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tightjeansjavi · 1 year ago

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common tongue of your loving me

A/N: so, I first just wanted to say that I am not responsible for the content that you choose to engage with. This is a very dark fic with triggering themes that may be disturbing for some readers. This is dead dove do not eat. Please heed the warnings with caution. I understand that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but for my first truly dark fic, I feel pretty good about it. It’s taken months of personal healing for me to become comfortable with writing/engaging with these kinds of fics. That being said, it is important to remember that SA survivors often use dark fic to cope from their own traumatic experiences, but also, dark fics can be enjoyed by anyone and no explanation for enjoying them is needed! Reading and writing dark fic does not mean that you condone this type of behavior. Please be kind.

~word count: 9.1k~

Summary: Joel finds you wandering through his territory and decides that he’ll take you in to be his little lamb. You don’t go with him so willingly.

pairing | raider!Joel x f!reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!

Dubcon/noncon, the lines are blurred regarding to what the reader consents too, Joel is sick in the head, coercion, manipulation from both Joel and the reader, Stockholm syndrome vibes, he can kill easily you if he wanted to but he won’t, dom/sub, dark! Joel, feral! Joel, raider! Joel, rough unprotected sex, possession, degradation, age gap: Joel is 40 the reader is early 30’s, power imbalance, fear tactics, mind games, praise kink, pet names: little lamb and sir, rough unprotected piv, choking/breath play, knife kink, blood kink, voyeurism, hand job, mutual masturbation, cock warming, oral (male and female receiving) cum play, mutilation of a body part (not done to the reader) misogyny from Joel’s men, implied rape as threat/coercion, Joel is not a morally good person, touch deprivation, humiliation, graphic depictions of violence, submission on the means of survival, foul language, +18 minors dni!

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The Cordyceps Outbreak changed you in a plethora of ways. Survivor turned cold-blooded murderer; not of your own doing. Desperate times call for desperate measures after all. Your saving grace happened to be a man. Brooding in strength, a quick tongue, and an even quicker aim. Calculated movements built up over years of tireless days and nights enduring whatever hell-scape the world had to offer. Grit, stubbornness, chapped lips, aliquine nose, paired with a wicked grin.

“Y’lost?” Gruff, gravelly, never ending pit of deepness. Joel Miller was crouched down between what you believed was an inconspicuous hiding space. You caught wind days out that a group of raiders had been silently stalking you. You were alone, with a limited supply of weapons in your reach.

“No.” Your voice trembled as you clutched your precious pocket knife to your chest.

“That so? What’re you doin’ hidin’ back there?” His head cocked curiously as his boot scraped along the tattered floor of the long since abandoned gas station.

“None of your goddamn business.” You hissed, teeth gritted as your eyes squeezed shut.

“Cute.” He mused. “Take it that you’re alone then? Y’got anythin’ on ya?”

“Are you going to kill me, or not? Cause if so, just get on with us for both our sakes.” You nearly pleaded.

He tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Ain’t gonna do that. Woulda dragged you outta there myself if that was the case. Besides, I enjoy it more when they run.” He spoke so casually you could feel your blood quickly turn to ice from his tone alone.

“What the hell do you want then? I have nothing to offer. Just some measly scraps, and a dull pocket knife.”

I’m gonna die. That’s it. It’s all over. All that fighting for fucking nothing.

“Ain’t that a shame.” You could feel the smirk rise on his face as bile tried to force its way up your throat. “You’re in luck, my dear. Feelin’ a bit generous. Been lookin’ for a pet. Someone to keep my bed warm at night. Clean my gun. Be at my side. The offer stands, but expires in approximately..” He looked around as if there was a working clock in sight, “one minute.”

“Wait, wait! Are you saying you want me to be your slave?! Fuck no! I’d–”

“Temper, I see. My slave? Not at all, darlin.’ You’ve got it all wrong. Ain’t gonna force ya, although, you were the one to stupidly go waltzing into raider territory. More specifically, my territory. So, you either swallow that fuckin’ tongue of yours and accept your fate, or i’ll let my men have their way with ya. N’trust me, doll. They’ll tear you apart the second they get their hands on you.”

“You sick fuck! I’m not going anywhere with you!” You pushed your body further between the two aisle shelves that had collapsed over.

“Ten.”

“You’re insane!”

“Nine.”

“Eight.” He droned with mock enthusiasm.

“C’mon, you ain’t got anywhere else to go. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. Don’t make this fuckin’ harder for yourself than it needs to be. My patience is runnin’ thin, and the clock is tickin’ away, little lamb.”

“I am not your little lamb, you fuckin’ monster!”

His eyes rolled in pure annoyance as you listened intently to the unmistakable clicking sound of his gun cocking.

“Seven.”

“Six.”

What other choice did you really have? Allow yourself to be violated, and god knows what else by this man’s men, or accept your fate and become his ‘pet.’ Just the thought alone sent a wave of nausea knocking through your system.

“Wait, wait! Please!” You nearly begged as you pulled yourself free from your hiding spot. You dropped your pocket knife to the floor with a clink as you held your hands above your head.

His smirk was nothing short of menacing as he took immediate notice to the terrified glassy look in your eyes.

“Don’t be frightened, little lamb.” He crooned

“You’re safe, and no harm will be done to you. However, my men will be deeply disappointed to hear that I have decided to take you as my own.”

God, this man was sick, but there was no turning back now. No escape route. No plan. No hope. Maybe he was just bluffing. Maybe his plan was to kill you when you’d least expect it. Maybe this was all just a game of cat and mouse for him; you being the helpless little mouse.

“You swear that you’re not going to touch me?” You eyed his outstretched hand warily.

“My darlin’ little lamb, you have my word. Although, I will have to pat you down. Y’know, to make sure you ain’t have anythin’ on ya. Oh, and don’t think I'm playin’ stupid either. Cus’ if you try’n kill me? I’ll make you wish that you had never been born. You have no idea what I am capable of, and my token of kindness only can stretch so far. Jus’ be good, and I won’t have to send a pretty thing like you six feet under. Got it?” His tone was sharp and straight to the point as his brow raised in your direction. You couldn’t even begin to fathom what this man was capable of.

You reluctantly took his hand as he hoisted you up from the grime infested floor. Not a second later did he have your back pinned securely against his broad chest as he held the sharp tip of your knife expertly against your jugular. All he would have to do was apply a tad bit of pressure in order to make a fatal incision. You could feel his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. His voice dropped an octave as he whispered, “Oh, and if you even think about tryn’ to run from me? I will hunt you down. Do I make myself crystal fuckin’ clear, little lamb?”

You struggled considerably in his constricting grip. A hiss slipped past your lips when the tip of the blade pricked your skin, blood beaded along the surface before slowly trickling down the column of your throat. “Fuck you, asshole.” You nearly whimpered when the blunt ends of his fingernails dug fiercely into your hips. He was unmoving like a mountain, or a slab of concrete. (whichever you prefer)

“That ain’t my name, little lamb.” He tuts before dipping his head down along the clavicle of your neck. His curls gently tickle your chin before you feel his hot tongue poke out and lick up the droplets of blood from your skin. You involuntarily inhaled a harsh breath as his lips harshly sucked on the entry wound. You heard a tiny grunt rumble up his chest before he uttered, tone thick and raspy, “It’s Joel.”

Joel fucking Miller.

His teeth nipped and scraped at your torn skin as his grip around you tightened. “Silly, silly, little lamb. You’ve gone and nicked yourself. Be good, and I’ll let you breathe.”

“Please, please let go of me, Joel. Please. You’re hurting me.” Your voice came out strained as you ultimately gave up on struggling in his steel-like grasp.

“There ya go. That’s a good little lamb.” He cooed as he loosened his grip around you. He had forgotten all about needing to pat you down as he slowly lowered your knife from its present position on your neck. He tucked it away in his own backpack for safe keeping. You were dumb to think that he’d let you have it back.

“Now that we’ve gotten the painfully hard stuff outta the way, y’can relax. So stiff.” He tsked as he nudged you forward. “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m not a complete barbarian. Got a cabin with workin’ plumbing! Imagine that.” He chuckled amusedly.

You were far from amused as you crossed your arms over your chest protectively as he nudged you forward. Your feet worked on autopilot as his domineering presence was close behind you. “That’s nice, Joel. I could frankly fucking care less where you live.” You snapped in a sharp quick tone.

“Oh? Well, perhaps you’d rather fuckin’ sleep outside, chained to a tree like a goddamn dog.” he snapped back, quicker than you had expected.

“Yeah?” You scoffed. “Well, maybe I would much rather be chained to a fucking tree than breathe the same disgusting air as you.” So much for not pushing this man's buttons.

He laughed, and you could feel his hot breath tickling the hair along the back of your neck.

