I’m not taking the heat for none of ya’ll asses. Ya’ll gon have to deal with Big Dog.

Jimmy: Then we’ll just put Solana in front of us. He can’t hurt us then!

Jimmy: See…..I’m smart with this shit. That’s why Imma be the brains of this operation.

________

“What do you mean she’s drunk?”

Roman’s night suddenly went from uneventful and quiet, his preference, to unexpected and infuriating, all with a walk from upstairs to downstairs where he finds Solana awkwardly standing in the living room. Bayley and Naomi wait at the bottom of the steps with nervous expressions.

Good.

They should be scared shitless, because one glance at Solana, the gloss over her eyes, and he can tell she’s all but wasted.

“You were supposed to be watching her.” Roman is fucking irritated. He knew it was a bad idea to leave these two in charge of Solana.

Bayley, however, seems unbothered by his anger. “She’s not a child, Roman. Were we supposed to stop her from drinking too? We had no idea she asked for something stronger.”

It’s an excuse, and Roman doesn’t do excuses. “What happened?”

Naomi answers this time around. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” One. They’re lying, and Roman hates liars. Two. They’re lying, and Roman has literally killed people for less. Three. They’re lying, and he wants to know why. “You’ve both got less than a minute to give me the truth—”

“Look, we talked about some things, and we promised to keep it between the three of us, so I’m not telling you what exactly it was, but I can tell you she’s not in danger.” Bayley is smart. She must know that he’d literally torture the information out of her if it had anything to do with Solana’s safety.

“It was just…some stuff about her past. I think it may have been too much, and she decided to get drunk to not think about it.” Naomi’s suggestion makes sense and pans out, but Roman can’t stop thinking about just what she shared with them.

Was it the rape? But why? He remembers her terror in the locker room that day, the fear and pain in her eyes and voice as she pleaded with him to not make her talk about it. It doesn’t make sense why she would suddenly share it.

Even with how close she seems to them.

“Just leave.”

Roman will deal with them later. Right now, his priority is getting Solana settled.

They seem to know better than to push his patience, asking that he at least keep them updated on how she’s doing in the morning.

He neither agrees or disagrees. It’ll heavily depend on how fucked up Solana is.

Once they’re gone, Roman walks into the living room to find her laid on the sofa, eyes glazed over from her drunkenness but that same beautiful smile on her just as beautiful face.

“Solana.” She’s so gone that it makes him wonder even more again just how upset she must have been. “I need to get you to bed.”

He needs sleep too, feeling the length and weight of the day starting to take a toll.

She’s protesting almost right away. “I’m not t–tired.”

“Maybe not, but you will be tomorrow.” Roman knows she’s in for one hell of a hangover.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sleep.” She’s almost pouting, brows caved together as she stumbles through more words. Solana suddenly stands up, and he naturally moves closer to her, noticing the almost sway she does onto the floor. “I just—have bad dreams and—and you’re just—just gonna leave once I sleep anyw—way.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks. Getting answers from a drunk person usually isn’t the best or smartest thing in the world, but something tells Roman that Solana is the type of drunk person who ends up spilling secrets. And he’s certain there’s a lot she’s probably still keeping in.

She then issues an unexpected accusation. “You—you’re—you’re gonna go be with Samantha—that’s who you want.”

Roman finds her question slightly ironic considering he’s been letting Samantha think she got away with whatever disrespectful shit she said to Solana on the Night of Champions. He’s letting her think she’s safe and waiting for the right moment to set her ass straight, Nia tagging along to deliver the physical message he can’t.

“Af–after all.” Solana continues, surprising him with her openness that’s most definitely fueled by her inebriation. “Why—why would you want me?” She points to herself, voice taking on a softer, vulnerable tone. “Why—why would anyone want me?”

He’s silent for a good minute, sitting on such a heavy question. “Is that really what you think?” It’s asked in a low voice, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s more him thinking aloud or if he genuinely wants to know if that is how she really views herself.

She shakes her head, nodding in a way that further signifies how drunk she is. “It’s like you said, I’m mentally u–unstable.”

For a second, Roman’s confused, but he quickly thinks back to their wedding night, to his hurtful words to her. Words he’d give anything to take back now.

With an almost frown, he acknowledges his fault. “I was wrong to say that to you, Solana. You are not that.” Truthfully, with all she’s been through, even if she was, he couldn’t fault her.

With a family like hers, she never had a fucking chance.

Solana seems almost confused by his apology, taking him back with the next thing that leaves her mouth. “Is it—is it true you—you said my name when you were with S—samantha?”

He definitely wasn’t expecting that, has no idea how she even knows that. Is that what Samantha told her in the bathroom? Why would she? It does nothing to make her look good. Regardless, drunk or not, Roman sticks with his word that he won’t lie to her.

“Yes.”

Even drunk, he can tell how shocked she is by his admission. Shaking her head, she says either to herself or him—he can’t really tell. “I—I don’t get it.” Before he can say anything else, she starts on this train of self-hatred. “She’s pretty and—and—skinny and—she’s not—broken like me.”

That does something to him, Roman moving closer to bring one hand to the small of her back and the other to her face. “You’re not broken, Solana.”

“Yes–yes, I am. You don’t—you don’t know what—what happened to me.” Her bottom lip trembles as she shakes her head, hands on his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do what—what she does—can’t—give you t–that.”

He shifts his hand to the back of her head, forcing her blurry gaze to stay on him. “Baby….” It tears him the fuck up hearing her acknowledge the lingering trauma he’s certain she’ll always carry to some extent, but even more to hear how lowly she really thinks of herself. “I don’t—”

“I can’t—I can’t because—” Her voice cracks, her eyes focused everywhere but him as she almost comes to this heartbreaking realization that her drunkenness briefly helped her escape these thoughts that have now returned. “—b–because they r–raped me, and now I don’t—I don’t know how—how to be with anyone.” She gasps and sniffles, shaking her head. “I should—should have f��fought h-harder—”

“Don’t you ever fucking say that, you hear me?” Roman’s voice somehow contains all the conviction yet gentleness he can muster. Hearing her even think that makes him feel something he can’t fully describe. It’s heavy as fuck though. “You were a child, Solana. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were a kid.” He has to say it again, because that’s the hardest part in all of this, knowing how young she was. “You should have been protected, and you weren’t, and I’m going to make sure every son of a bitch involved in what happened to you pays for that shit. I promise you that. The same way that I promise with my life, I’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She’s clearly taken back by his words, by his vow. “I don’t—I don’t—understand w–why? Why—why would you do that?”

Roman isn’t sure he has an answer for that specifically, but he does have something else he can provide her, a small part of him knowing, hoping maybe, there’s very little from tonight she remembers come tomorrow morning.

“Because someone needs to protect you.” Roman swallows, adding before he even realizes what he’s saying. “Because I don’t want Samantha.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, intentionally wiping her tears. “I want you.”

And suddenly, it’s so much easier to say it aloud, to voice to her what he still doesn’t entirely understand, why he feels drawn to her in ways he doesn’t understand. There’s a connection almost, a connection of mutual loss that’s formed some sort of bridge Roman is unsure just when he started crossing

She looks more stunned at his admission than anything else he’s ever said to her. Still, she seems to try to discredit him. “But—but she—”

“She’s not you.” His voice unintentionally softens. “No one’s like you.”

Selfishly, he hopes she doesn’t remember much or any of this conversation, less painful for her, more time for him to figure out what it is about this woman that he feels so deeply drawn to.

Again, she tries to downplay her worth. “I can’t—I can’t—give you what you need.”

And somehow he knows exactly what she means. What she’s referring to.

“I don’t need that from you.” Truth be told, he doesn’t want to need anything from her. Needing anything in general has never been his thing. He just knows that, for some reason, he wants her around.

He likes having her around him.

She’s blinking again and places her hand against her head, sharing, “my h–head hurts.” It’s not an intentional deflection, he’s certain, but it’s appreciated.

This is a much deeper conversation than he anticipated having tonight.

“You need to get to bed. The sooner you can start sleeping this off, the better.” He eyes her skeptically, asking, “can you walk?”

He should have already known the answer, because the minute she tries to pull away from him to walk, she sways almost immediately, Roman going right back to holding her. “Come here.” He expects her to tense up as he moves to lift her up bridal style, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look confused, clearly overwhelmed with all of her emotions.

Roman doesn’t say anything as he carries her up the stairs and doesn’t think twice about taking her to his room instead of hers.

He needs to monitor her tonight, and that’s easier done with her in his room.

She looks around still confused but doesn’t say anything as Roman lowers her down on the edge of his bed. Naturally, he’s on one knee before her.

“I’m gonna take these off.” He refers to her heels which could largely be a contributing factor for her to inability to walk. She nods, and he quickly unstraps and tosses the heels to the side. “Do you want to change?”

She nods and then adds, “I don’t have—my clothes….”

Roman is at his dresser, pulling out a shirt that he reaches to her. “You can wear this for tonight.”

She accepts it from him, turning to walk to the bathroom, Roman relieved to see the removal of her heels helps her to at least make it without falling.

While she’s changing, he heads back downstairs to get Dulce.

He knows she’s used to sleeping with Solana and will probably throw a fit or spend the night crying if that doesn’t happen, so a small sacrifice is made as he also brings up Dulce’s bed from the living room and places it on the side of his bed.

One night of her sleeping in his room won’t kill him.

It’s then that Solana walks out the bathroom, changed out of her dress and her face free from the makeup.

“I washed my face….hope that was o–okay.”

“It’s fine, Solana.” Roman is half expecting to have to instruct her to lay down, but she again stays with the theme of surprises tonight and walks over to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in.

He’s again ready to explain that he’ll be in the guest room across the hall but will be available if she needs anything. He’ll still be checking in on her occasionally, regardless.

But, before he can explain as such, she asks in the softest, most vulnerable voice, “will you lay with me?”

It’s an extremely unexpected question with an easy answer.

Roman’s answer is to move into the bed with her, half expecting her to freak out in one way or another. This close proximity is so unlike her, a complete contrast to what she’s usually comfortable with.

However, what he doesn’t expect is the way Solana moves her body close against his, pressing herself into his side, arm over his stomach and head on his chest.

In a switching of roles, Roman is the one to initially tense. This is more physical contact than they’ve ever had, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that if not for the alcohol in her system, she’d have a fucking meltdown touching him this much.

But in her drunken, highly intoxicated state, that’s not an issue. She wants to be close to him, wants to be pressed up against him.

She’s looking for comfort.

And truthfully, he wants it too. Roman likes the feel of her next to him, actually uses his other arm to tug her closer, noticing how she adjusts her head on his chest.

Her hand is planted against his chest, and he starts to tell her to rest, to encourage her to sleep this off. But, she once again beats him to it, asking yet another question.

“Why—why are you doing this?”

To be fair, Roman only answers her truthfully because he’s betting on her being so close to the edge of sleep that the chances of her remembering this rare shred of vulnerability are slim to none.

“Because—because I know what it’s like to not have anyone.” There’s a sense of hesitation and discomfort as he verbalizes what he’s never once openly discussed with anyone. “Because I didn’t just lose my mom when I was ten. I lost my entire family. My parents. My aunt. My uncle. And all of my siblings. I—I was the only one who made it out alive that night, and I spent years not knowing why, why I was left alone.”

Roman doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t want people feeling fucking sorry for him. He never has. But the way Solana lifts her head to look at him is a look of something else, something that likens understanding and compassion.

The latter of which is almost an unfamiliar concept.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry.” She lays her head back against his chest, moving even closer. She then murmurs into him, almost reassuringly, “you don’t—you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Roman doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn’t.

He says nothing.

________

Waking up in Roman’s bed wearing only his shirt is the last thing Solana expects along with the fact that the minute her eyes open, she’s hit with instant throbbing of her head.

She winces, confused about so many things as she forces herself to sit up, mind immediately wandering to a single question.

Where is Roman?

Her question is easily answered when she spots the notebook on his nightstand. She reaches for it, squinted eyes reading over his words.

Solana,

I’m sorry I had to leave. I have a meeting with the Elders I, unfortunately, can’t miss. I’ll be back right after.

If not for that, I would have stayed with you.

You most likely won’t remember last night, but you got drunk. Very. You’re gonna wake up with a nasty hangover. Take the Aspirin. It’ll help.

I gave Dulce her breakfast and took her outside. She should be fine.

I also let your job know you’re not coming in today.

Rest.

Roman

There’s so much to process in such a straightforward letter. What did he mean by stay with her? Did—did they sleep in the same bed?

For some reason, that’s not as anxiety inducing as she imagined it would be. She doesn’t know the why or how, but it doesn't bring that heavy weight on her chest.

The drunk part triggers brief memories of the night prior. Bayley and Naomi. The celebration. Dancing. Fun. Happiness.

A switch.

At some point in the night, her mood shifted into something else. Solana remembers asking for a drink, but she doesn’t remember much after that. Glimpses. An almost sympathetic look from Roman. His arms around her. Him holding her.

It makes for a confusing story she doesn’t really have the wherewithal to deal with. She instead reaches over and swallows the Aspirin.

And she goes right back to sleep.

________

Roman finds himself completely bypassing his office, clearing his schedule, and moving his phone’s status to Do Not Disturb.

He’s not in the mood to deal with any of that shit today. At least not for a couple more hours. He needs to make sure Solana is situated first.

Thinking about her resurfaces his earlier level of anger at how the meeting with the Elders ended.

“What of the girl?”

This was the part of the hour meeting that caught his attention the most. Everything else was trivial and, in his opinion, a waste of time. But, it’s when Elder Aleki brings up Solana that Roman’s focus is recentered.

“What about her?”

He’s not stupid. Far from it. Roman knows exactly where this is headed. It was partially expected. What he didn’t expect was the anger that’s already brewing at just how Solana was referred to as ‘the girl.’

Aleki is bold with his questioning, jumping straight to the point. “Is she still not pregnant yet? It’s been almost four months.”

Roman’s jaw clenches, and he finds himself squeezing the armrest of his chair as he does his best to keep his voice somewhat subdued. “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

Another elder, Sione, decides to join in on this conversation that Roman is about to shut down in less than a minute. “Perhaps she should have another medical evaluation. By one of our doctors—”

“The hell she will.”

Rikishi shoots Roman a warning look, quietly, muttering an equally pleading, “language, Uce.”

Roman straight up ignores him. Rikishi still adheres to those outdated traditions that just because someone has more years on this earth than you that they automatically deserve respect. Fuck that. Roman gives respect when it’s earned, and Aleki and Sione have been on his shit list for years.

He’ll never forgive them for their behavior after the death of his family, their questioning of Roman’s birthright to the throne.

Aleki releases a heavy sigh, and Roman has to restrain himself from not bashing the old man’s head into the table. “All we’re saying is if she is incapable of producing a child to continue the Bloodline, then we have no use for her and should seek to find you a better—”

That’s when Roman has enough. To suggest Solana be examined again. which would no doubt be triggering as fuck for her, is one thing. But, it’s an entirely different thing for them to have the unmitigated gall to suggest he get rid of her.

Over his dead fucking body.

Roman shoots up from the chair. “My wife isn’t going anywhere nor is anyone at this fucking table going to make her do shit.”

Rikishi shoots more than just his subtle warning this time around. “Roman, please—”

Roman’s not trying to hear that shit from him, though. He’s not trying to hear shit from anyone.