“As tempting as that sounds, how am I supposed to protect you if you’re chained to a tree?” He was smirking rather sadistically. You couldn’t see his face, but you just knew he was grinning through his teeth. “Besides, wouldn’t you much rather sleep in a warm, cozy bed, little lamb? I bet it’s been awhile since you’ve experienced that kinda comfort, hmm?” He knew he was toying with you and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not stand your ground.

“I don’t need your protection. I don’t want anything to do with it, and for the love of God, would you stop fucking calling me little lamb?”

“Y’know, the more you fight this, the worse it’s going to be. You oughta be thankin’ me. Y’know why? I could fuckin’ take you right here, right now. I can shove you to the ground and have my way with you, little lamb. You can scream and cry all you want, but there’s not a goddamn thing you could do to stop me. You’re defenseless, and apparently missing quite a few marbles in that brain of yours. I suggest you shut the fuck up, and keep movin.’” In the midst of your quarrel, he had silently removed his gun from the holster around his hips, and you could feel the cool metal of the barrel pressing into the back of your neck.

You froze purely out of fear as your mouth went dry. No words fell from your once confident tongue as he nudged you forward once more.

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He hissed.

You were in fact shocked to see that Joel and his men didn’t live in filth and grime like you expected. Even moreso, it didn’t appear that they had stowed away any prisoners in their camp. This newfound knowledge was both comforting, and unsettling. Joel’s cabin was the furthest from the rest of the group. Tucked away in a grouping of evergreens. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think he was just some lone survivor too. You surveyed the surrounding area silently as he unlocked the front door. You could run..but how far would you manage to get? He’d hunt you down no doubt. Your body was already running off pure adrenaline. It had been weeks since you had a proper meal.

“Home sweet home.” He chimed as he gave you a rough jolt forward. Your legs nearly buckled from the surprised movement as you stumbled inside. The heavy wooden door swung shut as he locked it behind him.

“I imagine you must be starvin’ huh?”

“Nope.”

He rolled his eyes as he slung his backpack along one of the hooks on the wall. “Uh-huh. You ain’t all that of a liar, little lamb. Look, if I were in your situation, i’d suck it the fuck up and be grateful for my generous hospitality. Y’wanna starve? Be my fuckin’ guest, but don’t say I didn’t try to feed ya.” He huffed as he strode past you, shoulder brushing yours roughly as he disappeared into the kitchen.

You stood there dumbly in the middle of the entryway as you subconsciously scratched at your arm. “Hey..uh, Joel?” You sounded timid and unsure of yourself but given the present circumstances, that was to be expected.

His head peeked around the corner as he made eye contact with you. “Yes, little lamb?”

Can he fucking quit it with that nickname already?

“So, I was wondering if it was possible for me to uh–shower? I’ve been traveling for weeks and I just figured you probably wouldn’t want me stinking up your bed? Just want to make sure I'm being a good pet for you.” You nearly gagged from your compliant words, but if you played your cards right, maybe you’d make it out of this alive.

His slow growing smirk was a tell-tale sign that he was buying your faux submission. Ruthless or not, he was still a man at the end of the day.

“Sure. S’not a problem at all. Y’need help findin’ your way? Jus’ down the hall n’to the left. I’ll leave some clothes out for ya as well. Think you’ve worn those things to ruin.” He casually gestured to your tattered clothing.

“Yeah, well..beggars can’t be choosers now can they?”

“No, they can’t.” He agreed.

You stared at one another a moment longer before you padded off down the hall. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head until you turned the corner. You paused momentarily to listen for his footsteps. Only when you were convinced he didn’t follow you, did you finally release a shaky breath. Just be good, and you’ll get out of this one way or another.

Joel’s bathroom was insipid in decor, but that came as to no surprise. It’s not like he had any reason to embellish the space with flowers or any other domestic shit. At least the towels looked fairly clean, and the shower head looked durable. You could have shed tears of joy when you turned the faucet handle and a steady stream flowed through the shower head. The water had a slightly oxidized odor from the well, but it wasn’t ice cold; more like room temperature. You wasted no time to shred your thin layers of clothing and discard them to the cool tile beneath your feet. Your nipples pebbled and grew taught under the cooling stream of water along your skin. You feel the filth and grime slowly wash away and stain the water a murky brown color from the debris. You were pleasantly surprised to find a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo that was undoubtedly expired, but it would suffice.

The towel you wrapped around your body was a bit coarse and itchy from being utilized so many times. You kept your hand firmly wrapped around the front of the towel to prevent it from slipping down your still damp body. As you reached for the door handle you found shortly after that there was something blocking your ability to open it all the way. You took a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the inevitable..clothes? There just outside of the door, folded nicely in a pile, was a shirt and pants waiting for you.

Joel was busy putzing around the kitchen as he prepared a well-deserved meal for the two of you. He was already convinced that you were warming up to him (finally). Or, perhaps you were just too exhausted to put up a solid fight. Either way, he was going to continue to use his generous hospitality to his advantage. Match point.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice.” He mused from where he was standing as you appeared from down the hall.

“Shower was pretty decent.” You mumbled in response.

“Go on and make yourself at home.” He gestured to the small kitchen table with two handcrafted wooden chairs. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

“I already told you, I'm not hungry.”

“Still playin’ the stubborn game, are we? What happened to the whole ‘I want to be a good pet for you, Joel?’” he dropped the kitchen knife he was presently holding onto the countertop as he made air quotes with his fingers.

“Why the hell would you think for a second that I'm going to trust you all of a sudden? I don’t want shit to do with your food.”

“Mmm. I see. S’you jus’ thought oh, i’ll just use his shower and shit will be all peachy keen? Sit your fuckin’ ass down at that table right now.” He wasn’t asking, he was demanding.

“Oh, gee. You’re too kind! Giving me somewhere to finally rest my fucking feet.” You muttered sarcastically under your breath as you plopped down onto the chair finally.

Seconds later a plate was placed down in front of you. The smell was absolutely mouthwatering. Seared venison, potatoes, gravy and bread. This was a real hearty meal that you could only dream of having. It reminded you of Sunday dinner’s back at your parents when you were struggling to pay your rent off every month. You’d have leftovers for days thanks to them.

You suspiciously eyed your captor as he took the seat across from you and began to indulge in the meal he had prepared. You remained skeptical as your arms crossed over your chest defiantly.

“It ain’t poisoned if that’s what you’re thinkin.’ Why the hell would I be eating poisoned food? Besides, how are you supposed to keep my bed warm if you’re fuckin’ dead, little lamb?” He grumbled as he pointed his fork in your direction.

“I don’t know. Maybe a sick fuck like you is into that sorta thing. You don’t actually expect me to believe that you have a moral compass, do you?”

“Oh, you’re right on the head with that one. Just below your feet I have bodies stashed for safekeeping. Oh, and some are buried out back in the woods. You’ll find bones scattered about the property.” he stated nonchalantly as he leaned over the table with his eyes locked on yours. “Y’know what I love most? I love it when they scream and beg for their pathetic little lives to be spared. They all try to escape, but they never get very far. I give them all a fair head start jus’ to give them that false hope that they’re going to make it out of this alive.” He stabbed a piece of venison with his fork before popping it into his mouth.

Your blood curdled like rotten milk as you went to push your chair back. You were startled from the sound of his knife being embedded into the wood with a harsh thud. “Don’t you even fuckin’ think about it.” He hissed.

“Are you fucking serious?! You have dead bodies under the fucking floorboards?! So, this was your plan all along?! Make me play house with you till you get bored and decide to butcher me?!”

“No.” he deadpanned. “I was not bein’ serious. But, since you think i’m some sick fuckin’ monster that stashes women away to murder them, I decided to play into your little scenario. Now, fuckin’ eat your goddamn food. Or by God I will fucking pin you down and shove it down your throat.”

You truly could not tell if he was bluffing or not, but by the darkened appearance of his pupils, your brain was literally screaming at you to just pick the fucking fork up and eat. So, that’s exactly what you did. Fuck, this was the best thing you tasted in a long time.

When the sun began to set and cast a soft orange glow through the cabin windows, your nerves were on high alert when you faced the realization that you’d have to sleep in the same bed as this man. Your plate was nearly licked clean as he removed it from in front of you. He could sense your unease from a mile away. It was as if he could smell the fear leaking from your pores.

“Go on and get some rest, little lamb. I’ll be there in a few. Oh, and by the way, I prefer to sleep naked. I hope that doesn’t pose a problem for you.” He shot a flirty wink in your direction before you were immediately pushing your chair back.

Fucking peachy.

It wasn’t difficult to find his bedroom as it was the only other room in the mid size cabin. You would have much rather have slept on the uncomfortable hardwood floor than to share a bed with him. However, based on how he acted at the dinner table..you really didn’t want to stretch your luck, if you’d even call it that, any further.

The semi-comfortable mattress brought instant relief to your aching back and shoulders. A comfort short lived as you listened attentively to the faint footsteps approaching the door. Joel was surprisingly quiet as he slipped into the room like a shadow in the night. He barely acknowledged your presence as he shuffled to the unoccupied side of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he sank down along it.

You laid there unmoving, quiet like a mouse as your eyes squeezed shut from the familiar shrill sound of the metal clasp of his belt clinking. His jeans hit the floor with a soft thud as a silent tear slowly rolled down your cheek. He yanked his shirt over his head in one swift movement before he kicked his boxers down his ankles. You heard him let out a faint sigh as he scrubbed his hand down his patchy beard. You waited for the moment that he would pounce..but it never came as he slowly swung his legs onto the mattress with a soft grunt as he settled back into the pillows. His cock hung heavy between his thighs as he shifted positions ever so slightly. “G’night, little lamb. Sleep tight.” He crooned softly.

Wait..that’s it? No no. What the hell was going on? Didn’t he say he would–

“Goodnight, Joel.” You whispered as you rolled over so your back was facing him. You were on the very edge of the mattress, as far away as you possibly could be from him.

Joel was more than willing to play the long game with you. He was in no rush, and toying with your already fragile mind was part of the fun. He did swear that he wouldn’t touch you without your consent, but he never said anything about not touching himself. He was, after all, a lonely man in some capacity. Perhaps that’s why he had no shame to slowly wrap his fist around the base of his cock while you were laying just a few feet away. He trapped his lower lip between his teeth as he dragged his thumb across the ruddy head, collecting a bead of precum that had weeped from the narrow slit. He twisted his hand slowly as a grunt bubbled up his throat. He pulled his hand back only to filthily spit on it in order to create some lubrication. His head tilted back against the pillows as his mind ran rampant through his filthy desires. “Fuck, that’s it little, lamb.” He hissed between his teeth, digging his heels into the mattress as his cock grew hard and swollen in his grasp.

You could vaguely hear the rustling of the sheets through your light slumber. You thought maybe you were experiencing some vivid dream when you detected Joel’s soft grunt and the unmistakable sound of him spitting into his hand. It felt like your body was betraying you and riding off into the deep end as your thighs subconsciously clenched together. His sounds of gratification only seemed to spur your now awake body to relieve itself in some capacity as your hand slowly snaked down between your thighs. It had been longer than you could remember since you last shared a bed with someone. Perhaps this was all based purely on animalistic instincts as your fingers dipped beneath your panties. Your clit was throbbing for attention as your fingertips skated across it. You bit down on the inside of your cheek hard to suppress a whimper from slipping out, but it was audible enough for Joel to hear it. Once you started, there was no going back as your fingers worked your clit in slow circular motions.

Joel was shocked to say the least. So much so, that his hand had stilled around his cock as he listened to your pathetic little whimpers that you were desperately trying to suppress. You being so unpredictable to him was an absolute turn on. He couldn’t believe that his dirty little lamb was shamelessly playing with herself. Maybe you and him weren’t so different after all. His cock twitched against his stomach as he imagined just how tight your little pussy would hug him, and that’s all it took for him to shred his remaining morale. “What’re you doin’ over there, little lamb?” He whispered through the pale moonlight that casted shadows across the bed frame.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You scrambled to remove your hand from between your thighs as a sense of embarrassment and dread washed over you. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks from the excitement and adrenaline rush of being caught.

“Don’t stop on my account, dirty little lamb. You sounded so desperate to come. Why deprive yourself of that pleasure?” He hummed through his teeth as he gave the base of his cock a firm relieving squeeze. “Or are you seekin’ some assistance? I’d be happy to help..can’t leave your pussy hanging on the edge for that long, little lamb. She deserves better treatment than that.” He tsked disapprovingly.

it was as if a lightbulb had suddenly flashed in your brain. Yes, use this to your advantage. This is what he wants, right? Give it to him. Make him think that you’re submissive. Fuck him stupid and leave when he’s sleeping. Play his game better than he is.

“It hurts.” You pouted as tears of frustration began to slowly drip down the corners of your eyes. You did have to sell the part after all.

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry. I know it hurts..bet it’s been so long since your cunt has been properly taken care of, hmm? When’s the last time she’s been stretched out by a cock?” He asked softly as you felt the mattress dip down from him slowly roll over onto his elbow so he was facing you.

“It’s been too long, sir. I can’t even remember the last time I was properly filled up by a cock. I miss that feeling so much. Will you help me, please? I want you to take care of me, Joel.” You nearly moaned out a plea as your thighs rubbed together beneath the sheets.

Joel’s rough exterior had seemingly melted into a puddle of liquid as you nearly begged him. Who was he to say no to a person in need? Here you were, so willing, so compliant, so submissive, and right where he wanted you to be. “Oh, my poor little lamb. It’s been that long for you? Perhaps I’ll just have to remind your cunt just how good it feels to be properly filled up by a cock, hmm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Please, Joel. Please remind me how good it feels to be filled up by a cock. I want you to stretch me out..I want to feel you everywhere..think you can handle that, sir?” You were already reaching for his hand as he scooted closer to where your body was laying. You guided his hand between your thighs so he could feel just how wet you were for him. “Please, can’t you feel how wet I am? Please make me feel good, sir.”

His eyes nearly rolled back into his skull from your desperation and neediness as his fingers lightly traced the seam of your panties where he could feel the wetness pooling through the fabric. “I’ll take real good care of you, little lamb. You’re in good hands. We’ll have to take these off so I can get a good look at ya. Bet she’s so fuckin’ pretty. Dyin’ to have a peek.”

He’s a goner.

She’s a goner.

“Take them off, please.” You whimpered as his hands grasped the hem of your panties and slowly pulled them down your thighs. His pupils dilated from the sight of the fabric sticking to your puffy wet pussy. His mouth watered from the sight alone as he discarded your ruined panties to the floor. You felt the warm embrace of his hand wrap around the inside of your thigh as he coaxed it across his lap so he could spread you nice and wide. “Oh, fuck. Look at how swollen she is. Must hurt so much.” He pouted with furrowed brows. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy. I cannot wait to ruin her, my little lamb.” At this angle you were entirely exposed to his greedy eyes as you watched his hand travel southward once more. He used his middle and forefinger to spread your folds open so he could get a better view of your swollen little clit. He appeared to be mesmerized as your tight wet little hole involuntary clenched inwards.

Your moans were anything but fake as his thumb slowly worked your clit into tight circles. He wasn’t lying about the fact that you certainly were in good hands. You were wet enough as it is, but he felt that extra lubrication couldn’t hurt as he spat a glob of saliva between his fingers and rubbed it in. He soon had two fingers knuckle deep inside of you as he slowly curled them inwards. “Gotta get you nice and relaxed for me, baby. I don’t wanna hurt ya, and you’re being such a good little lamb for me. I think I’ll just have to reward you for that. How does that sound?” His eyes drifted upwards so he could see your face twist with pleasure as your toes curled inwards.

“Oh, sir.” You moaned wantonly. “That feels so fucking good. Please don’t stop. I promise I’ll keep being your good little lamb. Can you show me your cock, Joel? I want to see it. I bet it’s so big..what if it doesn’t fit?”

He shifted his hips upwards so you could get a good look at his dick. He watched your eyes widen the slightest at the sight of him. Heavy set balls, dark coarse hair, and by far the thickest cock you had ever feasted your eyes upon. “Shh, we’ll make it fit. It’ll feel so fuckin’ good once I’m stretching you out, little lamb. You just gotta trust me. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you trust me?”

“Mhmm. I can trust you, sir. I know you’ll take extra good care of me. Please don’t make me wait much longer..please be good to me.”

He pressed a reassuring kiss to your temple as he felt the walls of your pussy clench down around his thick digits. The squelching sound sent blood quickly flowing southwards as his cock twitched against his thigh. As soon as he slipped his fingers out of you, he knelt between your thighs with one hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock as he twisted his wrist a couple times. His freehand was wrapped around the underside of your thigh as he brought it around his shoulder with your heel resting along his firm shoulder blade. “Good little lamb. I’m goin’ fill this pretty little pussy up just the way that she deserves, okay? See, I told you that bein’ my pet wasn’t gonna be so bad. I knew you’d warm up to me eventually.” He mumbled under his breath as he slowly dragged his tip between your folds, rutting his hips forward slowly. The tip of his cock bumped against your already sensitive clit with each gentle thrust.

Your brain felt like a scrambled egg that was being mentally toyed and fucked with. This sick man could have easily fucked you like a rag doll into his mattress, and instead he was choosing to take things slow. Why? You couldn’t wrap your head around his reasoning, or if this was truly just another piece to his game, but Jesus fuck, there was no denying that it felt fucking incredible.