“Our marriage is nobody’s fucking business but our own. That includes when she gets pregnant. We’ll share it when we want to.”

Truthfully speaking, this isn’t something Roman has thought much about, an intentional thing. The fact that the marriage was originally and solely arranged so that she could give him an heir is irrelevant to him right now, regardless of what they think.

That’s not a priority.

“You may be the Elders, but I sit at the head of the table.” The Bloodline has always been successful and profitable, but it’s no doubt exceeded any and all records and expectations since Roman became the head. That’s an indisputable fact. “Don’t fucking forget who made this table what it is today.”

The ending of the meeting is still playing in the back of his head like a bad song on repeat. If not for his semi level of respect and acknowledgement of their standing as Elders, he would have put a bullet in their heads the minute that disrespectful shit started leaving their mouths.

In no fucking universe is anyone taking Solana from him. He doesn’t give a flying fuck whatever the original reason was for their marriage. She’s his now, and nothing is changing that.

Roman makes active efforts to calm himself before walking back into the house. After last night, the last thing she needs is to be unintentionally triggered.

He finds her on the sofa, writing in her journal, Dulce right beside her sleeping peacefully without a care in the fucking world. Roman halfway expected her to be out back on the patio, a seemingly favorite spot of hers.

But the sunlight would no doubt exacerbate the remnants of her hangover he’s certain she’s still battling, so it makes sense she’s indoors. It’s when she looks up, noticing his presence that Roman also realizes she’s still only wearing his shirt.

For some strange reason, he likes that. Likes seeing her in his clothes.

“Hey…”

“Hey.” Roman sits on the sofa opposite from her. He takes her in, watching her set her journal to the side and as he notices her hair is pulled up. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs, making a face that suggests some level of discomfort. “My head still kinda hurts, but I guess—that’s to be expected.” He starts to ask her if she’s drunk enough water, recognizing the importance of staying hydrated a night after heavy drinking, but she’s suddenly pleading with him almost. “Please don’t be upset with Bayley and Naomi. It’s not their fault.”

To be fair, he hadn’t thought about them until now. “They were supposed to watch you.”

“They did. I—I got back fine.” She seems almost worried for them, for their safety. He would never actually kill either woman. He’ll just probably never trust them to take Solana out again in life. But no murder would actually happen. Still, it’s the part where Solana says she got back fine that irks him. He does his best to mask that irritation though.

“You weren’t fine last night, Solana.” She was far from it, more emotional than he’s seen her in some time, if ever.

Her shoulders drop, almost in shame. “I don’t—I don’t remember much of it.”

He’s thankful for that. For the both of them. “You were upset.” It’s not a lie nor is it specific. It’s just the truth.

She then asks with almost hesitant curiosity. “W–what did I say?”

Roman shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t like being dismissive towards her, doesn’t like being dishonest, something he swore he wouldn’t do. But, she was an emotional wreck last night, and the last thing he wants is for her to go through all of those emotions yet again.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset.

But then she looks at him, studying him almost, a sad, almost tearful chuckle leaving her mouth. He watches as she brings her legs up to her chest and rests her chin against her knees. She asks, volume barely over a whisper, “I told you last night, didn’t I?” Roman realizes it’s less a question and more a heavy realization. “That—that I was raped. Didn’t I?”

It’s a bit of a lose–lose situation. Either he tells her no and risks her feeling bad for sharing something she didn’t have to or he confirms what she already knows and still feels not great.

They’re both shitty options, but he ultimately goes the route of honesty. “Yes.”

“It’s weird. I—” She looks away, eyes shutting for a minute before she unexpectedly explains, “I’ve been—I’ve been working out of this book for people who were…assaulted like me, and I’m–at the part where its recommended I tell at least one person because—because it’s not healthy to keep it to myself.”

Roman knows exactly what book she’s talking about. It was the key that led to him figuring out just what happened to her. That still fucks with him. Still makes him fill with silent rage at her piece of shit family letting that happen to her.

“You’re now the first person I’ve ever told.” Roman hates that even more.. Hates that someone like him is who she ended up breaking her silence with. He wishes it was either Bayley or Naomi. They’re much better at this sort of thing. The feelings thing. “I don’t—I don’t like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to.” He isn’t sure he’d be able to control his anger hearing details, hearing anything about it to be honest, not coming from her. His rage would be intractable.

She nods, almost appreciatively. “That's why sex is—it’s hard for me.” He fully understands that, and a small part of him hates how he tried to initiate that with her on their wedding night. He figured her nerves were because of her naturally anxious personality. Never once did it cross his mind that it was because of something much darker. “And it’s not—it’s not like I don’t think about it sometimes, about being close to someone like that, I do.” This piece does surprise him, but he works hard not to think too much about it right now. He wants to be in this moment with her. “ I—I have. But, every time I try, I just—I get flashbacks, and I can’t.” She ends on an almost whisper, Roman’s stomach tightening as she quickly wipes at a tear.

He doesn’t like seeing her cry.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Solana.” Not him or anyone else, for that matter.

She doesn’t say anything for a good minute before asking, “what happens now?”

That’s a great fucking question, and he almost has the same towards a lot of things. He’s curious though what she’s specifically referring to. “What do you mean?”

Solana seems almost frightened as she asks, “are you—are you gonna send me back to my father?”

Yeah, he could have never in a million years guessed that. “Why would you ever think I would do that?”

And he suddenly hates asking, hates seeing the way the emotion builds back up. “I’m not—not a virgin, and—” Her eyes close, her grip around her legs tightening. “You….you only married me because—”

“I don’t care about that.” This is his second time today having to face some level of this discussion, but this round is significantly gentler. Roman does his best to illustrate the conviction in his voice while also being mindful of her emotions. “What do you want, Solana?”

He has no idea what she’s going to say, but he does know for a fact he would never send her back to that hellhole. It would be like sending her to her own death.

She seems to really think about his question, think about something he’s certain she’s never had a lot of.

Options.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she answers. “I want to stay here.” Roman’s unsure why he feels a small sense of relief at her answer, like anything other than that would have made him uncomfortable or upset. Solana wets her lips, continuing, “I like—I like living here.” And in an even smaller voice, she adds, “I like being with you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. Roman is certain it’s because they’re both trying to process and register what this may mean, what this new piece of information means for them moving forward.

Roman sits forward and motions with his index and middle finger. “Come here.”

He sees it instantly. The initial hesitation, the brief flash of fear, but it’s gone before he can offer reassurance. Solana lowers her legs and walks over to him, Dulce remaining sleeping and unmoving. Not once does Roman remove his gaze from her as he takes her hand, giving a gentle tug to guide her down on the sofa next to him. He slides his arm behind her, holding her body against him, his tattooed forearm across her stomach.

Roman watches the way her eyes close, recognizes that she’s trying to manage her emotions. He sees the little nod she gives herself, as if assuring herself that she’s safe. And he swears he sees her mouth as such.

Mouth the word ‘safe.’

Solana moves her hands to his forearm, as if holding onto him for some sense of comfort.

He does his best to reassure her. “Relax…”And it seems to do something to help her, offering such a simple yet strong form of solace. “I’d never send you back there. Ever.” And that’s a fucking promise. “You’ll stay here. With me.”

“I’m—” Her voice is less emotional than before. It’s still there, but he can tell it's waning with each second that passes, her comfort level growing. “I’m supposed to give you an heir. What if—what if people start—”

“I’ll take care of it.” And he will. He already started with the Elders earlier today, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She angles her head up to look at him. “But—”

Roman brings his hand to her face, gently palming her cheek. “I’ll take care of it.” He moves his thumb over the apple of her cheek and part of her scar. “Alright?”

Solana nods with her acknowledgement but says nothing else as she lays back against him. He notices the absence of tension and discomfort. She’s fully relaxed against him, and Roman acts more out of instinct than anything as he presses lips against her temple for a brief kiss, still mindful of her comfort level. “I’ve got you…”

Everything happening in the past few minutes has been both unexpected and confusing, but there’s nothing confusing about the way Solana suddenly turns her body into him, laying her head on his chest. He watches her eyes close, signifying another layer of fear being peeled back.

He sits there for who knows how long with her, holding her, noticing the slight rise and fall of her body against his, a sign that she’s fallen asleep. He lets her sleep, lets her rest, lets her stay close to him, under him, with him.

Roman thinks back on his question to her about what she wanted. He’s not sure what he would have said if she said she wanted to leave, because the truth of the matter is that Roman’s starting to think that he couldn’t let her go.

That he can’t.

Even if she wanted to leave.

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

271 notes · View notes

supernova2205 · 11 days ago

Text

Hearts Crossroads

Ghost x reader to Soap x reader

Summary: Caught in the aftermath of a heartbreak, you find yourself torn between the lingering shadow of Ghost and the steady, presence of Johnny. As the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur, you realize that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting the past.

The arrangement was simple. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. No strings, no promises—just late nights and quiet mornings with Simon. It wasn’t supposed to matter when his touch lingered too long or when his gravelly voice softened just enough to make your chest ache. You knew better than to want more from him, but lately, it was impossible to ignore the way your heart raced when his eyes held yours a second too long.

You hated yourself for it.

Simon wasn’t the kind of man who gave himself away easily. You knew that from the start. But somewhere along the way, in between the guarded moments he let you see and the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, you’d convinced yourself there might be something more to him—something more for you.

It was late when your phone buzzed.

Simon💀♥️: On my way.

A familiar pang shot through your chest as you stared at the message. You’d seen this play out too many times before, and yet, you still unlocked your door and waited. When he arrived, he didn’t speak much, just stepped inside and shrugged off his jacket. He had that look about him tonight—the kind of weariness that dug deep into your bones.

“Rough night?” you asked softly, passing him a drink like you always did.

He nodded, collapsing onto the couch. “Something like that.”

He didn’t offer anything else, and you didn’t push. That was the unspoken rule: he could come here to escape, and you wouldn’t ask for more than he was willing to give. But tonight, the silence between you felt heavier than usual.

“You don’t always have to keep it to yourself, you know,” you said, hesitantly reaching for his arm.

His gaze flicked to your hand before meeting your eyes. For a second, something vulnerable flashed across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice distant.

Fine. Always fine.

You nodded, pulling back. “Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. And as you lay awake that night, long after Simon had slipped out of your apartment, you wondered how much longer you could keep doing this.

The next morning, you decided to take the leap you’d been avoiding for weeks. Simon was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt on, when you finally found the courage to speak.

“Simon, wait.”

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard. “I was wondering if you’d… maybe want to go out sometime. Like, a proper date.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than you anticipated. Simon’s expression didn’t change at first, but then his jaw tightened, and you knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.

“You know that’s not what this is.”

Your heart sank. “I know, but—”

“It’s not a good idea,” he said, cutting you off. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. Final. “I’m not the kind of guy you want to date.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “Why not? What’s so wrong with wanting more?”

His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, you thought he might actually explain. But instead, he stood up and grabbed his jacket. “You deserve someone who can give you more,” he said, his back to you. “I’m not that person.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the hollow ache in your chest.

It was Johnny who finally pulled you out of the fog. He found you in the mess hall a few days later, poking at a cold plate of food with a faraway look in your eyes.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

“Don’t give me that,” he said. “You’ve been walking around like a ghost all week.”

You winced at the unintentional irony. “It’s stupid.”

“Doesn’t look stupid to me.” His voice softened. “Come on, talk to me.”

You hesitated, but there was something about Johnny that made it hard to keep things bottled up. So you told him—everything. About Simon, about the arrangement, about how you’d tried to ask for more and how he’d shut you down.

Johnny didn’t interrupt, just listened with a seriousness you weren’t used to seeing from him. When you finished, he let out a long breath, shaking his head.

“That bloody idiot,” he muttered.

A startled laugh escaped you. “Johnny, it’s not his fault.”

“Not his fault?” Johnny’s brows shot up. “He’s the one who had something good handed to him on a silver platter, and he just… tossed it away? No, that’s on him, not you.”

You looked down at your hands, twisting them in your lap. “Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe I’m better off without him.”

Johnny leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as his blue eyes fixed on yours. “You don’t believe that.”

You wanted to argue, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you. Johnny reached out and gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “Tell you what,” he said, his tone lighter now, “why don’t we go out tonight? Just the two of us. Get your mind off all this for a bit.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, lass,” he urged. “You can’t sit around moping forever. Besides, you know I’m great company.”

That earned him a small smile. “Alright. Fine. But if you start singing karaoke, I’m leaving.”

Johnny grinned. “No promises.”

The bar was loud and bustling, filled with the kind of energy that made it easy to forget your troubles for a while. True to his word, Johnny kept you laughing all night, whether it was with his terrible jokes or his exaggerated stories about life in the SAS. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

That was, until you saw him.

Simon was at the far end of the bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand. He wasn’t alone. A woman with dark curls and a red dress stood close to him, laughing at something he said. Her hand rested casually on his arm, and the sight of it sent a sharp pang through your chest.

You froze, your laughter dying in your throat. Johnny noticed immediately, his gaze following yours. When he saw Simon, his jaw tightened.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, already reaching for your coat.

“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, his voice quiet but firm.

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to speak. The last thing you wanted was to fall apart in the middle of the bar.

Simon noticed you before you could leave. His eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was something in his expression—guilt? Regret?—but you didn’t stay long enough to find out.

Outside, the cold night air stung your cheeks as you walked quickly down the street. Johnny caught up to you, grabbing your arm gently to stop you.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Johnny said, his voice firm but kind. “Don’t shut me out.”

You took a shaky breath, finally meeting his gaze. “I don’t know why it hurts so much. I knew what this was. I knew he didn’t feel the same way, but seeing him with her…” Your voice cracked, and you looked away.

Johnny’s expression softened. “It’s not stupid to feel like this, you know. You cared about him. That’s not something you can just switch off.”

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

Johnny hesitated, his hand still resting on your arm. “Because you deserve it,” he said quietly.

There was something in his tone that made your chest tighten, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Let’s get you home,” Johnny said after a moment, his hand dropping back to his side.

Simon didn’t know why he cared. He’d told himself this was what he wanted—that pushing you away was the right thing to do. But seeing you with Johnny tonight, the way you laughed and leaned into him, made something twist painfully in his chest.

He stayed at the bar long after you left, nursing his drink and ignoring the woman still trying to get his attention. Her voice grated against his nerves, every laugh reminding him of what he’d given up. Finally, he muttered some excuse and left, his thoughts a tangled mess as he walked aimlessly through the city.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on you—your warmth, your patience, your quiet understanding—until it was gone. And now, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

A few days later, Simon showed up at your door. You weren’t expecting him, and the sight of him standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets and an uncharacteristically uncertain look on his face, caught you off guard.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I needed to see you,” he said, his voice low.

You frowned. “Why? So you can tell me again how I deserve better?”

He flinched at the bitterness in your tone but didn’t back down. “I made a mistake,” he admitted. “I thought I was protecting you by keeping my distance, but all I did was hurt you.”

Your chest tightened, anger and heartbreak swirling together. “You don’t get to do this, Simon. You don’t get to push me away and then show up like nothing happened.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I needed you to know that I care about you. More than I ever let on.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Why now?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Not to Johnny, not to anyone.”