Your words came out like slurred jarble as your mouth slowly felt open when you felt him slowly start to sink inside of you, stretching you open, filling you up just like his promise. It felt like his cock was splitting you in two the further he pressed into you. He coaxed you gently when you clawed at his forearms. Shushing you with featherlight kisses to your cheekbones when he had bottomed out. Your leg fell limp around his shoulder when he had slowly pulled his hips back before jutting them forward.

He was fucking you deliciously deep as the matress squeaked from the movement. He was watching your face for any signs of discomfort as you struggled to figure out where he started, and where he ended. Your pussy hugged him tight as it drew him in deeper with each thrust. His hand nearly engulfed your hip as his thumb lightly pressed down along your lower abdomen where he could feel the tip of his cock just barely kissing your cervix. “Can you feel me right there, little lamb? You’re doing so good for me. So fuckin’ good. Tightest little pussy I’ve ever had. She’s huggin’ me so good.” His grunts mixed with your sharp moans as you struggled to not completely throw your plan out the window. In this position it was hard to gain any sense of control; it was time to switch things up.

“Joel, baby.” You mewled softly as your hips rolled forward to meet his thrusts. “I wanna try something that I think you’ll really like..I wanna be on top. You must be so exhausted from dealing with me all day..why don’t you lay back and I’ll do all the work?” You suggested with a harsh breath as he leaned down over you. You could feel the broad weight of his chest pressing down against you as his lips brushed across the shell of your ear, “that’s the best idea you’ve had all goddamn day, little lamb.”

Even after your handsome offering, he wasn’t quite ready to slip out of your warmth just yet. Now that he had a taste, there was no way in hell that he was about to let you go from his grasp. He had consumed you completely to the point where it felt like you were being suffocated by his sheer mass and the way he managed to hit that spongy spot inside of you with every profound intense induced thrust. His wiry patchy beard scraped at the soft skin of your cheek as he drove himself further. “Jus’ gimme a little more time with ya like this. You feel so fuckin’ good around me. Jus’ a little longer.” He stuttered between harsh jagged breaths that fluttered across the shell of your ear. His teeth nipped, scraped at the skin as the musty scent of his sweat melded into yours. Skin on skin: with no point of relief.

When he finally began to slowly slip out of your tight wet walls, it appeared that your body was reluctant to let go of him based on the way your pussy clenched around him tightly like a fist. He chuckled low and deep as he watched a mixture of your release and his own leak out of your tight fucked out hole. It glistened along the apex of your thighs, trailing down your skin, dripping along the once unsoiled comforter.

“My my, little lamb. You’ve gone and made quite the mess of yourself hmm?” He teased as he slowly dragged his pointer finger through the mixture of fluids as if he was creating an erotic painting, and his finger was the steady brush.

Focus. Focus. Focus. Your brain chanted at you relentlessly.

“Hnngh..mhm..i’ve made such a mess of myself, sir. Will you please clean me up?”

He smirked cruelly through the pale moonlight that danced across your skin as he scooted himself back on his knees, his cock brushing against the comforter and creating just enough stimulation for him to be satisfied for the time being. “Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can give you an itty-bitty reward.” He mused as his eyes locked in on your glistening pussy just begging to be kissed. Your lashes fluttered when you felt his hot breath fan your core. Might as well get all the use out of him that you could get.

He pressed open mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Sucking, licking, kissing around where you craved him most. The second those sinful lips latched onto your swollen clit, a carnal need washed over both of you as he devoured you whole. His tongue worked you in languid strokes as he made sure to lick up every last drop. Your orgasm was steadfast approaching as the coil in your stomach tightened. Your thighs clamped firmly around his head like a stubborn shell. If it were any other situation, you’d let him eat you for hours, days even, but you had to stick to your plan.

He wasn’t letting up easily as you used all your strength to push his head from between your thighs. His beard and lips were coated in your slick as he finally released you from his death grip. There was no time to catch your breath as his strong arms were already hosting you into his lap as he lazily rolled over onto his back with a soft grunt.

“Keep bein’ my good little lamb, and you’ll wake up every mornin’ with my head between your thighs.” He nearly purred as his hands anchored themselves around your hips. You could feel the head of his cock notching at your entrance as you slowly sank down against his bulky strong thighs. It took a mere moment for you to snap back into character and keep up with your charades as you wrapped your hand firmly around the base of his cock. “I’m going to take care of you now okay, Joel? You’ve been so good to me. I’m so grateful for your generous hospitality and your cock. I just want you to sit back and relax..can you do that for me, baby?” You held all the control in the palm of your hand as you slowly slid his tip between your slit. Your little noises of appreciation had his head spinning in circles as he squeezed your hips firmly.

“M’gonna keep you forever, just like this. Stuffed full of my cock. Filled to the fuckin’ brim.” He hissed between his teeth as you slowly inched yourself around him till he had filled you to the hilt. “M’so lucky to have a good little lamb like you, baby. My good little cockslut. It ain’t so bad, is it? Mmm..maybe you and I are more alike than you think.” He murmured with a lazy grin etched on his face as he gazed up at you through thick lashes.

“Of course i’ll be your good little lamb forever and ever, sir.” You played along as you slowly rolled your hips forward. “I’ll be so good to you just like you have been to me.” Now you had him right where you wanted him and it was only a matter of time. You affectionately played with his sweat stained curls, licked the musk from his neck as you inhaled his masculine aroma that seeped from his pores. You nipped at his flesh and left little love bites speckled across his skin. You fucked him the best way that you could, spending what was left of your dwindling energy to convince this man that you were submitting to him entirely. Each roll of your hips, and smack of your skin transported him to a new state of pure ecstasy. He didn’t last very long considering he was fairly spent himself. He let out a deep guttural animalistic grunt that ruptured from deep within his chest as he spilled his seed into you. He could feel both yours and his release drip down between where your bodies were connected. He praised in a soft tone, mumbling about how he was going to fall asleep just like this. “Y’stay right there, little lamb. Gonna keep you stuffed full of my cock all night.” He rasped as his lashes fluttered shut.

By all means, sir. Keep me stuffed full of your cock, because come morning, you’ll be waking up to an empty, cold, miserable bed. You fucking idiot.

He dozed off, still buried deep inside of your cunt as you sat there obediently. You listened to the sound of his breathing return to a normal rate as soft snores slipped past his parted lips. Only when you were certain that he wouldn’t awake from his sex induced slumber, did you finally slip off of his lap. You could feel the sticky residue of his come latching onto your thighs as his cock went soft. You gathered up the clothes he had given you as you rushed to dress and get the hell out of there. You were as quiet as a mouse as you crept out of his room. Your eyes zoned in on the rifle hanging along the hook next to the door.

You were so close to freedom you could almost taste it as you unlatched the door and began to slowly push the handle down–

“Where are you runnin’ off to, little lamb?” His tone was low and menacing as you felt the hardness of his chest press against your back. In one swift movement he had pulled the door shut with a heavy slam that rattled your bones to the core. You went to reach for his rifle but he was on you in a flash as he twisted your arms painfully behind your back. He knocked you forward against the wooden door with your cheek pressed firmly into the rough texture of the wood. When you didn’t respond to his original question, he asked again, but a lot less nicer.

“I said, where the fuck do you think you’re runnin’ off to, little lamb? Y’think you can play me for a goddamn fool?!” He bellowed. His harsh words bounced off the walls of the cabin as you struggled in his painful grip. “After I fed you, put clothes on your back and fucked you dumb, you think you can jus’ fuckin’ leave?!”

“Sir, I'm so sorry! You have it all wrong! I—just wanted to get some fresh air! I was going to come right back, I swear!” You took the pleading route in hopes that maybe he’d show you just a smidge of mercy. “I’d never leave you!”

He laughed darkly as he shoved you further into the door, creating little to no space for you to breathe. “Fuckin’ save it. You’re a goddamn filthy liar, little lamb! You were leavin’ me! What a fuckin’ shame too because you were being so so good. Pity, because I was actually thinking of letting you go myself.” He lied straight through his teeth as he forced his knee between your thighs and spread them apart. His hand that wasn’t holding your wrists painfully together wrapped around your middle as he yanked you roughly against his chest. His lips were right at your ear now. “You were being such a good little lamb for me, that I was beginning to feel sorry for taking you away..I was going to let you go first thing in the morning, but you just had to go and fuckin’ ruin it for yourself, huh?” He tsked

Fresh tears began to cascade down your face as you continued to try and break free. Your hope was quickly diminishing like a candle being blown out as he twisted your wrists at an unnatural angle. “PLEASE!” You begged, “I’m so sorry, sir! Please don’t kill me! I–I–can make it up to you, I swear!”

“Kill you? Oh, my dear sweet little lamb, you really haven’t been payin’ attention, have you? I’m not going to kill you. You’re far too pretty to be feasted on by some critters. That simply won’t do.” His hand that was securely wrapped around your middle snaked upwards as he roughly groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. “Quit your fuckin’ squirming. You ain’t gettin’ yourself outta this one, little lamb.”

“Please, please let me go! I’m–I'm sorry for not being a good pet! I can do better! Please, Joel! You’re hurting me!” You cried out for mercy.

“Now, you’re gonna sit still and be a good little lamb, or I'll feed you to the wolves just outside my door.” He whispered harshly as he dropped his hand from around your breast only to then find the button on your pants before he yanked them down your thighs. Your pussy was sore and overstimulated when he pressed the ruddy head of his cock between your thighs. “Can’t you hear ‘em howlin?’ Bet they’re fistin’ their cocks right now thinkin’ about how your pretty little cunt would hug them so tight. S’only for me, right? This cunt belongs to me. Don’t fuckn’ gimme a reason to share.” He hissed as he harshly thrusted up into you, knocking the air from your lungs as his hand wrapped around your throat.

Your words came out as strangled cries as he continued to ram into you. “Can’tcha hear ‘em now? Beggin’ for this cunt. C’mon, little lamb. Scream for me. Let them know just how good daddy is treatin’ ya. Don’t you fuckin’ hold back.” His thumb and forefinger pressed firmly against your trachea making it harder for oxygen to reach your brain as your body went into distress mode. The more you fought, the tighter he held you. When you could begin to see stars dancing behind your eyelids, and your breath came out in a weak wheezing sound, he finally released you from his death grip.

You buckled over, gasping for air as your knees hit the floor with a sickening thud.

“Don’t you ever try to outsmart me again, little lamb.” He was standing over you like an ominous shadow as choked sobs raked through your body.

“Now, get the fuck back to bed, or i’ll drag you there myself.”

You took his threat seriously as you scrambled to your feet and scurried back to his room.

You never crossed him again, and for good reason. He apologized for his actions the next morning over breakfast. You weren’t very hungry, but forced yourself to eat for your own sake. Now you were his broken and submissive little lamb.

He did keep his promise of keeping you safe from all harm. Once enough trust was instilled, he allowed you to accompany him outside. He taught you all that he knew during those months. You found it hard to not begin to fall for him when he showed you his gentler side. It felt wrong, but right at the same time to love a man who was so cruel. He stripped you of your autonomy, and then stitched it right back together with his own needle and thread. You adapted to his lifestyle as if it was the back of your hand. Accompanying him on raids, torturing helpless individuals for the sheer thrill it felt to hold another person’s life in the palm of your hands.

Maybe you were sicker than he was.

This winter was proving to be unforgiving. Supplies and rations were low, and Joel’s men were growing antsy. Their leader was spending too much time tucked away in his cabin with you, and it was only a matter of time before someone would lash out. You were still fast asleep tucked away cozily in Joel’s warm bed while he called a meeting with the rest of the group.

“I say we head west. There ain’t nothin’ left here for us.” One of his men stated, and heads began to slowly nod in agreement.

“West? Why the hell would we go and do that? We got a decent territory here, and I'm this close to gettin’ us into the QZ. Jus’ have to twist a few more fingers to get us there. This ain’t the worst winter we’ve had. Don’t go and act like a bunch of fuckin’ pussies just because you’re afraid that your dicks are gonna freeze off.” He snapped.

“Easy enough for you to say, Miller. You’re the one who’s got a cockslut keepin’ you warm on the cold nights. What about the rest of us, huh? Can’t be bothered to share your prize?”

Joel could feel his blood begin to simmer as he slowly turned his head to the side. His eyes were narrowed into slits as his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “What the fuck did you jus’ call her?” His tone was eerily calm as he did his best to keep his temper at bay. You were off limits; end of story.

“You heard me. Bet that cockslut of yours was the one who suggested we stay here. That’s why it ain’t good to keep women around for long. They talk and talk and think that they have the answer for everything! Well, you know what I gotta say to that? Keep ‘em around to keep your cock warm and toss ‘em when they grow smart. That’s all they’re good for anyway. Jus’ a tight wet hole to fuck.”

The prominent veins in Joel’s neck bulged to the surface of his neck. His skin was so hot that the swirling flurries that landed on him immediately melted. His face grew red with rage. You were far more than just a hole to fuck. You were his little lamb, and god help any motherfuckers that dare disrespect his little lamb.

“I should fuckin’ carve your tongue out for that. She is not my cockslut.” If Joel’s men were smart, they’d back off while they still had the chance, but men will be men after all.

“Oh, please! Is her pussy really all that? Look at how soft you’ve gone, Miller! I say you dispose of her while you still have the chance. Oh, but before you do that, bring her out for a spin. We’ve been dyin’ to see what her cunt is all about.”

It was as if something inside of Joel had suddenly snapped and he found his hands constricted around the man’s neck. Joel had him pinned to the snow covered ground as the man thrashed around violently. No one dared to try and stop their leader until they heard the crunching of snow beneath boots as your voice drifted through the brewing blizzard like a rumbling echo

Joel’s head snapped in the direction of your voice as he loosened his grip around the man’s neck slightly. “Baby, what the fuck are you doin’ out here? It’s freezing! Get back inside–”

You were quick to cut him off as you approached the scene that was laid out in front of you. You ignored his present concern for your wellbeing as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What the fuck is going on here, Joel?”

“Seth said some shit that he really oughta have kept to himself. S’alright. I got this one handled. Why don’t you go on back home where it’s warm.”

“No. I want you to tell me what he said.” You stood firm

Joel eyed the rest of his men who were all looking much like sheep themselves. “He called you a cockslut, and that all a woman is good for is a tight wet hole to fuck.” He deadpanned.

You appeared unfazed sans the slight arch of your brow. “Really?” You scoffed. “How original. Don’t you think that strangling him is a bit too merciful?”

“Well, before you came out here, I threatened to carve his tongue out.”

“Oh?” You asked with a lopsided grin. “Now that is more your style, baby. Wanna use my knife? I just sharpened it the other day.”

Seth was nervously looking between yours and Joel’s sadistic grins as he struggled to escape. All Joel had to do was snap his fingers once for two of his men to then force Seth down by his shoulders, and physically pry his jaw open as he thrashed wildly on the ground.

“My little lamb, you’re so sick..y’know that?” He was already reaching for your outstretched knife before his hand encased around your wrist and gently tugged you down into the snow. “Front row seat jus’ for you, baby. Don’t worry, he’ll never say another word about you again.” he sealed his promise to you against your lips before he was pulling away to finish off the job.

“S’matter, Seth? Cat got your tongue?” Joel crooned as grabbed the back of his head and yanked it forward. “This oughta teach ya to respect women.”

“Joel–wait! Please don’t do this! I’m sorry! I’m–” Seth’s pleas were violently cut off when Joel sliced right through his tongue. Blood spattered and squirted from the gushing wound as his once attached muscle now laid limp in the snow.

“Oh, what was that? You’re sorry? It’s a bit too late for that, pal.” Joel spat before he picked up the chunk of Seth’s mutilated tongue and tossed it right into the nearby fire pit.

“Get him outta my sight before I decide to rip his throat out too. Tie him up to a tree a few miles from here. Leave him to the wolves. They’ll finish him off.” He demanded his men as he wiped the blood from your knife along Seth’s shirt.

His hand reached for yours to help you up from the ground. You held no shame to admit that watching Joel mutilate someone in front of you so willingly sent a wave of arousal gushing between your clenched thighs, and you probably would have fucked him right then and there and let his men watch because none of that really mattered anymore. You opted to pull him behind a cluster of trees instead as you dropped to your knees ceremoniously in the bitter cold snow that instantly bit at your exposed bare skin. Your hands clawed for his belt as you desperately unlatched it and shoved his jeans down his thighs swiftly. Your cheeks felt cold to the touch as Joel’s hand affectionately held your face in his warm palm as you pulled his stiff cock free. His heart swelled with pure pride for his good little lamb.

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trippinsorrows · 4 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

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

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

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

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.”

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it.

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl….”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly.

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely.

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read.

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted.

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.”

Roman….

He confuses her.

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly.

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears.

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space.

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different.

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?”

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly.

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate.

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.”

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical. “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer.

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me.

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me.

I’ve never had a man be nice to me.

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them.

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins.

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began.

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins.

This is one of those moments.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night.

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman.

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing.

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins.

She has no idea where Solo is.

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.”

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains.

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot.

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi.

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word.

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment.

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable.

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected.

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman.

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line.

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice.

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body.

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name.

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia.

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on.

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions.

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks.

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.”

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat.

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now.

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information.

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman.

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her.

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is.

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister.

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul.

Roman simply states, “talk.”

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome. Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health.

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her.

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage.

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her.