The mention of Johnny made your heart ache. “Johnny’s been there for me in ways you never were,” you said quietly. “He didn’t make me feel like I was asking for too much.”

Simon looked away, his shoulders slumping. “I know. And I don’t deserve another chance, but… I want one anyway.”

You stared at him, torn between the part of you that still loved him and the part that wanted to protect yourself.

“I need time,” you finally said.

Simon nodded, his eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen before: hope. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”

Simon’s words lingered in your mind long after he left, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to confront. But it wasn’t just Simon you were thinking about anymore—it was Johnny.

Over the past few weeks, Johnny had been there for you in ways that no one else had. He didn’t just distract you from the pain; he made you feel seen, valued, and safe. It wasn’t the grand gestures or the constant laughter that stuck with you—it was the small things. The way he remembered your favorite drink without asking. The way he knew when to push and when to just sit in silence. The way his gaze softened every time he looked at you, like you were the most important person in the room.

You didn’t know when it started, but you were beginning to see Johnny differently. The warmth in his eyes didn’t feel like friendship anymore, and the way your heart fluttered when he smiled at you felt new and terrifying all at once.

One night, after a particularly long day, Johnny showed up at your door with takeout and a sheepish grin.

“Figured you could use some company,” he said, holding up the bags.

You smiled, stepping aside to let him in. “You figured right.”

The two of you settled on the couch, the food forgotten as you talked about everything and nothing. For the first time in a while, you felt light, like the weight you’d been carrying wasn’t yours alone anymore.

At some point, the conversation lulled, and you found yourself watching him. His blue eyes sparkled with an easy warmth, his laughter fading into a soft smile as he looked back at you.

“What?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the look in his eyes told you he didn’t believe you.

Johnny leaned back, studying you with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he said. “Whatever this is… we can take it slow. No pressure, no expectations. Just… see where it goes.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t asking for more than you could give—he was just offering to meet you where you were.

“Okay,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile. “Slow sounds good.”

Johnny’s grin widened, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you were moving toward something instead of away from it. Maybe this wasn’t where you thought you’d end up, but as Johnny’s hand brushed against yours and the warmth of his presence settled over you, you realized that maybe, just maybe, it was exactly where you were meant to be.

And for now, that was enough.

Authors note: I really appreciate your patience, everyone! It means so much to me. I've been quite busy lately, but I was finally able to sit down and write this. Please feel free to leave a comment with any suggestions for what you’d like to see next. Thank you to each and every one of you for your ongoing support—I have little shrines of gratitude for all of you!🫶🏼

108 notes · View notes

lchufflepuffcorn · 17 days ago

Text

Matebond!Aemond: thoughts

More Dragon!Hybrid thoughts because I just CANNOT not think about it.

Masterlist

Dragon!Hybrid Masterlist

Requests are open!!

I do not own this GIF; it belongs to its creator.

Warnings: None, no pronouns used for the reader.

Aemond didn’t have the luxury of having his father explain to him every perk of his hereditary gift. At first, he hadn’t had those perks at all. Was the death of his aunt linked to his newfound powers? Who knows? Certainly not Aemond. And to be fair, Aemond didn’t feel like he had a father, most of the time, anyway.

So meeting you, and the feeling of absolute need to have you hit him like a fucking stack of stones. And it scared him. Sure, you would be staying with him from now on (either you're his knight or his fiancé(e), or something), but at the same time, not having you with him sends him into fits of rage rarely seen from him.

Nowhere could Aemond find any information on what he was feeling. Not the library, not his father; he wouldn’t be caught dead asking Rhaenyra about it either. His very last option is Rhaenys. And she’s not much more help. But now, at least, Aemond knows what plagues him. A mate-bound.

I’d imagine a romance with Aemond would be very tumultuous. Not much because of the sexual tension; Aemond has a very weird way to see sexuality, I’d imagine. More so because Aemond is emotionally constipated (it’s really not his fault; he didn’t have the greatest family to grow up in!!). But Emoting™ to the extent Aemond emotes when you’re with him, or concerned, is the most he has since forever.

Every time you smile, Aemond cannot help but to smirk too. He particularly likes to give you things, just to see the smile it’ll bring to your lips. He will give you anything you ask for, you yearn for. Or anything you look at for more than five seconds, really…

It would start as something he cannot fully control:

There’s that cape of yours that flies behind you as you walk. It’s maddening. Aemond can only think about how the fabric touches back on your skin and how coarse it seems. He should be training. But his eye is trained on your form instead. The way you move captivates him more than anything Sir Criston could tell him.

You haven’t been with him long, not enough for Aemond to comprehend how you can consume his every thought. Your mere presence around him is a liability, but sending you away... the thoughts only make him flinch. He likes having you watch him, knowing that your eyes are on him, only him. Aemond has to reposition himself, having lifted his head and chest so he would appear greater yet again. Not a battle position. Aemond also ignored the quizzical glance Criston sent his way.

And then changes as something natural as time passes:

Aemond lay, his head resting against your heart, listening to the soft thumps-thumps-thumps it made. He rarely got late mornings where he could enjoy you like this. His tail resting against your legs, rounding behind them like a cord, making it impossible for you to flee. Not that you would. It’s rare for him to show his dragon's parts. He’s always on edge. But now, his hands have talons, scales that start dark and end in the same color as his usual skin near his elbows. He resists the urge to draw shapes on your arms, where the clothes have rolled up as you laid there.

He relished in the silence, the soft breaths you exhale, resting your eyes, as you said earlier.

“You can’t fall asleep, my love.” He reminded you in a soft, sweet voice. You answered him with a simple, quiet hum. Aemond knows he’s warm. Warmer than any human could be without fevers, warmer than he ever dreamt he could become as a child. And even if he reminds you of your future engagements, part of him is proud to make it so difficult for you.

There’s something akin to a purr that wants to get out of his throat. He dislikes that sound, usually. It makes him feel like a child, and it reminds him that his mother finds the sound annoying.

Would you find it annoying?

The thought disappears instantly when you run a hand through his hair.

#x reader #x reader imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #dragon imagine #dragon!hybrid Targaryen imagines #dragon!Aemond x reader #DH!targaryen #Aemond targaryen x reader #LCH thougths #dragon!hybrid!targaryens

68 notes · View notes

obwjam · 3 months ago

Text

a small surprise (gravity falls g/t!)

aka when you fall back down the gravity falls rabbit hole and before you know it you're brainstorming every possible g/t idea...

and then you end up with something like this: ford's borrower friend is left alone and confused when a mysterious force jolts them awake one night... and discovers that the author of the journals has a mysterious twin brother

s/o to @pocket-lad for all the ramblings about giant stans and for fostering this idea with me -- check out their take on this!!

part 2

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

Jay had never felt tremors like this before.

She thought the earth was about to split open and swallow her whole with how intensely her world shook. Of course she had felt earthquakes before – or what she thought were earthquakes. Ford had tried to explain it a million times, and Jay pretended to get it around explanation No. 837,382 so she wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.

But that was ages ago. Ford had gotten pretty much impossible to talk to after the whole triangle worshiping thing, and after Fiddleford quit, the house had fallen into an intense state of disrepair. Jay still lived here, of course, because it was warm and safe and Ford still remembered to leave food and water out for her. But anytime she tried to talk to him, he would look at her like he was hallucinating. He probably was.

It had been a few weeks since the two had actually spoken face to face. She felt uncomfortable trying to get through to someone who clearly wasn’t himself anymore. But this – earthquake, whatever it was – was enough to scare her to the point where she was afraid of being alone. She at least had to ask Ford what had happened; even if he was delusional most of the time, she knew him well enough that she could glean some sort of answer from his ramblings.

Careful not to trip over fallen objects, Jay made her way from her little hiding spot upstairs to the small pulley system Ford helped her construct to get down to the bunker. That had taken a lot of convincing, since Ford didn’t understand why he couldn’t just carry her down with him every time – “It’s much more practical!” he would say, dramatically pointing his finger up in the air – but she eventually persuaded him because he liked a challenge. It worked just as lowering a bucket into a well did, a simple enough mechanism that Jay could use herself no matter what. Ford was always fascinated by her raw strength.

The house was dark and quiet – nothing new – but there was an eerie feeling in the air that Jay just couldn’t shake. Something felt… wrong. Ford’s presence was easily felt, and Jay couldn’t sense him anywhere. The only sound was the snowstorm battering against the thin glass windows, making the wood creak and shake but nothing more. With one hand, Jay clutched the sewing needle that served as her protection. The other was pressed behind her back, ready to fend off anything from behind. It didn’t make her feel much better.

“What did you do now, Ford…” Jay muttered to herself, eyes darting left and right. It was hard to make out much of anything, but the usual controlled chaos of the main floor felt skewed, and it was clear to see from up on the table. Maybe once she got to her makeshift elevator, she’d start to feel better.

But she stopped short of the bunker’s entrance, because a sudden noise scared the living daylights out of her. She flung her needle forward, but nothing was in her immediate vicinity. She cautiously lowered the weapon, and it didn’t take long for her eyes to find the source. Standing in the center of the main room, staring intently at the journal like it was his last remaining possession on Earth, was…

“Ford?”

Ford froze, stiff as a board. Jay swallowed the lump in her throat. He was probably pissed at her.

“Ford…” Jay paused. She didn’t really think about what she would say if – when – she finally saw him. “What–what happened? Is everything okay? It’s–”

She was cut off abruptly when Ford turned around, and Jay’s stomach dropped so fast she thought it might take her through the floor. He – this man – he had Ford’s face, but this was not him. The hair was all wrong (he had a mullet, for Christ’s sake). The posture. The clothes. The look in his glasses-less eyes as he stared right at her. This wasn’t him. Jay was baffled. Did he do something to himself? Is this just what he looked like now? Could he really have changed that much in a few weeks?

Not-Ford blinked, then blinked again. His mouth hung slightly agape, and his eyes were blown wide. He looked dirty and tired, but most pressing, he looked mad. Mad at Jay.

“What the…”

Not-Ford’s gruff, hoarse voice was the final nail in the coffin. Ford didn’t sound like that. Even when he was losing his mind, he spoke with a surprising amount of authority. He was just like that. This man… he sounded lost.

The reality of the situation hit Jay like a freight train. Slowly, she held her hands up and began to back away, like she was retreating from an animal. Whether this was some weird, alternate version of Ford or a complete stranger, it didn’t change the fact that she was being seen.

Jay was quick. Not-Ford was quicker.

At a blinding speed that Jay would never get used to from humans, Not-Ford had grabbed a jar from an adjacent table and slammed it on top of her, eliciting a very high-pitched scream. She jumped when a piece of paper replaced the wood of the table underneath her feet, and in just a few seconds, her world turned upside down. Literally. She was flipped to the bottom of the jar as Not-Ford brought her shaking form up to eye level.

“What the hell are you?” That rough voice was distorted through thick glass, but still terrifying. “And what the hell do you know about my brother?”

Jay almost choked. Brother? Ford had never mentioned a brother.

“Wh–who–where’s Ford?” Jay barely had the courage to speak.

“Oh, it talks,” Not-Ford sounded intrigued for a moment. “What, are you one of his experiments gone wrong? You’re so… tiny.”

Jay opened her mouth to respond, but her words died in her throat when Not-Ford – Ford’s brother, apparently – tilted the jar to the side, causing her to fall to the side with an unceremonious oof. He was observing her, like some caged animal. She tried to regain her footing, but failed miserably each time. Her legs felt like they were still stuck in those tremors. She wanted to yell at him to stop, but she could barely get air in her lungs as she was swirled around like water going down a drain.

“Huh,” Not-Ford said, going still after what felt like a million years. “Did my brother do this to you?”

Jay stumbled and tilted her head. “Do–do what?”

“What do you mean, do what. Make you tiny.”

“Make me – no, he didn’t make me tiny,” Jay shot back, almost insulted. She felt the anger boil up inside of her when Not-Ford almost smiled.

“Oh, man, you really got the short end of the stick, then. Literally.”

Despite herself, Jay rolled her eyes. Height jokes. Very original.

“L–look, I don’t know who you are, but–”

“Can it, pipsqueak!” Jay actually had to cover her ears at the sheer volume of his voice. “I’m asking the questions here. Did you help him with this – portal thing?”

The portal. The tremors. Jay’s eyes widened. No. He didn’t…

Ford’s brother evidently understood her look of recognition. “Ah, so you do know about it. Well, you’re gonna help me fix it.”

“Wh–” Jay didn’t get a chance to speak as he swung the jar to his side. She flew into the side, and she tried to ignore the way her arm crunched under the pressure. The world whizzed by underneath her feet, and she could barely keep her balance with the way Not-Ford was lumbering around. Looks like she was getting a ride down to the bunker after all.

Jay’s mind raced with ways she could get herself out of this. As badly as she wanted to figure out what happened to Ford, she didn’t care to have this guy help her. She could easily find Ford by herself. Maybe she could try to find Fiddleford, too, but for all Jay knew, he was halfway across the world at this point, so that was probably a fruitless effort. He was very adamant about quitting when he left that night, which always made Jay sad whenever she thought about it. She sorely missed his calm demeanor and gentleness with her. She liked spending time with Ford, but at the end of the day, he had a tendency to regard her as some kind of scientific marvel, not a fully functioning person. Fiddleford never seemed to care. He just wanted to make sure she was safe and happy.

A harsh jolt brought Jay back to reality. Oh. Right. Not-Ford. Ford’s crazy brother. It had taken her a bit to notice, but Not-Ford’s hands were shaking. And the anger… it didn’t seem like he was mad at her. That made no sense; the only crime she was guilty of was knowing Ford. But the way he spoke about Ford – like he wasn’t here right now – and how the portal needed fixing, and he wanted help doing it… what exactly happened?

“Stupid secret bunker… stupid portal… stupid brother…” Not-Ford muttered. He was glancing behind him, as if Ford would pop out at any moment and yell surprise!

Not-Ford definitely got discombobulated, but he eventually found his way back to the control room. He threw the jar onto the main control panel, and Jay shut her eyes, hoping the sensation of moving would fade away quickly.

“Alright, short stuff,” Not-Ford said gruffly, slamming a journal in front of her. “Tell me how to turn this thing on.”

Jay started blankly at the journal. It wasn’t even opened to the correct section, and she could barely see over the horizon of the pages.

Not-Ford grunted. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Tiny people can read, right?”

“Wh–what makes you think I can do anything?” Jay managed to choke out. It had worked on Ford when they first met; using her diminutive size to her advantage. She had wriggled out of so many things she didn’t want to do by playing the useless card.

Ford’s brother stopped. He abruptly grabbed the jar, lifting it up to his dirty, unhappy face. Jay gasped and inched back until her head softly hit the glass. Through the distortion of her clear prison, it looked like he was actually considering her words. If he was anything like Ford, it would work.

He was nothing like Ford.

“Heh, if you want to weasel your way out of this, you’re gonna have to try harder, tiny,” he smirked, placing the jar back in front of the journal.

Jay shook her head in disbelief. “But – what –” she paused. Trying to reason with him wouldn’t work. This guy clearly didn’t work like that. With wide eyes and trembling hands, Jay considered her next move. Her primary goal of getting the hell out of this jar didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon, and he obviously wasn't going to fall for a sob story. She could help him, but based on the way he’s been acting, he’d probably put her in a closet and forget about her as quickly as he found her. She looked up, trying to read Not-Ford through the warped glass. His hands were tightly wrapped around his waist, and his eyes darted nervously at every little sound. His demeanor didn’t match his tough-guy attitude one bit.

A lightbulb went off in Jay’s head: He’s desperate. And she could use that to her advantage.

“I’ll help you if you tell me what happened,” she said, sounding way less assertive than she wanted to. Not-Ford regarded her in something of a condescending curiosity before bursting out into laughter. Jay felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Why was he laughing? What was so funny? Oh, she shouldn’t have tried to play tough. She was in no position to negotiate.

“Trying to do this my way, huh?” Not-Ford leaned back in his seat. “Alright, I’ll play along.”

Jay was stunned silent.

“Go ahead, ask me what you wanna know. But don’t think about trying to be slick, because I have no problem shaking you around like a martini.”

It took her a second to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t planning on conning him, because she knew the consequences, but it was interesting that Not-Ford defaulted to assuming the worst. There were a million things she wanted – needed – to ask, but he was volatile. She had to tread carefully. So she started simple.

“Wh… what’s your name? And are you really… Ford’s brother?”

“Name’s Stanley,” he said, brushing some loose hair from his face. “And yeah, Poindexter's my brother. We’re twins.”

“Twins…” Jay repeated. That’s why they looked identical, even down to their names. But why would Ford never say anything about it? “I… Ford never mentioned anything about having a twin.”

Stanley laughed. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. We haven’t seen each other in years. He was probably tryin’ to pretend I didn’t exist.”

Jay frowned. Stanley sounded miserable saying that out loud, and she didn’t need to ask to know what that meant.

“And what are you supposed to be? Some kind of fairy or something? I know Ford was into weird stuff, but this is just unnatural.”

Jay crossed her arms. “I’m a borrower.”

Stanley blinked. “You say that like I’m supposed to know what that is.”

“Well, it’s what… I am,” Jay said, gesturing to herself.

“Okay… so, what? You were Ford’s pet or something?”

“I was not – no!” Jay cried as that familiar sinking feeling entered her stomach. She was not about to do this again right now. “I am not a pet!”

“Okay, okay, yeesh,” Stanley said, throwing his hands up. “Sore subject, I see.”

“We were… friends,” Jay said cautiously. “He respected me. I think.”

“You think?” Stanley laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he did. He loves listening to other people. Especially when they’re the size of a doll.”

Jay felt the tears welling up in her eyes, but pushed past it. There were more pressing matters at hand than her feelings. “Where… where is Ford? What happened?”

Stanley froze, like all his bodily control was stolen from him. For a moment, he stared off into the distance, something flashing before his eyes that only he could see. If Jay didn’t know any better, she’d almost say he looked… embarrassed.

“I – he – we got into a fight,” Stanley said, hanging his head a bit. “One second, he was here, and the next, some wacky machine turns on and he’s bein’ pulled right into it! And I can’t get it back on, because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m the handsome twin, not the nerdy twin. So either you help me get this thing back on or I’ll–”

“Wait wait wait. He went through?”

“What, are your tiny ears incapable of hearing? That's what I just said!” Stanley cried.

Jay felt like she was going to throw up. Fiddleford walked out on site from what he saw inside that portal, and Ford went mad trying to make sure it was never used again. If he got pulled through…

“...he might not even be alive,” Jay whispered, her voice trembling as violently as her body.

Stanley leaned in, causing Jay to recoil. “What? You’re gonna have to talk louder than that, pipsqueak. I can barely hear you.”

“I said HE MIGHT BE DEAD!”

For a moment, Stanley’s face remained stoic. But it soon twisted into a cocktail of sadness, rage and annoyance, his eyes practically glowing red, staring straight through Jay’s soul.

Jay tensed up. Maybe that was a bad idea.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. F-forget I said anything,” Jay stammered, holding her hands up. She retreated – as if there was anywhere she could go. Stanley could kill her in 10,000 different ways, and she didn’t even want to speculate about any of them.

But instead of taking the jar, Stanley just sighed. “That’s right, tiny. I don’t wanna hear any of that. My brother may be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever known, but he is one tough son of a bitch and there is no way some – stupid gadget killed him!”

Jay opened her mouth, but stopped. Something piqued her interest.

“How… how much do you know about the portal?”

Stanley glared at her. “Nothing. That’s why I’ve resorted to asking some half-baked person to help me.”

“No, I mean… did Ford tell you anything about what it does?”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, though he sounded unsure. “Something about a universal gateway into unfathomable knowledge, blah blah, boring nerd stuff. Look, it doesn’t matter, just – tell me how to get it back on already, will ya?!”

“I don’t–!” Jay started to yell, but she took a breath. She couldn’t lose her cool. “I was here – around – I would watch when Ford and Fidds were working on it, but it’s not like I understood any of it.” Jay shut her eyes, waiting for blowback, some kind of retaliation. But it never came. Stanley just stared at her, eyes shaking. “Besides, if you only have one journal, you can’t… Ford wrote three journals, see, and they have to be combined to build it. Sort of a failsafe thing. Do you have the others?”

Stanley shook his head. “He told me he buried them or something. He didn’t want to turn that thing back on, I – I don’t even know what happened.”

There was a long stretch of silence after that. The two of them just stared at each other, unmoving. It was hard for Jay to put all the pieces together based on the limited useful information Ford told her after Fidds quit, but one thing was crystal clear – that portal should be shut down at all costs. Ford kept saying he was tricked, and using the portal again would destroy the universe. Jay believed him, too, because the kind of stuff he got himself into always seemed bigger than themselves. If Ford actually was taken through the portal, then that means it was turned on… and the universe was still here. No mass destruction, no end of humanity, no triangles. Everything seemed to be okay… except for the noticeable lack of Ford.

Ford. The first human she had ever talked to; one of the only beings on earth she considered to be her friend. Sure, he was obsessive, invasive and sometimes lacked humanity… but he was also protective, curious and caring of her. Jay hadn’t had to hunt for food in a year. She had unlimited access to cold, clean water. The worst thing she had to endure was Ford’s endless stream of questions and experiments, but it was a trade she’d make 100 times out of 100 if it meant sustenance, shelter and safety for the rest of her life.

Above all, Ford trusted her. He would let her watch other experiments, take her on trips, and even contribute to brainstorming sessions. She would listen quietly as Ford and Fidds reminisced about their Backupsmore days and the things they would do to change the world. She felt part of it all. Ford made her feel part of it all.

So what would he want her to do, right now, in this moment? He would never want to put himself above the safety of humanity; not once he found out what Bill was really up to. He would rather spend a thousand years in another dimension than risk the safety of this one. Maybe the portal didn’t do anything this time, but would they be so lucky again? Something told her no. Maybe there was a reason Ford didn’t talk to his brother anymore. Maybe he was just reckless. With Fidds and Ford both gone now… it really was up to her to keep everyone safe.

Jay sighed, realizing she needed to say something before Stanley shook her around again. “Look, even if I – even if I wanted to, you need those other journals, and I – I don’t really understand all that mechanical stuff. I’m… I’m sorry, Stanley. I don’t know how to turn it back on.”

Stanley said nothing. Jay gulped. Oh, boy, he was mad.

“I – I just mean – I can’t –”

“What do you mean, even if you wanted to?”

Jay paused. The temperature in the room seemed to drop 20 degrees. “I– well–”

“My brother is trapped on the other side of some – some – some inter-dimensional weirdness, and you don’t even want to get him back?”

“That’s not – I didn’t mean –”

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence as Stanley grabbed the jar off the table, throwing Jay to the back of the glass again. “Listen to this, tiny! I don’t care what some half-pint wants! He’s my family! And if you’re not going to help me get him back, then – then you’re useless to me!”

“Wait, Stanley, come on, I –”

“And stop saying my name as if we’re on the same level here! You’re just some – some – some thing my brother happened to find interesting. You don’t know anything about Ford!”

“You’re one to talk, considering I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have for the last 10!”

All the oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate. Jay didn’t mean to say that, not really – sure, it’s how she felt, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. Maybe Stanley didn’t hear her. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. Maybe he’d just say you’re right and come to his senses.

Maybe not.

It was perhaps scarier that Stanley didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he simply blinked a few times, took a few breaths, then got moving.

He didn’t know where he was going, just that he wanted to be anywhere but here right now, talking to anyone but – but – damn it, he didn’t even know her name. It didn’t matter. This stupid little thing was right about one thing – she’d spoken to his brother more in the last week than he had for a decade. What did Stan do to deserve this? Just because he broke his dumb brother’s dumb science project back in high school? And just when he was hopeful Ford was ready to turn the page, they got right back into it – and now he was gone, with no way to come back.

He glanced down at the impossibly small figure in the jar. How was this even possible? He didn’t think any of that fairy tale folk junk was real. And Ford would befriend it, too. They probably forged some weird bond over being weird.

Deep down, Stan felt bad. He barely knew this little guy, and he didn’t really have a right to keep them trapped. But right now, he was pissed off and feeling irrational. The more he stared at this tiny being, the more it reminded him of everything he lost with Ford.

So he found the highest shelf and stuck the jar up there.

“HEY! ARE YOU KIDDING ME! HEY!!!” Jay kicked at the glass, as if that would do anything. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME UP HERE!”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, pipsqueak,” Stanley mumbled, not even bothering to look her in the eye. In an instant, he was gone, head down and hands shoved in his pockets. He had work to do.

“STANLEY!!!!” Jay gave it one more try, but it was no use. Okay, don’t panic. You’ve been in worse situations. Maybe I can just push the glass off the shelf. Jay slammed her body onto the side of the jar until she became numb. It barely moved an inch. Okay, maybe if I… no, that won’t work. Or I can… no, that won’t do either. What if… if… if…

“If,” Jay sighed out loud, her legs crumbling beneath her. She was trapped. Stanley wasn’t coming back to let her out. Ford wasn’t coming back at all. She would die here. What first, starvation? Dehydration? Oxygen deprivation? It was all the same to her at this point.

Truthfully, she didn’t know how much time passed. The low light of the bunker was the same any time of day, and she never saw Stanley pass by, so either it had only been a few hours or Stanley was working nonstop for days. The whirlwind of everything had finally caught up to her, and the cool glass of the jar felt nice when she laid down and stretched her body out. There’s not much I can do right now. I’ll think of something later…

The second she closed her eyes, she passed out.

#ford really said 🤓👆#this is really a long time coming #because gravity falls is the reason i'm on tumblr in the first place #so it's only right that i finally combine my two big tumblr things #please enjoy! there will be more!#gravity falls #gravity falls g/t #g/t #giant/tiny #obwrites

98 notes · View notes

ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

Text

Dpxdc AU: Danny can’t fix Jason’s whole…deal… and doesn’t want to answer any questions on ectoplasm but he can get Jason to the best therapist he knows! Jason mistakes Danny constantly pushing Jazz his way as an awkward little brother move to set them up romantically- which uh, isn't necessarily a bad thing? Jazz has her own vested interests.

… heads up that this got long...

Jason ran his hands through this hair, relieving them from their previous position of cradling his face in embarrassment. Why was he sitting in a nice cafe with Danny’s redhead sister and a five dollar chai latte? For all the awkward live wire feelings he had, at least she was calm and composed. How many times had this happened already?

“So… the green stuff again?” Jazz asks, taking a sip from her own stupidly expensive drink and giving him eyebrows that beg for his explanation.

“Yeah. I was trying to get your brother to explain stuff without all the science mumbo jumbo. I just, I guess that means he defers to you.” Jason sighed, and tried to not think about how pretty her eyes were as she observed him.

“Not likely. But is the search for your answers helping you cope from day to day or making you climb an impossible mountain?” Jazz asks and it makes Jason fluster.

“It’s a moving goal post, sure, but I need answers if I’m going to fix my-“

“I think it might help you to realize that people don’t need to be fixed, they just need to grow.” Jazz interrupts.

They finish their drinks in a comfortable nonchalance, the rest of their conversation doesn’t go anywhere beyond their mutual hobbies and he’s grateful for that.

Jason's been doing a lot of introspection since this all started.

——

The first time it happened was months ago.

He confronts Danny after a mission, just wanting a simple answer on whether or not Danny thought the Lazarus pit contained ectoplasm? Could ectoplasm be separated from blood? Danny looked a little uncomfortable.

“Look dude, I know you want to know more but like, having this info isn’t going to help you. You need to talk it out.” Danny sounds sad and his eyes are filed with something adjacent to pity. It riles up the pit inside him.

“Oof. See that whole reaction thing. That’s not ectoplasmic, that’s something different. C’mon follow me.” Phantom cringes as he talks to him, and then floats across the rooftops, going slow enough that Jason can keep up on his grapple.

The arrive at a modest apartment building, not too far from his territory but clearly outside of it. Danny opens a window and slides in ahead of Jason, and all of a sudden he’s seated at a kitchen table with hot chocolate and teal blue eyes peering into his soul.

“Danny, some warning next time you’re bringing a crime boss to my apartment.” Jazz sighs and its not said with any malice or sarcasm. Danny gives her a grin and a peace sign before disappearing.

“So you want to talk about it?” Jazz turns back to him and asks.

“About?” Jason’s deep voice is going through the modulator and it sounds more sinister than it should.

“Death. Dying. The afterlife. Those are the normal things Danny brings people to me for.” She blinks.

“There’s a misunderstanding, I don’t need to talk, I need answers on Ectoplasm.” He grits out.

"Hm. Well that's not my field of study, but I can tell you that however your feeling is probably a valid response towards the trauma you've faced in life. Do you think showing yourself some kindness might lessen your desire to know the knitty gritty details?"

Jason scoffs.

"Oh. You're serious. No. I don't think being kind to myself is a valid approach to dealing with an infection that's cost me a lot of family relationships." Jason rolls his eyes. The woman looks contemplative for a moment and Jason can tell that while the dim kitchen lights are doing her no favors, she's incredibly beautiful. He pockets that information and refuses to think about it.

"So...Lets take this a different direction. Do you think successful people know what they're doing or do you think successful people need help to get where they want to go?"

"Most people are dumb and trying to get by." Jason grits out.

"So, accept that you're dumb. And then get by." Jazz replies, and then sighs and leaves the room.

Jason however, is now pissed off. Who the heck was she to say that to him?

____

The next time he finds himself across the table from Jazz, he's been on a wild goose chase with Danny and lands himself in a fancy restaurant. Why the hell was she here?

"Uh, it's called self care." Jazz replies, because apparently Jason asked that out loud. But he's not going to let this lead get away from him.

He takes off his helmet, years of muscle memory make him check that his Domino mask was in place, and sits down across from her. She raises a brow and then sighs.

"You think Danny might give me answers if I hold you hostage over, what is that, some kind of gnocchi dish?"

"Mm. Probably not." Jazz says, taking a bite and pulling out her phone.

"You're just going to ignore me then?" Jason finds himself a bit flabbergasted, he was a fucking crime lord, not someone to be ignored! Like he's just- just some bad blind date!

"Uh huh. You don't want to work on your issues and it's not my job to lead a stubborn horse to water."

"The expression is that you can lead a horse to water but you can't-"

"Can't what? Or are you still going to tell me it's not a huge waste of my time to tell you that you need to accept and forgive yourself to be able to move on. Find peace. Rest." Jazz is taking bites between her last few words but her glare remains unshakeable.