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can.

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.”

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand.

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two.

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him.

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised.

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him.

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination.

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering.

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard.

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room.

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop.

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood.

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage.

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from.

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed.

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough.

“Make it 20.”

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.”

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way.

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck!

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack.

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head.

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands, “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate.

That only pisses him off even more.

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt.

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves.

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red.

He knew something happened to her.

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped.

Beaten.

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom.

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall.

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana.

He’s fucking breathing rage.

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better.

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault.

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket.

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get.

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps.

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before.

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety.

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost.

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic.

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is.

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did.

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?”

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable.

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

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

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sunraies · 2 years ago

Text

Operation: Distract Rafe

Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

Warnings- fluff, angst, swears

Sarah needs help to distract Rafe. Once realising she is using Wheezie, you try to help.

Slightly naive Reader. Established relationship. I'm honestly not sure about this one

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You were laying on Rafe's bed, typing away on your phone as he roughly folded clothes and shoved them into the duffle bag by your feet.

Since Ward's death on the boat fire, you had been trying to console Rafe in anyway he needed. Most of the time he just needed you in his sight. Over the past few days he had become more paranoid.

You found him, muttering to himself often and he seemed jittery. Maybe he was on drugs again but you couldn't being yourself to confront him.

It scared you when he was in this state but you couldn't leave him either. He needed you as he'd told you many times.

Rose had told Rafe and Wheezie to pack and to tell Sarah the same once she came home. She had planned a vacation and it was non negotiable. She invited you along as you seemed to keep Rafe calmer.

Of course you were going to go with them. Your parents were happily yachting around the world, it wasn't like they would care if you travelled with the Camerons.

"Rafe," Wheezie said softly from the door way "can you help me with my suitcase?"

Rafe took a deep breath "I'm not your slave, Wheeze" He glanced from you to Wheezie "I'm busy ok?"

"I can't get it to close" She looked nervous, not making eye contact with you as Rafe groaned, facing away from her. "Can you just help me?"

"Can you not do it yourself?" He sighed, trying to desperately not snap at her.

"No" She looked at you and then to the door "Please?"

What was she up to? Wheeze was never normally nervous around you. Most of the time she treated you like another sister. Always smiling at you, telling you about her day and often helping you tease Rafe when times were better. When Ward was around.

"Babe, jus-" You started softly as you caught his eye but he suddenly stopped you.

"Fine. Fine" He clutched his fists and unclutched them "Alright"

"Don't go anywhere" He told you as he threw a set of keys on the bed before leaving with Wheezie. You could hear them as he followed her up to her room.

"Oh my god Wheeze, we gotta make this quick ok? I got other shit to deal with right now"

He had been distant all day, spending time with a random woman and two men that appeared soon after Ward's death. When you asked about them, he snapped at you, telling you it was none of your goddamn business, which he quickly apologised for.

Hopefully this vacation would bring your Rafe back, the one helping Wheeze right now.

After they had been a while you decided to see if they needed help. Rafe wasn't the best at packing. As you left his room, you bumped right into Sarah.

"Shh, please" She quickly stopped any response from you. She looked like she'd been through hell over the past few days. Her clothes were covered in dirt and grim.

"Where the hell, have you been?" You whispered, glancing up the stairs "Rose has been asking for you. She planned a vacation"

"I know Wheeze said" She looked to Rafe's room and back to you.

"You got her to distracted him?" You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. The last time you saw each other things hadn't ended well. She'd tried telling you it wasn't John B who killed the Sheriff and you hadn't believed her.

Best friends since kindergarten and in her eyes you were choosing her murdering brother over her. Not that you knew it was him, she couldn't break your heart like that. It was Rafe's place to tell you, she had more problems than trying to convince you that her brother was a bad guy.

"I need to help John B" she whispered, her eyes pleading like they had done not so long ago. This was your chance to help her again.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe, before nodding. She loved John B, the way you loved Rafe. No matter what, he was yours.

"Make it quick," you sighed, silently praying you wouldn't regret it. The hope in her eyes were enough to make you smile before fear crossed her face as heavy footsteps started down the stairs.

"Figure it out!"

"Wait, Rafe! Don't go down there!"

"Go" you whispered to Sarah before hurrying up towards Rafe.

You met him half way "Doesn't sound like things went to plan" you teased with a smile

"I don't have time to deal with this" He sighed, trying to move passed you. "You deal with her shit"

You raised an eyebrow at him "Come on, five minutes. I'll sit on the case"

Taking his hand, you managed to lead him up the stairs to find poor Wheeze, still scooping up the clothes he'd thrown around the room.

"You really didn't help, did you?" You laughed, helping Wheezie out and throwing a shirt at him. You kept chucking items of clothing at him to stop him from realising that you could easily help her on your own.

Once the suitcase was packed with everything Wheezie wanted, you carefully climbed on top. "Come on, handsome. Zip it up"

Rafe rolled his eyes before moving around you to close the over-filled case. "That was fucking painful" He complained before going to leave again.

You grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards you "Thank you for helping baby," you smiled as he naturally stood between your legs "you're a good big brother"

He gave you a small smile, you learned early on that he loved praise. You hugged him close as he slowly melt into you, giving you the chance to mouth 'Sarah' to Wheeze who was a little confused.

She nodded as Rafe moved back and you cupped his cheek before kissing him.

"Ok, ok" Wheezie had enough "Get out of my room! No making out in here!" She grimaced, making you both laugh.

"Sorry Wheeze" you said, hopping off the bed before leading Rafe out.

You prayed that you'd brought Sarah enough time as you made your way back to Rafe's room. "Do what you need to later" you said pulling him with you towards the bed.

He nodded as you ran a hand through his hair. He melted into your touch, whatever was playing on his mind seemed to disappear until his hand hit the bed.

With the spell broken, he blinked before frantically looking around his bed and room.

"Keys, keys, keys" He muttered over and over

"What keys, baby?"

"The fucking keys! They were right there!" He snapped and you tried to the flinch as he pointed beside you.

"It's ok, we'll find them" you tried to calm him down as he nodded

He desperately ran his hand through his hair before the front door closed loudly. Looking from you to the door when the realisation crossed his face. Shaking his head, backing away from you, he bolted out the room.

Shit....

#rafe cameron #outerbanks fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader

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applbottmjeens · 4 months ago

Text

A VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE.

Now, I have never been one to sneak diss. I've never been one for internet drama. I hate conflict. I hate bullshit. And I hate the fact this is all coming from a bum ass video game fandom where we all fuck around and write and draw fanart and fanfics. This shit is for FUN. This isn't real life. But the people you're dissing and going after are REAL FUCKING PEOPLE.

I had no beef with none of y'all. I was always telling you all about how I can still be friends. And you come after them for what?

Because you're upset? You want vindication?

You're not ostracized because these people are in some cabal actively working against you. Everyone's minding their goddamn business and trying so hard to enjoy themselves. You're ostracized because of your own patterns and behaviors you refuse to fix in yourself but constantly point out in others. I offered you my friendships and kindness and I know now I'm just the fool who dared to give ANY OF YOU the benefit of the doubt.

I can't believe this. It's fucking fanart. Of ocs. On the internet. It's for fun. PERIOD. Doing this for clout is doing this for the wrong reasons.- we're too grown for any of this shit and you know it.

I can't keep making fucking excuses for you or how you treat others and how you treat me. I've had enough defending you. And I've had enough being kind when my kindness means I get talked down to.

Things like this was part of why making art and shit became so difficult. Because sometimes people forget THIS IS A FANDOM ABOUT A MILSIM VIDEO GAME FRANCHISE AND NOTHING WE FUCKING DO IS THAT DEEP TO WARRANT ANY OF THIS.

me of all people, saying this...but grow the fuck up. Internet clout won't fill the void. If you failed at networking in your space, you find a new fucking space and move on.

None of the people you've hurt deserve the hate given. And I'm disappointed to see how all of this has devolved.

Get help. Both of you. I'm done playing your naive advocate.

#Appl rambles #call of duty #cod fandom #cod mw

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bonefall · 6 months ago

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I know this has nothing to fo with you, but it reminded me of you and it was so bonkers I had to tell someone

Saw a conversation on the WC Subreddit (yikes already, I know) about Brambleclaw being a good dad. I replied that for the most part I thought he was pretty average aside from when he learned Ashfur was beating Lionpaw and didn't do anything about it

And THIS was the reply I got: "Brambleclaw didn't see the training, and technically speaking, how Ashfur trains his apprentice is no business of Brambleclaw's even if he is Lionpaw's father and clan Deputy so long as Lionpaw remains fit, which he was. "

...dude, what?? So Brambleclaw learns his son is getting smacked around by his mentor but it's "none of his business as long as Lionpaw is fit"?? Hello?? That's his kid no shit it's his business, not to mention he seems to know that other cats finding out would be bad since he tells Hollypaw not to say anything?? Did we read the same goddamn book

Anyways, rant over, I was just so baffled by that reply I had to run somewhere and the closest person was local Warrior cats guy Bonefall

I swear, either Bramblestans have been getting worse lately, or their bad takes have been breaking containment more often in the past couple weeks. Still, it doesn't stop making me wince that people can say something like that and actually believe it.