Jason is about to get up and leave when a terrified waiter comes over: "A dish, as compliments from the chef. Your guest's meal as well." He's shaking as he speaks and it makes Jason feel bad.

"Thanks." He grits out.

"...Is that the lasagna?" Jazz is looking at his food curiously, and Jason pushes it forward to indicate that she can take a bite. Probably not the safest thing for a civilian to do considering people regularly try to poison Jason but, meh. He's kind of pissed off at her still.

"It's pretty good. I was debating between that and the gnocchi- Okay let's think about this differently. You want to know about the green stuff, Danny is never going to tell a mortal about it and you keep denying yourself basic self-respect. What does your support system look like?"

"You're really pushing my buttons lady-" Jason can feel the green, but after a breath and seeing her unimpressed gaze "-I have a few friends who know what my deal is, I have an older brother who claims to forgive me, and a merry band of goons that I call my henchmen."

"Henchpeople?" Jazz asks.

"I mean, sure. That's more accurate."

"What do you do for fun?" She asks.

"I take down crime syndicates-" she levels him with another glare, he wonders why its so effective on him "-I read."

"Yeah? What genres?"

"Classics." He can admit only that much.

"Nerd. Are you going to eat any of that? You really shouldn't let food waste like that when it's not even fighting back."

"I don't know why I'm even bothering to talk to you right now." Jason spoke plainly.

"I dunno either but it's easier to tolerate you without the stupid helmet speaker. Anyway, If you like to read, hopefully that means you like to see new scenarios, new plots, stuff like that. You ever think to put yourself in side-character mode and contemplate what your whole deal is bringing to the table?"

"...How so?"

"Like, if you don't think it's worth it to treat yourself well, how do the main characters feel? Or, you know, if you were a child reading your story, what would you shout at them to move forward differently?"

"... I've decided that I only read poetry." Jason grumbles, trying to deflect with humor the fact that he does have some thoughts about what she's saying. She actually laughs at his joke though- he hadn't anticipated that.

"Uh, what is the Dr. Suess line? Stop telling outlandish tales, stop turning minnows into whales? something like that."

"Dr. Suess? Really?" Jason laughs.

"Sorry Mr. Classics, I spent most of my childhood raising my brother, forgive me for not knowing any fancy poetry." She huffs but he can tell she's laughing with him still.

They get off the topic of his mental health crisis and it turns out the Lasagna isn't half bad.

----

Jason keeps chasing Danny. Danny keeps leading him to Jazz. It goes for a few rounds before the ghost kid makes a joke about Jason liking her better anyway. Jason asks what the hell Phantom means by that, but Danny just laughs and says that Jason should just ask for her number.

...This does not sit right in his gut all of a sudden. Does he think that, that Jason is only pursuing this knowledge to keep talking to Jazz?? Does Danny want him to pursue Jazz? Does HE want to pursue Jazz???

----

He spots the Replacement in the Cave's lab before he heads upstairs to grab a cookie and leave as a civilian. The reason he even looked that way being that Tim is holding glowing green vials.

"Is that-"

"Yeah. They're literally the same except for the magic mumbo jumbo that Ra's has mixed in with the pit. Leave me alone now."

"So there is a way to heal it or, or extract it or-" Jason can feel his heart racing, but his constantly-exhausted sibling is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"Dude. You're not gunna be able to flush it out with like, a juice cleanse. You're probably better off trying to find a magic user to deal with the curses and a therapist to do the rest." Tim looks like he's trying to be patient despite being deeply, deeply vexxed.

"Therapist- why in the hell would I-"

"I mean hasn't that been Danny's entire solution for you? He's only had one strategy the whole time he's lived in Gotham." Jason rolls his eyes.

"His solution is setting me up on dates with his sister not-"

"Dates!?! His sister is THE break out psychologist, she's done more for Arkham in the last year than decades of political reform! You've been goin on- wheez- oh my god I have to call Danny-" Tim is cackling, the lazarus water all but abandoned.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

After a (from both brothers) number of punches, a few headlocks and a large portion of threats, Jason agrees that Tim can tell his boyfriend but no one else.

Kon can keep a secret right? That's why he's the favorite?

----

"So... You and Jazz huh?" Danny looks amused as he floats by- Kon could not be trusted. The entire Justice league knows. Jason might have to die again. Apparently he said as much.

"Oh buddy, it's okay! You don't have to die again! I'm sure that if she likes you, she likes you just as you are, weird little zombie boy." Danny teases, turning intangible as Jason swings a punch at him.

"What do you mean if she likes me?" Jason asks, swinging with his grapple, trying to keep up with Danny.

"You think I read her diary or something? Weirdo. You need to talk to her about it tho, it's funny and all but I'm sure she's not a fan of the JL hot goss."

"I didn't start any of this-"

"My guy. Chill. I know, but uh, I did definitely tell her about it so... Oh look! We made it all the way to her apartment! BYE!"

Jazz is standing in the window and she looks like an absolute vision. Her glare makes him want to shit his pants however, and he knows that it's going to take all of his brain cells making contact to survive this encounter.

He sits on the fire escape when he realizes that she's not moving from her spot in the window, blocking his way. Ouch.

"So let me get this straight, you thought this whole time-"

"I thought Danny was being annoying and trying to set us up! I didn't know you were a shrink!" He tries to defend himself.

"...Why should I date an idiot?" the like yourself goes unsaid but he can hear it. Jason is scrambling.

"...I can make even better lasagna than that fancy restaurant you like." is what he lands on. Jazz bursts out a laugh.

"I was just fucking with you, but honestly what a great response." She's wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Just fucking with me?" He grins a bit, unable to stop himself from getting excited.

"Yeah, I've been telling everyone at work that I'm dating the Red Hood for like, months now. It's been stellar for my hostage record, I haven't had an issue since I started the rumor!"

"We're dating?" Jason asks, a bit bewildered but charmed.

"I wouldn't give free therapy to just anyone! Now about that Lasagna-"

Something, something, something- they seal the deal with a kiss.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc crossover #dp crossover #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jasonxjazz #jazz x jason #long post #phanfic #jazz fenton

685 notes · View notes

celestiaras · 7 months ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ surrounded by stone ]❜

ft. yu. q wilson x f! reader — krisis, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ while out exploring with wilson, you find yourselves trapped in a 1x1 hole with no tools to escape┊2.6k words

contains: smut!! switch wilson, reader┊takes place on a hardcore krisis server, reader is a member of krisis & shorter than wilson, minecraft mechanics, forced proximity & awkward sexual situations, begging & some teasing, mutual masturbation (fingering & handjobs), willy overthinking & being cute, implied polykrisis at the very end, his clothing actually might be innaccurate idk how all that works from the reference sheet, very very rushed ending

➤ author's note: i love this picture of willy, he looks so cute and shocked. i really went back and forth about how to go about this piece, but i hope that the finished product is okay!! this piece was long overdue and should have been finished months ago…

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ dedicated to the wonderful @vezalust, i didn’t forget!! i just struggled with motivation, but it’s finally done & i hope you’ll still enjoy despite how long it’s been since i promised it!!

“AHHHHHH FUCK GET ME OUT OF HERE!!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU ARE TOO CLOSE TO MY EARS FOR THIS!”

this was just supposed to be a simple adventuring trip to map out new territory and gather the necessary resources to progress through the world, but it all went horribly due to rotten luck. really, what are the chances of discovering three zombie spawners within a hundred blocks of each other? finding something like that would be next to impossible and would even be a great find for an experience farm if you were well-equipped, but unfortunately for you, it wasn’t as impossible as fighting off such a large wave of the undead. even if you two were heroes, you only had iron tools and partial armor and getting swarmed by the horde made combat extremely difficult. the rest was a blur, running around like headless chickens and blindly swinging at enemies that got too close while screaming various swear words.

by the time all of the action, you found yourselves trapped in a one-by-one crevice that wasn’t even tall enough for him to stand up straight, making him slouch so that he wouldn’t bump his head on the ceiling. since neither of you could get close enough to light up the dungeons, you resorted to digging into the side of the cave wall instead and wilson followed you as he placed blocks behind him to shut them out… except he wasn’t looking in your direction, continued until he backed up into you and realized that you were both stuck.

your tools were one block away from crumbling in your hands and you frantically began to search through your inventory, looking for something to fix your pickaxe with or to make a new one entirely, but it was just filled with treasures you gathered up to this point. truly, you were blinded by greed to collect new riches and completely forgot to grab extra essentials like wood. (although now that you think of it, you would need to break at least two blocks to place a crafting table and work on it, such an unimportant thing that is now inconceivable to get out of this cave.) “wilson… please tell me that you still have your pick on you…”

“so i… uh…” with how close you were to him, you could hear him gulp and shuffle around to tug on his collar. “i sort of freaked out and… threw it at a zombie… with my phone too… i don’t have any crafting materials either…”

your device lit up the dark space as you squinted and quickly sent the other two your coordinates, but it died in your hands before you could send the text explaining what happened. “well… it looks like we’re stuck here until vanta and zali wake up since it’s way past midnight,” you groaned. “we told them that we would be back in the morning, so they’ll probably figure out that we’re lost and will look for us then…”

the rough wall of stone was nothing if not uncomfortable to lean against, but you were barely a few inches away from the blonde with your hips still pressed together despite your best efforts to give the other a shred of personal space. it was getting uncomfortably warm from the shared body heat and you could only imagine how hot wilson must be getting in his hoodie, but the stifling silence was honestly a worse fate.

krisis have known each other for a little over a year and were one of the tightest-knit groups, yet here you and the hitman stood like complete strangers stuck in an elevator. it’s safe to say that neither of you could get a second of rest like this despite the long day of traversing uncharted lands, so this awkward position would remain until you two were saved. the idea of starting a conversation crossed your mind but was quickly crushed by the possibility of it falling off and making everything worse, so you decided to just keep your mouth shut and sort through your inventory.

although it had only been a day, the loot piled up in your pockets was impressive now that you were properly tallying it up with stacks of iron and dozens of various gems of ores— this would certainly be able to gear the team to travel across the fiery nether once ready and might even help go towards finding the end portal. you could already picture the gang full-clad in shiny diamond armor with the slain ender dragon at your feet, but maybe you were getting a bit ahead of yourself. for now, building a proper home and creating the gateway to what was essentially hell would be massive accomplishments.

you paused for a moment when you felt wilson shuffling around and realized that his breathing had steadily been getting heavier. peeking over your inventory screen with eyes that were now more adjusted to the dark, you could faintly see him biting onto the thick fabric of his outerwear’s hood. he seemed to be trying to suppress himself in a way, but was struggling terribly and sweating like a sinner in church even though you two had been still for nearly an hour. you tilted your head in concern, “wilson… are you alright? did you injure yourself earlier?”

“i-i’m fine… just…” he let out a shaky breath, his ears burning with embarrassment as he hoped to whatever god there was out there that you haven’t noticed anything. “could you m-move your leg?”

“oh, sorry! wait, let me…” you tried your best to scoot away from him, but the space was so tight that there wasn’t anywhere to escape you. pushing your hand against the course-textured ceiling, an attempt was made to push yourself back from his personal space, but to no avail.

all this while, wilson felt like he was going to explode. yes, he didn't want to realize that he had a raging hard-on— who would be able to bear the humiliation when he couldn’t run away from the situation? however, oh god, your lack of awareness was going to be the death of him, he really needed you to stop unknowingly rubbing your thigh against his crotch and making the problem worse. he’s so fucked (as vanta would say, he’s so cooked that he’s fried a crispy golden brown). what kind of depraved pervert he is getting a boner from being so close to one of his friends— you were never going to talk to him again after this if you find out!

he didn’t want it to happen this way, he wanted to confess his feelings to you in a proper way like a gentleman and go on a few dates before hopping onto anything like this. to jump onto you like a dog in heat before you even know about his feelings was so humiliating and would definitely dash any of his hopes of ending up with you because of how pathetic he was, but he wasn’t in the right mindset to think any more than a minute into the future. “i-i’m sorry…”

before you could ask him what he was talking about, you felt him cup your face in his hands and pull you towards him for a hungry kiss. your eyes widened at the sudden action, feeling him kiss you like a parched man wandering a desert finding an oasis. once you felt the prominent bulge protruding from his pants, you didn’t cringe in disgust like a normal person but rather became dizzy with want. you didn’t start this with any sinful intentions, however, you certainly weren’t going to take it back and reject the advances of someone you’ve fancied since the very beginning.

his hands wandered around your body, tracing over your skin and leaning into your warmth as his tongue darted out to explore your mouth. you couldn’t see a thing, but it only heightened your other senses from the vague smell of his cologne mixed with sweat and the heat burning in his fingertips. it felt unreal, the lines of reality and dreams getting blurred with every passing second. you didn’t want it to end nor did you want him to stop, you just wanted him to ease the aching pain in your cunt and to kiss you like it meant everything to him.

it did mean everything to him, but he was just too horny to focus on the sentimentalities that he was robbing your first time together of in a lust-induced haze.

he parted his lips from yours first, resting his forehead on yours and trying to catch his breath, yet continuing to press kisses onto you in shorter, more frequent intervals. he held you so close to him, it was almost like he was about to implode if he didn’t have his way with you right now, pleading and whining like a little puppy for your permission to escalate the situation further to chase his own high and hopefully yours too. a simple nod would suffice, anything would suffice, and hearing your soft pleas was more than enough to knock over the already tipped scales.

in his rush, he didn’t even bother to try taking off your top. he would only pop off the buttons by accident and ruin the garment without light or night vision of any sort to see just how beautiful your naked-upper form was, so there wasn’t much reason to do so. he would just have to make do with his vivid imagination reinforced by his other senses until next time (if you decided that you would still associate with him after this, that is…), running his hand over your naked skin and gently groping your soft chest. he’s so clumsy in his movements, like a high school boy who is going through his first time with another, but it really just a result of nerves from his affection for you.

you grabbed his wrist to stop him in the act, making him flinch in worry that he did something wrong, but you led it to where you wanted him most. “please,” you breathed, “i know we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, but i need you now.”

oh, if only you could see the expression on his face, you would tease him so badly for it! he just had to blink a few times to process that and got to work, pulling down your pants along with your underwear to finally access your heat. his throat became dry as the overwhelming desire to have you on his mouth and to taste your arousal washed over him, but there wasn’t enough room for him to kneel even if your legs were tossed over his shoulders, so he could have to settle for the next best thing as he circled your clit with his thumb and adding more pressure when you asked him to press on it harder.