"You see, the abused child's father, who is also the second in command of the entire Clan, has no business saying anything because i dont want to believe my favorite sadboy has ever done anything wrong ever. And he didnt even see it or go to look at his son to confirm how bad he was beaten" Do you hear yourself.

#hangon let me quick make a breakdown post of the situation #with full context and such #bone babble

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bloodydeanwinchester · 3 months ago

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I'm really intrigued by the jen/mish rpf you've been reblogging, but it feels kinda weird to me to be reading rpf cause they're like actual people who have actual lives, and it feels like we're playing make believe with their lives, does that makes sense? It also feels like an invasion of privacy, speculating on their private relatioships and moments. Anyway, my actual question is have you ever felt like that while reading rpf? And what did you do to get over it? Like how do I get over it? Cause I really wanna read this! Anyway, thank you

i feel like this is gonna make me sound kind of insane but jensen ackles and misha collins are like characters to me. those aren’t real people at least not when im reading rpf about them or speculating about them being in love with each other or sooooooo obsessed with each other or just fucking or whatever.

there’s another side of this where like of course they’re real people and if i ever saw them in person i would treat them as such and respect their privacy and also that their personal lives are none of my goddamned business.

in my head there are the characters jensen ackles and misha collins and then there are the real guys. the lines between them are kind of blurry sure but there is a difference

so the way that i get over that squicky feeling about the fact that im reading rpf is that i remember that this is all for funsies. im not hurting anyone reading a silly little fic about two actormen falling in love and having explicit gay sex. those guys in that fic just aren’t even real to me (no matter how many times i say i think this is how it really went when i liveblog lol)

#i was gonna make a joke and just say actors arent real but your question seemed so genuine so i answered genuinely instead #anyway im just having fun with it but like i would never try to imply that any of this is actually real to their faces #or somewhere public they’d be likely to see it. THAT would be crossing the line for me #jenna reads when harry met sally #cockles #jenna.ask

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mellowluka · 3 months ago

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I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ on the F1 related situations on social media and whatever lately, and I wanted to put them to paper and post for people to read if they wish. Warning, it kinda jumps around, but I have ADHD so I apologize in advance.

More assorted words below the cut.

[Disclaimer, this is not about the people who write RPF, this is about people hating on and discussing the real people, not fictional versions of them.]

Everyone is on their first year of life, which means mistakes are going to get made. [I’m not going to go into how I feel about the decisions McLaren’s been making, since that’s not the point here, nor is it relevant.]

Some of y’all are acting like you can go in there and do something different without seeing or knowing the whole picture. You haven’t sat in on a team meeting or anything like that, sit down.

Questioning people’s morals is also a really low blow, because we don’t see that much. You’re not their family or their friends, and what we see during a weekend on the track can be easily misinterpreted. It’s not always going to be true to life, especially with the high adrenaline.

While you can speculate all you want [you have free speech, after all], remember that these are real people you’re talking about, and not goddamn barbie dolls. Having free speech doesn’t give you a free pass to be a dick to people and situations you don’t truly know anything about.

As for Lando and Oscar, they’re full grown adults, and they’re completely within their rights to either be friends or not be friends. Either way, that is their choice. If they want to make being friends work while also being competitive? They’ll find a way, just like everyone else has done since the beginning of time.

They’re also completely capable of defending their own careers and decisions. In the end, they’re answering to their team and their team alone, not you. If you don’t like that, too damn bad, I’m sorry they have free will and that that offends you. [/sarcasm]

Yes, everything McLaren posts is going to inherently be positive PR. So is everything every other sports team or business posts, even outside the scope of F1. Get used to it, it’s not going to change. This also means that media in general will take opinions, snapshots, and just about everything else, out of context. Media literacy is a thing a lot of people have lost, and it shows.

To conclude, none of us as fans will ever get the full picture about things, and we’re just gonna have to deal with it. But knowing that you don’t have the full picture is the deal here. You can’t say you know it all when you don’t. Don’t claim you do, because believe me, we truly have no goddamn idea. Hating will get you nowhere, and it won’t change anything that’s actually happening in the real world.

Go touch some grass, disconnect, and chill out. The world isn’t ending.

[P.S. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk <3]

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #oscar piastri #landoscar #mclaren #swift’s vroom rambles

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the-leyline-directory · 5 months ago

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I'm coming out of hiding about this cause I'm so fucking anxious about sharing this info about Silvaire Canon, but uh!! Sil's canon ship is with Krile!!

I'm anxious cause of the types of reactions that come with ships with lalafells and any race that isn't also a lalafell :( But! For a longstory short of my brainrot with them, Silvaire through most of the MSQ is still 'a voidsent' or technically a 'villain' type character, working behind the scenes to play multiple parties (reasons usually literally just to cause problems for the WoL to force them to grow as a person so they they'll be a 'better meal' down the line.) Though the longer he stays with the warrior of light the less atherical imbalance he has from his voidsent/darkness affliction and the original person he was (the warrior of crystal from ff11) comes through more as he is a good person deep down! Krile, is the first person to clock him on his behavior and see through the way he acts around people due to her Echo! She can read his intent and tell if he's lying, as well as see the unnatural traits (slitted eyes, sharp teeth etc etc) that are hidden from those unblessed. She's the main person who starts correcting his behaviour by giving him consequences for his attempts to distance himself from others by seeming 'untrustworthy' - as she can tell that he's never doing anything maliciously or to be cruel to the WoL or Scions. It's a very nice slowburn relationship! As Silvaire recovers his soul through the process of healing from his traumas (Shadowbringers is the main point he starts becoming a person again cause of his direct confrontation with Emet, and then post Endwalker dealing with the Thirteenth and the potential of fixing his original home) and Krile is a good support to that, as unlike the scions, she's not as quick to mistrust him (or in Thancred's case to fight him on most things) as said before she can sense his intent for what he does, and as he gets more of his 'soul' back, she's the first to offer that olive branch cause she believes him.

There's so much more!!! Honestly!! It's a long goddamn narrative for him, hence him having an entire Google Doc Lore (Covering his original ff11 Lore + The Hound of Garlemald + post > Actual game lore) but someday I'll have it all written, and by that point it'll be a novel in itself. But uh! Yes! I've always seen @starrysnowdrop's content and it eases my heart of worries for the affection I have for the relationship and the development I've done behind the scenes \o/ Inspiration to overcome my phobia's to talk about it in general as it were! The Gposes and Writing that they do is always beautiful!!! And heartwarming!! \o/ Give them a looksie! Their work is wonderful! I wouldn't be confident to post this without seeing them on my feed. But ya! I'll be doing more content of them now that I'm not being fearful of it! Cause they're important!! And I'm a sap!

Thanks for reading and while it's none of most people's business I will say that the relationship itself is emotional attraction top of all, and sexual aspects are not the focus of this narrative >:( Lalafell are adults who can have fully established relationships and 'sex' isn't an end-all-be-all when exploring character dynamics. The deep emotional connection and trust of secrets and feelings, as well as providing comfort from so many trials!!! Sorry rambling again. I care them very much!

#[I drew/filled out this chart months ago and never shared it beyond a few friends I am a very nervous person]#[They're important to me your honor!]#[I've adored Krile since I met her and the slow development of the relationship over the years has given me so much]#[Sorry for tagging you as well! I just hope people may look to your content as well o/]#[mun art]

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kikijackson-blog · 4 months ago

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A Is For... Arsonist? Phonics - Angel Edition

Here is is, readers' choice Angel. Hope you all like it.

Readers 18+ only

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

No smut in this one ladies, sorry.

Music blasted through the speakers so loud that you were becoming increasingly irritated that you couldn’t hear your girlfriends over the sounds of Guns n Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle. It was a song you hadn’t heard in a long while, but your best friend happened to find this club by accident. She’d met some dude on a dating app a couple of months ago and they’d agreed to meet here. The date had been a disaster from the star but at least she found this little gem. Rock from the 80’s how you loved those hair bands. It had quickly become your little girl squad’s hang out place, where you all would unwind after work but today you just weren’t feeling it. You were completely stressed from work, alcohol wasn’t helping like it should, the beginning signs of a migraine were becoming more apparent, and the music was only starting to aggravate it.

“That’s because you need to drink more!” Your friend the trouble maker shouted.