“mmhh, fuck…” you threw your head back at his fingers beginning to work you open, slow at first, but steadily became erratic as you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling onto him. he seemed so shy about doing this despite initiating all of this, but hearing your cute little moans of pleasure gave him more confidence about his actions. your hands slipped under the material of his hoodie and managed to find the zipper of his bodysuit, capturing the metal between your fingertips and undoing it before he could notice until the fabric fell a bit below his waist.

he isn’t very built and on the slimmer side since his job is more reliant on speed and agility rather than strength, but you felt as if it balanced the playing field for you to have an equal opportunity to dominate him as he could with you. you traced a line down his torso and pulled at the elastic of his boxers, his breath hitching as your wrapped your fingers around his throbbing cock and experimentally started to jerk him off. if he wasn’t already, he was now putty in your hands and immediately bucked his hips into your hand in an almost desperate state while the pace of his fingers faltered.

you couldn’t help but smirk at his state just from your touch and tease him for it, “god, you’re so needy— how long have you been waiting for something like this to happen?”

he couldn’t keep his voice still and kept stuttering, how could he sound any different when you were stroking him so sweetly like that? “i-i don’t even know—mmhh— it feels like f-forever…”

forever almost seemed to be laughable since it’s just been a year and a few months since you first met, but it really does feel like it’s been much longer than that. there’s always been chemistry between the two of you which was a bit stronger than the other members, one that always had you gravitating towards the other. you frequently got teased by vanta and zali over this special connection several times and had no doubt that wilson went through the same treatment, now realizing that they probably thought something like this where hidden affections boiled over should have happened earlier.

he was dripping so much that lube wasn’t even necessary, your hand able to slide up and down his cock with ease repeating the motions: massaging his shaft while running your thumb over the leaking tip and smiling whenever he let out a soft whine as the building pleasure released all over your hand. he would have been more embarrassed about climaxing so quickly and easily if he hadn’t already diverted his focus on making you do the same.

his fingers were still halfway inside of you from before, but you still gasped when he resumed his relentless pace like he had never stopped at all and igniting fire under your skin as you clung onto his shoulders. wilson isn’t the most experienced, but he quickly learns what feels best to you based on how loud you’re being: what makes you go quiet versus what makes you shudder and gasp until you finally gush on his fingers.

as the rush of euphoria reached it’s peak then began to settle, you briefly thanked this blocky world for not listening to the rules of your dimension and that this tiny little space somehow contained enough oxygen to last for forever seeing as both of you were completely out of breath. your bodies were sweaty and a bit overheated, but it somehow felt fine since it all happened with him. “let’s just… stay like this for a bit… i’m so tired, and this feels so nice,” you sighed as a spell of fatigue suddenly swept over the two of you, leaning into his chest and letting him wrap his arms around you while relishing in the sound of his rapid heartbeat.

“so, uh… does this mean we’re dating now?” he no longer felt scared that his feelings would be unrequited, knowing that you felt same (he would have to ask later how long it’s been…).

“yeah,” you said without hesitation and placing a more loving kiss on his lips before falling asleep, “we are…” the two of you remained like that for long after the sun rose, not even realizing when your other two teammates exposed you to the light after digging you both up. it didn’t require a rocket scientist to figure out what happened over the past six hours based on the mostly nude state of your unconscious bodies, giving them a good chuckle, something to bully both of you eternally over, and a new awakening of desire that wanted to join in on the fun lit inside of them.

#📜. her works #yu q wilson #yu q wilson x reader #yu q wilson smut #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji smut #krisis #krisis x reader #krisis smut #nijisanji en #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en smut

130 notes · View notes

furiousgoldfish · 5 months ago

Text

Growing up with abusive parents, there was a lot of religious grooming going on, a big emphasis was put on being 'a good person', and I was told often about how god is watching me and judging my every move, and of course, he always agreed with my parents judgment, conveniently for them.

Being a good person meant a lot to me, so I did try very hard to be kind and do good deeds, only when I did this, my parents were very much not satisfied. Instead they would find reasons why my good deeds were, not actually good. I'd get told that I only did things to look good in front of others, or to get the attention, or to get something out of it. This hit me hard at the time, my character was already attacked on all fronts, and now I had to second-guess my every move to judge weather me doing good deeds was only attention-seeking, manipulative and selfish behaviour.

This in turn taught me that I should never expect anything back, never seek any attention, never consider how it makes me look or feel to do good things for others, and, this was still not enough. I was still being told that I did everything so lousy, that it would have been better if I hadn't done anything at all. My thoughtfulness, my attempts at being helpful, obedient, grateful, convenient, generous, supportive and kind, it was always degraded or explained away as 'the least I could do'.

I struggled with analyzing my own actions and the motivations I had for them, and worried that I might be a horrible, self-serving, selfish person. At this point I was already doing everything anyone asked of me, while being polite and mild-mannered about it, and I didn't complain about being overworked, neglected, exhausted, lonely, and tormented by the abuse. I was so focused on scrutinizing my own actions, whether I could have done anything better, whether I was doing it all for wrong reasons, that I couldn't see a simple truth behind this charade: people who were constantly telling me off for not being a good enough person, have never even tried to be good themselves.

My parents, so quick to berate me for not having the right 'motivations' for my kindness, were not bothering to be kind at all. The amount of good deeds they've done for nothing in return is zero. They always had ulterior motives, they only did things to look good, they held others in obligation for every gift, every gesture, every word given to them. They upheld every little 'good deed' they did as a proof that they can do no wrong, used it to get leverage, to get trust and illusion of goodness. They only did good things when convenient and easy, with large payoff. They did things, good and bad, for attention only. I wasn't supposed to notice that. I was supposed to put my head down and feel horrible for everything I ever did.

I've had time to clear my head, and think about how much I should scrutinize my own actions. Even if my standards are still impossibly high for myself, I seem to be very forgiving towards others, finding them good people even if all they do is live for themselves, and find happiness and pleasure for their own benefit. Just not doing harm to others, is good! People are not selfish for wanting to be happy, and focusing on their own happiness, it means there are more happy people on the planet, which is what we want.

The way I was taught to go about being a good person was all about sacrifice. Give away your everything for nothing in return, and then, maybe, if everyone feels you've given them enough, if nobody is left behind, if nobody is left dissatisfied, maybe you'll be considered good. Which is impossible, because you cannot please everyone, you cannot rip yoursef into enough pieces to fix everyone's problems. It's a way to get torn and used and exploited and then have everyone abandon you completely after they've used all of the pieces to their full extent. It's not something a human being should be put trough. It's a devastating mission with no fulfillment, no happy ending, no possibility of it turning okay.

I've started to consider that tearing myself apart for others is not only wrong, but actively a bad thing to do, because it harms me. Is something really good if it harms a person? I am a person. My deeds should not cause harm to myself. Sacrifice is romanticized in both religion and media, but should people want someone to be sacrificed for their own happiness? Is it okay and normal to have a portion of people suffering and torn apart so another portion would be happy? It's a bad system! We shouldn't live like this. People who want to benefit from other's sacrifice are not good, and should not be even given the chance to benefit from it.

Nobody should be sacrificed. Nobody should be bearing other people's burdens indefinitely. Nobody's life should be degraded to another person's convenience.

And children should not be scrutinized for their good acts. Children don't yet have a developed sense of morality, they often copy what they're seeing others do, and they follow their basic instincts of curiosity, desire, boundary testing, wanting to try things out. Their little experiments will often not turn out great, but it's the only way to learn. Being shamed so badly at this stage, for 'not being good enough' can only paralyze them, ending their learning process, forcing them to stop developing their own thinking. So they accept the grooming instead, they accept what is told to them about good and evil, without having the chance to test it and decide for themselves.

I got told I was being bad and I believed it, without ever being able to see how others are benefiting from my desperate obedience. It destroyed my sense of self. Learning this as an adult is much more complicated, because you first have to undo everything that's been done to you before, every belief placed in your head so you'd give up on your own interests and do as you are told, every fear placed in you if you disobey. And then you have to experiment and test your thoughts, see what happens, which again, feels embarrassing as an adult, to have to learn the basics like that. And also at times, scary, because you still hold the trauma of being punished for testing anything, you might feel like your life is on the line if you allow yourself some mischief. Even when others are doing it constantly, carelessly, and get no punishment whatsoever.

They put us trough all this just so they could benefit from us when we were children.

#religious abuse #abusive parents #child abuse #psychological abuse #child grooming #religious grooming #children being scrutinized and pronounced not good enough #when they're trying their best #while adults are above criticism #and apparently even god is supporting their bs #if you ask them about it #double standards

85 notes · View notes

sketchyartthings · 2 months ago

Text

While I was drawing/looking at reference images, I realized that the king doesn’t look like he was killed by anything void related at all. His eyes don’t drip with void like every other character killed by overexposure to void in game, so what happened? What if he sealed himself away not to save himself, but to preserve the kingsoul? I mean, if I wanted to preserve an important object within me, I would think the dream realm would be a very suitable place to go. Evidently, the king hasn’t survived this, but it doesn’t look like there was a struggle. There was no evidence of the formation of a void creature in the room to have killed him the old fashion way, and no injury on the body itself. Nothing but a force of nature like the knight was ever going to get in or out of that room past all of those saw blades, and based on that, I don’t think the king planned on leaving that room. It looks to me that the king simply let himself wither away on his throne, and that he did it on purpose. The king was by no means a fool. He did not assume that locking himself in a room forever would be safe, and even if he did, he would’ve done more to solve his problems. The king had no workshop for him to toil in, no library to research from, and there was no effort made to stop the infection after he resigned himself to that room. The king was not there to save his kingdom in safety, and he was most certainly not there because he wanted to outlast the infection. The king wanted to die somewhere that was near impossible to reach. Somewhere in a near impregnable dream behind a nigh unwalkable path. But I don’t think that’s because he didn’t want to be found. After all, the king has tried tasking his children with a near impossible task in the hopes one will rise to meet the challenge before, and it worked. If we trust The White Lady’s perspective, The Hollow Knight was the perfect vessel before it was “tainted by an idea instilled,” so the idea that the king trusted the strength of his children enough to predict, or at the very least hope that one of them would reach the king would despite these measures, is not out of the question. In fact, the increased security of a task like this would make sense as a more intense test of the purity of a vessel. If the parkour skills needed to define THK as hollow were as simple as escaping the abyss, then the saw blades could certainly be explained as either a revised test of a vessel’s purity, or its will. Maybe the king predicted the creation of the void heart? If the vessel’s will is being tested, it would support the idea that the king knew about the possibility of the void heart, as it unites the void behind the bearer’s will. If this is true, then it may explain why The White Lady gives you the white fragment with the following quote. “I have a gift, held long for one of your kind. When united, great power is granted, and on the path ahead, great power it shall need.” This is most definitely referring to the unification of the king soul, but what if it were also a thematic parallel to the great power granted with the unification of the void? If this is the case, I don’t believe that the white lady was informed about all of the details, but likely just that a vessel was needed to end the infection, and that she must give the white fragment to a vessel she deems worthy. To ask the last question about this theory I could think of, why is the corpse of the king in a room dark with what is likely void if void is not what killed him? It could be deduced that the king’s regrets’ darkening of the room was meant to be a more subtle nod to his disposition at the time of his death than a hint as to what killed him, as the void tears found on those killed by void serve that purpose well and wouldn’t have impeded his design, but a darker room alone would be an interesting thematic note as evidence of a nagging question in the king’s head: “Have we payed a cost this great for nothing?” Anyways. Call me a deranged lunatic in the notes.

#hk pk #hk knight #hk ghost #hk hollow #hk #hk the knight #hk thk #hk pale king #hollowknight #hollow knight #the hollow knight #pale wyrm #pale king #hollow knight thk #hollow knight the knight #hollow knight theory #thk hk

45 notes · View notes

thewriterg · 1 year ago

Text

𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭

pairing(s); jj maybank x male!reader,

summary; from chasing gold, running from authority, and having having more near death experiences than you should at your age you and jj was as thick as thieves it was unfortunate that he couldn’t quite fully commit to you or his true current self —kinktober day; 25—

word count; 800+

warning(s); smut, kisses, hickeys, angst, homophobe luke maybank, hoping for the impossible, you both are 18 🤸🏾‍♀️, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @fdastory & @sarahmichellesgellar— I missed a day so two fics today because I’m quite literally getting over a concussion 💀 (GIFs do not determine race of r)

It was sacred to say the least, but that’s what it should’ve been. It’s what it was at the end of the day How could you be explain JJ Maybank to someone who’d never faced him before in less than three words it was simple; loyal, curious, and the love of your life

until he wasn’t

The blondes on top of you prepping kisses down your neck occasionally leaving a bruise that would darken by the morning time when the sun came up allowing the bloomed ladybugs and butterflies in your stomach time to rest from their continuous flying and fluttering, to give your lively heart a break from its abnormal accelerating while it beats against your ribs in your chest it’s gonna beat out, it’s gonna rip out your skin and jump into his hands while he will stares down at it and you wait to see if he’ll engulf it into him accept it as a part of him, or if he would drop it in disgust.

“You’re so pretty baby… such a pretty boy, my pretty boy” JJ whispers while you’re groaning at the phrase the sound of your pleasure going straight down to his cock that was buried into you the own head of your length red and angry looking leaking pre cum from your slit your warm walls are wrapped around him mixed cum rimmed around both of your stretched holes a reminder how you absolutely rocked his shit fucked him like you hated his guts until the very end until it was his turn to bring you back down to earth with his slow and deep thrust that edged the tip of your prostate

“F-fuck, don’t talk like that or I’m g’nna cum” You were panting out of breath like a dog in heat and the pale skinned boy could feel your erection lying flat against his stomach while he was atop of your figure when he felt the flat of your palms pressed against him fondling his ass in your hold mirroring your wolf like grin stomach dropping before picking up again until you begin to feel your chords chip off piece by piece indicating you were close and you could tell the blonde was too by his sudden needs to be vocal while his hip stuttered there rut into you causing you to move your fingers up the bottom half of his lower body those blue eyes that reflected the Ocean nowhere to be seen while he tucked his face in your neck hiding in your warmth needy voices that demanded your attention traveling right up to your ear drum while you took control of the blondes hips grinding him against yourself goosebumps the sizes of dimes appearing on your skin until you felt hot ropes shooting up into you and with a clenched of your hole your cum covered the blondes stomach

You both sat there panting making no mover to get up anytime soon you press a kiss to JJs grown out mane stray pieces of hair sticking to his sleek covered forehead while he didn’t same to you neck occasionally running his teeth over your pulse point making you shiver while his cock was plunged into you locking in his cum that had yet to spill from your depth basking in the peaceful comforting silence until you heard the front door swing open and JJ felt how you tensed under him and he moved barely an inch to lie his head on your chest it made you deflate just a little yet it was enough for him

“JJ!” The rough voice of his father carried through the house and he squeezed his eyes shut before yelling back a sound of acknowledgement the drunk mumbling about his footsteps rummaging around the house until they stopped abruptly probably when he crashed on the couch you try not to smile at him overcoming it by not hiding you going to kiss his pink plump lips but of course, a second spoke too soon.

“We can’t” He grumbled getting up from his position on top of you to sit beside you and you sat up suit your arms resting on your knees as you sight turned gaze fixed to him

“Why not?” It was a true, honest, question you had why couldn’t you kiss outside of having sex why could he tell Luke to go fuck himself on anything other he had negative to say or tried to put input on a decision in his life yet went hush puppy when it came to you it made you sick as you watched those piercing electric orbs stare into you

“I wish you were a girl”

Took me like 3 years to fully commit and stop being a pussy to writing a male reader

355 notes · View notes

ateriblewriter · 11 months ago

Text

Butterflies (t.z)

Continuation of I’m Here

TRIGGERS: self harm, self worth, hinting at other things (if you or anyone ever needs help please do reach out)

a/n: sorry this a year late. but here it is! read with caution.

Enjoy?

"Do you have any sharpies? Or a permanent marker or something like that?" Trevor untangled himself from around your body when he felt the time was right. He didn't wait for your answer before he started to rummage through the drawers of junk that were in the kitchen.

Trevor wasn't about to act like he all the answers in world or like he was going to be the one to fix you. Because in reality that would be impossible, you needed someone trained in that field to help you long term. But that didn't mean that he couldn't help in the moment or at least try.

And he had an idea, something that he had seen when he was younger. A reminder for when your feelings got a little too big for you to handle by yourself. It also a place holder until he was able to help you find the correct help you needed. Because he wasn't going to leave you alone to deal with this on your own.

"Um. I think there might be one in the cup next to the sink." You mumble trying to remember where they were. You knew you had some. "Or else it's in with my art supplies. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Hey now. There is nothing to be sorry about y/n." Trevor carried you over to your couch and making his way to your art corner to start scrounging around for that marker.

It took him a minute to find your collection, it turned out they were with the art supplies that hadn't been touched in months. He picked out two colors, purple and blue, your favorite color along with one of his.

Returning to where he had left you, he made himself comfortable. He snagged a blanket from the bin and laid it across the both of you. Trevor wasn't

"Give me your arm" He said, not asking. You didn't have the strength to question what his motives were, so you presented him with your wrist full of healing scars. He grimmaced seeing them, wondering how long this had been going on and why he didn't notice earlier.

Trevor took the purple marker starting to draw something. He started off with the body, adding some sort of antenna to what was supposed to be it head. He then took the blue marker and made wings on either side of its body.

"A butterfly?" You question rubbing and tracing over the temporary tattoo with the tip of your finger.

Your friend nodded and explained the simple rules: you want the butterfly to live by letting it fade naturally and reapplying it when you feel that certain urge. Oh and if you do act on those urges the butterfly dies.

You could do that. Or at least try. It seemed easy enough.

"You think she's gonna like it?" Trevor asked peeling off the bandage that once covered his newly acquired tattoo that laid on his right shoulder. He was looking to get something new to add to his collection of art in his body and he chose a butterfly design.

"A butterfly?" Mason scratched his head. He was a little unimpressed and a bit confused. But that's because he didn't know the significance of the creature. "I don't know man, it just seems kind of-"

"Perfect, right?" Trevor finished his sentence. He had grabbed a warm wash cloth to clean the remaining goop off.

"I was gonna say weird. But whatever floats your boat." The younger man shrugged. He didn't care what Trevor decided to put on his body.

Trevor groaned, quickly finishing up his tattoo care so they could go meet up with you. You would like the new ink, he was pretty positive of it. He just needed to show it to you know.

You weren't paying attention to what you were doing. Sometimes you do things and it just sort of happens and you don't really remember it. It was almost like you were in some sort of trance. A trance that had you acting upon some of those heavy feelings that had been plaguing you lately.

"Shit" You mumbled when you heard the knocking on the door. You had completely forgotten that Trevor and Mason were coming over. There was a fresh mark on your arm that you needed to take care of.

You hurried to the bathroom in search of some sort of bandage for your arm. Maybe you could play it off as an accident. You didn't need to tell Trevor what had happened. It would be fine right? Oh god you hoped Trevor wouldn't notice.

You just found a bandage, when you spotted the butterfly you had just drawn on your arm the day before. You panic a little, the drawing didn't have a purpose anymore and had to go. You drop the band-aid to reach for a nail scrubber and start to get rid of the butterfly.

"Come on, Y/n, open the door!" Trevor banged on the door again.

"You think she forgot?" Mason crossed his arms. It wouldn't be the first time it slipped her mind that they were supposed to hang.

"No we were talking about it earlier. I highly doubt she forgot so soon." Trevor frowned unsure what to do. Should he wait for you, maybe you were still getting ready. But he had a sinking suspicion that wasn't the case.

Trevor fished the key you had given him out of his pocket and opened the door. He suggested Mason stay there. Mason had no idea what Trevor had walked into last time something like this had happened, so he agreed to stay put.

Cautiously he entered your apartment and started to look around for you. He found you in the bathroom scrubbing away. He notice the red on your arm and put two and two together.

"Hey, Y/n?" He called out. He wasn't fully sure if you had completely heard him so he tried reaching you again. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry" You continue what you were doing.

"Hey. Listen to me. You're okay. It happens. I'm not mad." Trevor wanted to grab onto your wrists to get you to stop scrubbing at the butterfly that had already been cleanly washed off, but you swore you could still see a piece of it. Instead he grabbed onto your shoulders and turned you to face him so wrap his arms around you and pull you in close. "It's okay. Wanna draw a new one?"

Let me know what you think! Anything is appreciated!

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #trevor zegras blurb #im really sorry #nhl imagine

96 notes · View notes

koenigami · 1 year ago

Text

synopsis: that one time you accidentally lost ushijima in a mall on christmas. tags: fem!reader, fluff a/n: helloww sweet @ohtokki, your secret santa here! wishing you a wonderful time with your family and friends!<33 i really hope you like this little something i wrote for you and ushiwaka^^ it's actually my first time writing for him so i hope it's not too ooc ehe..

Like in a crammed can of sardines, people tried to navigate through the crowded streets and stores. Some of them looked for last minute gifts while others enjoyed the mesmerising decorations and lights ornamenting the city that seemed even brighter and more vivid once dusk fell. Watching some of the people rush down the halls of the mall you were currently strolling through, arms packed with packages and bags, wide and frantic eyes glancing from one shop window to another, you were more than relieved that Ushijima and you belonged to the second category of people.

“Wow, good thing we bought everything at - " Losing a nearly 6’4 tall boyfriend was hard. "Toshi?" But not impossible.

Especially in a crowded place like this one. With a deep sigh, you looked around, hopefully trying to spot Ushijima somewhere in your proximity though apparently it was not going to be that simple. A young man accidentally bumped into you. The pink gift bag he was carrying slipped out of his hand, though with a hectic hand gesture he managed to grasp it before it touched the floor. “I’m so sorry, Miss!” The teenager blushed and quickly bowed his head before scurrying off.

Meanwhile somewhere in the same mall, Ushijima paced from one shop entrance to another, curiously peeking over other customers’ heads, shoulders slumping every time he did not spot you. The “E” in the corner of his phone display mocked him when he pulled it out of the pocket of his jacket, and it seemed like no store nearby offered free wifi for him to at least send you a quick message.

Of course he could have anticipated that the shopping centre would be this packed today, though when you had asked him to accompany you to get your favourite dessert from the patisserie that was supposed to be somewhere around here, Ushijima had not been able to decline.

A soft tug on his pants pulled his attention away from his phone, and instead of a bright screen, he was gazing into big, teary eyes as a little girl shyly stared up at him, her height barely reaching up to his thigh. “Um, you’re ‘Shijima-san, right?” Had he not crouched down to her height, he would have probably not even been able to hear her question over the loud Christmas music that all of a sudden started playing in the background.

“Yes.” He nodded, somehow not finding it in him to correct her mispronunciation of his name, and instead patiently waited for her to continue. “My Nii-chan always says you’re the coolest so- uh, will you help me find him and mommy?” There was a light shake in her small, gloved hands as she played with one of her dark pigtails, the glittery red bows in them sparkling with every movement of her head.

A curt nod of his was enough to make the little girl smile as if he had just now shown her the entire world, and once he picked her up like she weighed nothing to place her on his shoulders, he indeed did show her an entirely different kind of world. Ushijima’s hands swallowed her much smaller ones, making sure that she was safely positioned and holding on tight. So this is what a giant’s view looks like, she thought, completely in awe about how she could truly see everything and everyone from up there.

“Where was the last time you have been with your mom and brother?” He inquired and looked around for… not exactly sure who. A panicked looking mother? A similarly frantic looking boy? While at the same time trying to catch a glimpse of you amidst the people moving past him.

“We wanted to buy cupcakes!” Her little legs dangled excitedly down the volleyball player’s borad shoulders while she explained that her mom was planning to buy mentioned cupcakes for her fourth birthday. “But then poof! Nii-chan and mommy were gone.” She gestured with her hands as if they had disappeared into thin air.

Poof, huh? Sounded pretty familiar to him when he thought about how you were one minute walking right beside him and the next-

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and Ushijima carefully fished it out with one hand while the other made sure the girl on his shoulders would not fall over.

“Hello? Toshi, where are you?” The sound of your voice eased the tension in his shoulders and he did not dare to budge from the spot that, thank god, provided him with some decent signal.

The little girl on his shoulders involuntarily eavesdropped on the giant’s conversation since, with whoever he was talking to, the small gentle smile on his face made it obvious that talking to them made him clearly happy.

“I’m on my way to the patisserie. There’s this girl I just met and she-”

“But we have just been there? And what girl?” It was not a rare occurrence for Ushijima to get held up by fans, yet right now you really just wanted to get home as soon as possible. The crowded space and your missing boyfriend were slowly but surely getting to you and tiring you out so much that you could not help but sound a little snappy over the phone. Whatever fangirl he was dealing right now, he better-

“Love, she’s four.”

"Huh?" Oh.

You loosened the woollen scarf around your neck once you heard your boyfriend’s breathy chuckle on the other end of the line, a light heat creeping up your neck out of sheer embarrassment. Manoeuvring your way through the slowly dissipating crowd, you listened attentively to Ushijima as he explained the little girl’s predicament as well as his current location to you. Since it seemed that you were not too far away from them, you agreed on meeting them at a flower shop in front of which they were currently standing.

“Was that your girlfriend?” The little girl asked curiously once Ushijima hung up, both his hands now securely resting back on her thighs. “Did she also get lost?”

“You could say it like that. But she’ll get here soon and then we will go to look for your family together, alright?”

“Yes! Thank you, Shijima-san!” She exclaimed gratefully, her arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug that made his heart swell. Remembering that she was now even taller than the giant himself, she figured that she could help him too find someone dear to him. “So, what does she look like?”

“Hm? Well, she’s wearing a long coat, a thick white scarf, she has long brown-”

“Is she pretty?”

Ushijima was a little taken aback by her question, since she made it sound as if an answer to it would be more helpful to pinpoint you than a detailed description of your appearance. Yet with a deep sigh and significant warmth in his eyes, he answered truthfully. “Yes, very so.”

And somehow, as if satisfied with his answer, the little girl quietly looked ahead of herself and rested her chin on top of his head. With each passing minute, the mall got emptier, customers wrapped up their purchases before leaving, cash registers in certain shops looked less busy, and even an employee who was wearing a santa costume looked like he had finished his shift as he walked past Ushijima, waving kindly at the girl who happily reciprocated the gesture.

“There!” The girl suddenly perked up after noticing a young woman hurry towards them with a fond smile on her face.

And how could you not smile when the sight of your lover with such a sweet looking young girl perched on top of his shoulders was so endearing to you. You approached them finally and reached up to greet the girl with a light squeeze to her calf.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable over there. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Chiyo!” She answered with a bright toothy grin before she fervently started to tell you about how she had gotten lost and found "Shijima-san".

Eventually, you made yourself on the way to the patisserie where you hoped to find Chiyo’s mother and brother, since it was the only place where you could get fresh pastries at this time of the day. By the way she clung to Ushijima, you could tell that she had warmed up to him pretty fast, and the same could be said about him. He looked so effortlessly handsome as he carried the child in a way that you would think he had never done anything else in his life. In a way that made you wonder what it would be like to have your own little gremlin sit on top of him and call him a “giant”.

Warmth suddenly engulfed your left hand, and his rare physical display of affection astonished you a slightest bit. But as he squeezed your hand gently, his thumb stroking the back of it back and forth, he simply stated matter-of-factly.

“Don’t want to lose you again.”

Right, Mr. Shijima, you thought knowingly. Admitting that your short lived disappearance had made him feel uncomfortable and that going through the same dilemma would probably make him age a few months more- that was definitely not something he was going to admit today.

However, when he had to put Chiyo back down and watch her run over to her Nii-chan, who coincidentally was the same young man who had earlier bumped into you, Ushijima had to admit that he was a little dejected about the fact that his adventure with the little girl was over so soon.

#fun fact #the dude dressed up as santa is hanamaki bc that's the only job he could get #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu ushijima #hq ushijima

146 notes · View notes

starlvcied · 4 days ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ kyoka jirou x f! reader ꒱ ˎˊ˗ "little miss perfect"

» cw : lowkey internal homophobia, reader is super confused, slight angst, fluff. modern, no quirk au. » wc : 4k

gay shit below the cut >:)

perfection is not just something you aspire to—it’s something you’ve mastered. every morning, your hair falls into place with a few practiced strokes of the brush. every class is a chance to add another A to your spotless record. and every smile you offer—to friends, classmates, teachers—is warm and genuine, the kind that makes people want to be near you. you've heard the whispers in the halls. the compliments passed along when they think you can’t hear.

“her hair’s always so shiny. how does she do that?” “she’s literally so nice. like, it’s impossible to hate her.” “and she’s smart too? God must've taken his time with her.”

you've been called a lot of things. perfect. beautiful. the kind of girl everyone wants to be—or be with. and for the longest time, you believed it all. why wouldn’t you? you're everything people say you are, the person who never lets anyone down.

it's not a role you chose, but it’s a role you’ve grown into. you wear it like a crown, heavy but necessary. and somewhere along the way, you’ve convinced yourself that this version of you is the only version that matters.

so when you spot kyoka jirou for the first time, slouching in the back row of your english class, you don’t think twice about her.

she’s the opposite of you in so many ways—messy purple hair, a loose hoodie that looks like it belongs to someone else, an air of casual disinterest that somehow makes her stand out more than if she tried to blend in. she doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks of her, and that, in itself, is fascinating.

but you don’t dwell on it. you have your perfect life, and she has hers.

at least, that’s what you think.

you don’t talk to jirou right away. it's not like you avoid her—why would you? she's just another classmate, another name on the attendance sheet. but one day, she’s assigned to your group during an in-class project, and that’s when everything shifts.

you've already done the work in your head, dividing up the tasks based on who seems most reliable. before you can even begin assigning roles, though, jirou leans back in her chair, tilting it onto two legs.

“so,” she says, smirking, “are you always this organized, or are we just lucky today?” her voice is low, smooth, with a faint rasp like she’s just finished laughing. there's no malice in her words, but the teasing edge catches you off guard.

“i—uh—” you stumble, your usual composure slipping for just a second.

jirou’s smirk widens. “relax, I’m just messing with you.” she sits up straight again, reaching for her notebook. “let's get this over with.”

as the group works, you can’t help but watch her. she doesn’t take notes neatly like you do, her handwriting messy and uneven, but when she talks, it’s clear she knows her stuff. she doesn’t bother raising her hand for answers, but she’s quick to shoot down bad ideas and suggest better ones.

by the end of the project, you’re impressed.

when the bell rings, she slings her bag over her shoulder then nods at you. “nice work, little miss perfect.”

the nickname makes you blink. “what did you call me?”

her grin is lopsided, mischievous. “you heard me. see you around.”

and just like that, she’s gone, leaving you standing there with a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming in your chest.

you don’t know how it happens, but soon enough, jirou is everywhere.

she starts sitting next to you in study hall, her headphones looped around her neck as she scrolls through her phone. at first, she barely says a word, but one day she looks over and asks, “hey, you’re good at math, right? can you help me with this?”

it's such a simple request, but it feels monumental. you nod, scooting closer, and spend the next fifteen minutes explaining the problem. she doesn’t say much, just nods along, but when she finally solves it, she looks at you like you’ve just pulled off a magic trick.

“not bad,” she says, her tone light. “guess being perfect has its perks.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

after that, the conversations come easier. she starts joking with you more, poking fun at how neatly you organize your notes or how your handwriting looks like a font. you start teasing her back, pointing out the permanent scuff on her sneakers or the way she always forgets to cap her pen.

it's easy, being around her. effortless in a way you didn’t know friendship could be.

but then, something shifts.

it's small at first—barely noticeable. the way your heart skips when her shoulder brushes against yours. the way you catch yourself looking for her in the cafeteria, scanning the crowd until you see her leaning against the vending machine, a lazy smile on her face.

you tell yourself it’s nothing. admiration, maybe. or just the thrill of having a friend who’s so different from you.

but the feelings don’t go away.

one afternoon, as the two of you sit under a tree in the courtyard, kyoka pulls a pack of gum from her pocket and offers you a piece. When you take it, your fingers brush against hers, and it’s like a jolt of electricity shoots through your hand.

you drop the gum, your cheeks flushing.

“whoa, you okay?” kyoka asks, laughing as she picks it up for you.

“yeah,” you say quickly, looking anywhere but at her. “i’m fine.”

you're not fine. you’re anything but fine.

that night, as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, you replay the moment in your head over and over, trying to understand why it felt so different. so charged.

you’ve never thought about girls that way before. you’ve had crushes on boys—cute ones, funny ones, the kind who make you blush just by looking at you. but this… this is something else entirely.

and it scares you.

you’ve always been good at burying things. stress, doubt, fear—they all disappear beneath layers of determination and effort. so when the feelings you have for kyoka grow too loud to ignore, you do what you’ve always done: you distract yourself.

you start waking up earlier, perfecting your morning routine until not a single strand of hair is out of place. your already excellent grades become pristine, and your teachers sing your praises more than ever. when someone needs help with a project, you’re the first to volunteer. you even join the school’s spring fundraiser committee, staying late after school to organize bake sales and donation drives.

anything to keep your mind busy. but no matter how much you do, you can’t escape her.

she’s still there in study hall, lounging next to you with her headphones around her neck. she’s still texting you at night, sending memes and song recommendations and random thoughts that make you laugh until your stomach hurts. she’s still kyoka, and you’re still…

you’re still not ready to admit it.

so you keep piling on distractions. you join another club. you spend hours at the gym, convincing yourself that if you run fast enough, work hard enough, the feelings will go away. but they don’t.

one afternoon, as you’re walking to class, you hear someone call your name. you turn to see kyoka jogging toward you, a grin on her face.

“hey, little miss perfect,” she says, falling into step beside you. “you’ve been busy lately. hard to keep up with you.”

you swallow, forcing a smile. “jus a lott… going on, i guess.”

jirou raises an eyebrow. “uh huh. you okay?”

“of course,” you say quickly, your voice a little too bright. “why wouldn’t I be?”

she shrugs, but her eyes linger on you like she’s trying to see past the mask. “no reason. just checking.”

her concern makes your chest tighten. you want to tell her the truth—to spill everything you’ve been feeling and let her carry some of the weight. but you can’t.

not yet. maybe never.

that night, you sit at your desk, staring at the open textbook in front of you. the words blur together, your mind too busy replaying every interaction with kyoka. the way she teases you. the way she smiles. the way her voice softens when she says your name. you groan, dropping your head into your hands.

you’ve spent your whole life knowing who you are. the perfect girl, the one who has it all together. but now, it feels like that image is cracking, and you’re terrified of what might be underneath.

the distraction strategy lasts for weeks, but it starts to wear on you. you’re exhausted, constantly running on empty, and no amount of perfection can fill the hole inside you.

one friday, kyoka corners you after class.

“okay, seriously, what’s up with you?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“nothing,” you say, avoiding her gaze. nothing. it's always nothing.

“bullshit,” she shoots back, her voice sharp but not unkind. “you’ve been acting weird for weeks. did I do something?”

the question makes your heart ache, and your lips form a thin line.

“no,,” you say quickly. “you didn’t do anything. i just… i’m dealing with some stuff, that’s all.”

kyoka’s expression softens. “you know you can talk to me, right?”

“i know.”

but you don’t. because talking to her means facing the truth, and you’re not ready for that.

not yet.

the invitation comes on a thursday afternoon, scrawled in kyokas looping handwriting on a folded piece of notebook paper she slides across your desk.

"sleepover at my place this weekend? bring snacks. no excuses."

you glance up at her, and she’s already smirking, leaning back in her chair like she has all the time in the world.

“well?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

you hesitate, your pulse quickening. you’ve spent the past few weeks trying to put distance between the two of you, hiding behind excuses and distractions. but kyoka isn’t giving you an out this time.

“sure,” you say finally, forcing a smile. “sounds fun.”

her grin widens, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed.

saturday night arrives faster than you expect.

kyokas room is exactly what you imagined it would be: messy but cozy, with posters of bands you’ve never heard of covering the walls and a stack of old comics teetering on her nightstand. a string of fairy lights hangs above her bed, casting a soft, warm glow over the space. alternative music played faintly from the cd player placed on one of her shelves. it looked old, and the music came out staticky. you assumed that's the vibe she was going for.

“you're lucky i cleaned,” she says, tossing a pillow at you. “it usually looks like a tornado came through here.”

somehow that made your heart warm.

you laugh, catching the pillow and throwing it back. “this is cleaned up?”

“hey, don’t judge.” she grins, flopping onto the bed. “make yourself at home.”

you settle onto the floor, leaning against the bedframe as you dig into the snacks you brought. the two of you spend the next few hours talking, laughing, and watching dumb videos on her laptop. it feels normal. easy.

but as the night wears on, something shifts.

you're lying side by side on her bed, your legs tangled in a mess of blankets. the laptop has long since been abandoned, and now it’s just the two of you, the quiet hum of the music filling the space between your words.

“i’m glad you came,” kyoka says suddenly, her voice softer than usual.

you turn your head to look at her, surprised. “yeah?”

she nods, her dark eyes meeting yours. “you’ve been… distant lately. i thought maybe you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

your stomach twists with guilt. “that’s not it. i just—” you hesitate, searching for the right words. “i’ve had a lot on my mind.”

kyoka studies you for a moment, her gaze steady. “like what?”

you open your mouth, but the words don’t come. you can’t tell her—not now, not when you’re still trying to figure it out yourself.

“nothing important,” you say finally, looking away.

kyoka doesn’t push, but the silence that follows is heavy, charged with unspoken questions.

and then, before you can stop it, she leans in.

it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you don’t have time to react. her lips brush against yours, soft and tentative, and your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest.

when she pulls back, her eyes are wide, her confidence replaced by something vulnerable.

“sorry,” she mutters, sitting back. “i shouldn’t have—”

you shake your head, your mind racing. it felt like you had just been impaled through your stomach with a butcher's knife. “it’s fine,” you say quickly, though your voice wavers. “i just… I didn’t expect that.”

the room feels too small, too warm, and you suddenly need to be anywhere but here.

“i think i should go,” you say, climbing off the bed and grabbing your bag.

kyoka stands, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “wait—are you okay? did I—”

“i’m fine,” you interrupt, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “i just… i need to think.”

before she can say anything else, you’re out the door, your heart pounding in your ears.

the next few days are a blur. you throw yourself back into distractions, burying yourself in homework, extracurriculars, and anything else that keeps your mind off what happened at kyoka’s. but no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape the memory of her kiss. it plays on a loop in your head—the softness of it, the way she looked at you afterward, like she’d just handed you her heart and was waiting to see if you’d crush it.

and then there’s the way you ran.

you tell yourself you needed time to think, to sort through the mess of feelings inside you. but the truth is, you’re scared. scared of what her kiss meant, and even more scared of what it made you feel. you avoid her at school, taking different routes to class and sitting on the opposite side of study hall. you don’t respond to her texts, even though every one of them is a reminder of the friendship you’re putting on hold.

hey, you okay?can we talk?i’m really sorry if i made you uncomfortable. please just tell me if you’re mad. 🫠

you read her messages over and over, your chest tightening with guilt. you're not mad at her—not even a little. you're mad at yourself, at the part of you that wants to stop running and go back to her.

but you don’t.

it takes a week before kyoka corners you. you're at your locker, switching out books, when you feel someone behind you.

“hey..”

her voice is quiet, hesitant, but it still makes your heart race. your turn to face her, clutching your books to your chest like a shield.

“hi,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

kyoka shifts her weight, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. she looks nervous, and it’s strange to see her like this. shes always been so confident, so sure of herself.

“why are you avoiding me?” she asks, her eyes searching yours.

you want to say no reason, to lie and tell her everything is fine. but you can’t. not when she’s looking at you like that. like her heart was shattered into millions of pieces

“i… i needed time,” you admit.

her brow furrows. “time for what?”

you take a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “to figure out how I feel.”

kyoka doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the hurt in her eyes.

“i’m sorry,” you say quickly. “it's not your fault. i just… i wasn’t expecting this.”

“this,” she repeats, her voice soft. “you mean… us?”

you nod, your cheeks flushing. “i don’t know what i’m feeling, kyoka. i've never… i’ve never thought about girls like that before.”

her expression softens, and she takes a small step closer. “thats okay,” she says gently. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. i just… i didn’t want to lose you, you know? i get it if you don’t feel the same way, but i can’t stand not talking to you.”

her honesty makes your chest ache. you look down at your hands, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions inside you.

“i’m not mad at you,” you say finally. “i was just scared. scared of what it might mean if i…”

“if you what?” she asks softly.

you meet her gaze, your heart pounding. “if I liked you too.”

the words hang in the air between you, heavier than anything you’ve ever said. For a moment, you think she might say something, but instead, she smiles—a small, hopeful smile that makes your chest feel lighter.

“you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she says. “we can take it slow. i just… i want to be here for you, whatever that looks like.”

her kindness nearly brings you to tears. you nod, a small smile breaking through the weight of your emotions.

“okay,” you say, your voice steadier now. “slow sounds good.”

kyoka’s smile widens, and for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe again.

things don’t go back to normal right away, but they don’t stay broken, either. the next time you see kyoka in study hall, she gives you a small wave. it’s subtle, like she’s giving you space, but the softness in her expression reminds you of her promise: slow.

you wave back, and for the first time in weeks, the distance between you doesn’t feel insurmountable.

over the next few weeks, you find yourself gravitating back toward her. at first, it’s little things—sitting next to her during lunch, texting her again about homework or something funny you saw online. slowly, the ease of your friendship starts to return, but now there’s something else beneath it, something neither of you says out loud. you’re still figuring it out, what this new version of your relationship means. sometimes, you catch yourself staring at her when she isn’t looking, your heart fluttering in a way that still feels strange and unfamiliar. other times, you feel the panic creeping in again, the fear that you’re not who you thought you were.

but kyoka doesn’t rush you. she doesn’t push for answers or try to define things before you’re ready. instead, she just… shows up. she’s there in the small, quiet moments: walking with you to class, sending you songs she thinks you’ll like, making you laugh when you feel overwhelmed. she’s patient and steady, her presence a reminder that you don’t have to have it all figured out right away.

one friday afternoon, you’re sitting together under the tree in the courtyard, sharing a bag of chips and watching the clouds drift by.

“can i ask you something?” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

kyoka looks over at you, her expression curious. “sure.”

“how did you know?” you hesitate, unsure how to phrase the question. “i mean… about yourself. that you liked girls.”

she thinks for a moment, crunching on a chip before answering. “it wasn’t like some big epiphany or anything. i just… started noticing things. like how i’d get nervous around certain girls, or how i’d want to spend all my time with them. took me a while to figure out what it meant, though.”

you nod slowly, her words sinking in. “were you scared?”

“yeah, at first,” she admits. “but then i realized it didn’t change anything about who i was. i was still me, you know? and the people who mattered—they didn’t care.”

her answer soothes something in you, like a knot loosening in your chest.

“you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she adds, her tone gentle. “it;s okay to just… feel things and see where they take you.”

you look at her, the warmth in her eyes making your heart ache in the best way. “thanks, kyoka.”

she smiles, her fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. it’s such a small gesture, but it feels significant, like the start of something new.

that night, as you lie in bed, you replay the conversation in your head. for the first time in weeks, the thought of liking her doesn’t feel so scary. it feels possible.

weeks pass, and the fear you carried so heavily begins to soften. it doesn’t disappear entirely, but it becomes quieter, overshadowed by something else—a growing certainty every time you’re with kyoka.

you don’t tell her right away. you’re still figuring out how to put everything you’re feeling into words. but you start showing her in small ways, in the things you say and do. you let her borrow your favorite pens during study hall, even though she always forgets to give them back. you bring her coffee before class one morning, remembering exactly how she likes it—too much sugar, just a splash of cream. when she texts you a joke at midnight, you stay up replying, even though you have an exam the next day.

she notices, of course. kyoka jirou notices everything. “you’re different lately,” she says one afternoon, as the two of you walk home from school together.

“different how?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual.

she shrugs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “i don’t know. ligher, maybe. happier.”

you glance at her, and for a moment, you think about telling her the truth—that she’s the reason. that even though you’re still scared, being with her makes the fear worth it. but the words don’t come. not yet.

it happens on a friday night.

the two of you are at kyoka’s house again, sitting on the floor of her room with a pile of snacks between you. she's flipping through one of her old comic books, occasionally pointing out a panel she thinks you’ll like.

you’re not really paying attention to the comic, though. your gaze keeps drifting to her—how her hair falls into her eyes when she leans forward, the way her lips curve when she laughs at something she reads.

it’s like the air in the room shifts, becoming heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“hey, kyoka?” you say, your voice soft.

she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours. “yeah?”

your heart is pounding, your palms damp with nerves, but you don’t look away.

“i think…” you pause, taking a deep breath. “i think i like you.”

the words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. for a moment, kyoka just stares at you, her expression unreadable.

“you think?” she asks, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

you laugh nervously, your cheeks burning. “i mean… i know. i like you, kyoka. more than a friend.”

her smile softens, and she sets the comic book aside, leaning closer to you. “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

before you can respond, she cups your face gently, her thumb brushing against your cheek. this time, when she kisses you, you don’t pull away. it’s soft and tentative at first, but as you lean into her, it deepens, your heart pounding as the rest of the world fades away. when you finally pull back, her forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily.

“so,” she says, her voice low and warm. “does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

you laugh, the sound light and free. “yeah,” you say, your cheeks aching from how much you’re smiling. “i think it does.”

the next few weeks feel like a dream.

you and kyoka ease into the new rhythm of your relationship, the transition from friends to something more feeling natural and right. she holds your hand when you’re walking to class, her fingers laced with yours like they were always meant to be there. she texts you good morning and good night, her messages filled with teasing and sweetness in equal measure.

being with her doesn’t feel scary anymore. it feels like coming home. it feels perfect.

comments and reblogs r appreciated :)) made this for a friend. yes, this is based off the song "little miss perfect" from write out loud :0

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #kyoka jiro #jirou x reader #wlw #jirou kyouka #bnha jirou #fluff #friends to lovers #questioning #writers on tumblr

20 notes · View notes