Somehow you got the feeling that there was not enough alcohol in this club to do the trick. You needed something more. Unable to pinpoint what the was, the frustration of it all finally got to you. You shot up from your seat and excused yourself from the girls who probably hadn’t heard you because they were too busy flirting with some guys who in the witching hour were 10s but in the daytime probably more like 2s.

Tonight was just not your night you thought as you made your way outside.

“Sit your ass down, motherfucker,” you heard a male voice shout. “She's way outta' your league man.”

You rolled your eyes and headed to the door. Definitely not your night.

“Fuck you Coco, I could totally get her.” Creeper countered.

“No, you can’t.” Coco laughed.

Angel shaking his head stood up and took one last sip from his beer before setting it down on the table. “Nah Creep you can’t, but I can.” and headed straight to the door you just walked out of.

He saw you sitting at a table outside alone, trying to light a cigarette.

“Damn you, you stupid little shit” your lighter chose the perfect moment to decide to fuck with you and not start.

“Allow me,” a deep voice said, lighter in hand and that little flame was like a tiny ray of hope for you.

“Oh my God, thank you, you’re fuckin’ heaven sent. You’re like a goddamn angel waving around your celestial flame.”

He chuckled as he took a seat next to you. “My name is Angel. What’s your name gorgeous?”

You laughed until it slowly dissipated as you study his features. “[y/n]. No really what’s your name?”

“I told you, it’s Angel.”

That’s when you noticed one of the rings he wore on his fingers had angel wings so you figured that actually was his name and not just some witty line. His smile was quite angelic but then you take in his leather and scoffed.

“Yeah right more like fallen angel.”

“Yeah well an angel none the less.” He then gave you a devilish smile. “And, I don’t believe I specified what kind of angel.”

You gave his rings one more glance and saw a skull on one. You leaned in a little closer to him and slowly whispered, “Angel of death.”

He inched the gap between you, “Maybe, but you’re a little arsonist.”

“Arsonist?”

“Yeah arsonist, cuz you started a fire in my heart.”

“Did I?” You move in even closer feeling the heat radiating from his body. This one’s a daytime 10 for sure.

He closed that last sliver of space between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours and gave you exactly what you had been needing. Soft but demanding, there was a gentleness to his kiss laced with danger and it was intoxicating.

“A goddamn blaze.”

****************************

More Angel?

#mayans x reader #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes x reader

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anonymous-dentist · 2 years ago

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Quite frankly some of y’all are getting too parasocial again, especially with the ‘LGBTQSMP’ stuff. By y’all, I mean the fandom at large, but don’t think I haven’t seen some weird stuff on here too.

Last night on Quackity’s stream, one of the first donos called him a “fruit loop”. And like okay, whatever, that’s bad, but then I managed to find the dono’s twitter literally by accident going through my twitter feed and here’s their reason why they did it:

And that’s really fucking weird! You all see why this is weird, right? And all of the replies to the clip of the dono I found (where I found this person) were all in agreement that this was a funny and totally normal thing to do. But, as I’m sure everyone is aware, this is not, in fact, normal. It’s parasocial as fuck, and it’s weird at best and harassment at worst.

Donation etiquette posts are something that go around the fandom every couple of days, and for good reason. Some people are too goddamn parasocial. You don’t know these people, and they don’t know you. It’s like if you walk up to the cashier at McDonalds and call them a “fruit loop” because you saw her talking to another girl earlier. That’s fucked up. At best, it’s fucking weird to do. At worst, it’s outing/harassment. (Not that I think Quackity is queer or anything, that’s none of my business, and it’s not anyone else’s.)

I’ve seen some weird stuff on Twitter recently. Truthing, really, and that’s something parts of this fandom have struggled with for a really long time. But take this tweet by the same person as above as an example:

There’s a difference between jokes about “haha the qsmp is just a gay dating show and jaiden”, but some people are taking that way too literally. I’ve seen truthing on both the English side and Spanish side of the community recently, and you know that I’m not searching it out for the sake of drama because I don’t speak Spanish. I’ve seen multiple Spanish accounts on Twitter telling people to stop being weird in chat because it’s gotten to the point there that the mods are getting involved (I was watching Roier’s stream last night, and I’m pretty sure I saw this myself in chat.)

Jokes are fine. Fandom jokes are fine. But that’s where the jokes should stay- in the fandom. Yes, Quackity made a joke on day one stumbling over his words and “accidentally” calling everyone his boyfriends. Yes, the Spanish creators are a lot more chill with shipping content than the English ones. That doesn’t mean anything irl. Calling it the first bisexual smp is fine as a fandom joke, but people seem to be considering it truth when, as far as I’m aware, there’s only one actual bisexual on the server, and there’s, I believe, only two LGBTQ+ members. While the default shouldn’t be straight, it isn’t cool to just assume people’s identities, and especially not from what they do in minecraft roleplay. That’s called acting, not real life.

Truthing is dangerous. Anyone older than 16 probably remembers the way Markiplier and Jacksepticeye stopped interacting online entirely, and it’s because truthing and shipping actively damaged their friendship. Dan and Phil struggled with this, too, with them actually being gay but being unable to come out until years after they were popular because of all the truthing going on with them.

It’s dangerous! It’s weird as hell! Not everyone is dnf. Even if their boundaries don’t mention it specifically, it should be common sense not to openly speculate on a cc’s sexuality. It should be even more common sense not to call them a literal slur in their text-to-speech donos because you think it’s “telling the truth”. For a straight person, it’s just uncomfortable. For a queer person not out, it could be dangerous.

As a whole, the fandom has been behaving. We’re just under a week in as of today when I’m writing this, so I guess we’ll have to see what happens next. But please remember to be normal. These people aren’t your friends. You don’t know them. You barely even know their characters right now. So calm down and touch some grass before someone actually gets hurt.

#discourse #sorry for the post I saw the tweets and saw red #as someone that was outed against my will bc of ‘jokes’ like this I’m #ugh

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l4nd0scharm · 4 months ago

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Lost The Breakup

Authors note: This song is inspired by the song from an amazing artist Maisie Peters - Lost The Breakup. It's a fun song, with an amazing meaning that I wanted to put it out to a story. Warnings: Absolute none. It's sad and ends with a happy ending. It may be slighty delulu if i'm being honest Please do not copy the story without permission, you are free to use the song (obviously) but it's my work on the story line.

Enjoy

Got the news just last month, That i am exhausting and you're not in love.

It was like one of those love stories. The one one where you felt like a princess, looking at your boyfriend. Logan Sargeant. Yes, that one Formula 1 driver that is driving for Williams. You attended his races regularly, always there to support him, but lately it feels like you're drifting apart. You told my best friend, Lando, about this situation. "You're just overthinking," he said looking at you "give it a month, maybe he will change." he told you. In his mind he is screaming at you 'Break up with him, look at me.' , but as always he stayed quiet and supportive. "Fine, a month." you said looking at Logan from a short distance, noticing how he doesn't give you a slight glance. Two months later you were heartbroken. You stared at the screen, not believing the video you're watching. In the video there is an interview. Logan's. He told the interviewer, not just the interviewer. The whole goddamn world. "She's too much, she always wants attention, always around another driver. It's too much."

'it's too much' . Is the sentence stuck in my head. You were heartbroken, mind blank, hope lost to what you thought would be the endgame in your love life. You felt arms around your shoulders. With no hesitation you leaned into the embrace, that warm embrace you know. Lando. He didn't say anything, but the embrace told you alot. It told me 'I'm here.' He let you silently cry in his arms. A place where he thought you shouldn't cry about another man.

Calling your ex, forgetting 'bout me.

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. You watched Logan's arm wrapped around his ex. Silently watched, until my vision got blocked. You looked up, seeing those familiar green eyes, that always seem to calm you down. "Stop staring at him" he said in a low tone so people around the busy paddock doesn't hear him. He put an arm around your shoulder pulling you into a much needed embrace. "H-he just moved on...just like that." you whisper into his chest, clearly still not over the fact you could be so replaced. So quickly.

Lando's mind was full of mixed emotions. Sadness, longing, anger. Anger. He was angry at him, broken the most precious, loving thing person to ever exist. He pulled you closer, trying to protect you from the world with his arms. "He never deserved you, he threw away something he will never get back" he softly mumbled against your hair. Pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, his kiss lingering, trying to tell you 'Open your eyes, I'm here.'. But you didn't notice, you were broken.

So, I'm feeling and I'm dealing With the heart you broke. While you do press-ups and repress us And take off her clothes, oh.

Melbourne, Australia. Since that day, you and Lando hung out everyday. Not a day passed that he didn't show you the way you should've been treated. Always surprising you with random flowers, small gifts,... Logan was still there. In the paddock café. Still with the ex, you watched as he pulled the sleeve on her shoulder to the side, to press a delicate kiss on her shoulder. He looked up, locking eyes with me whilst doing that. He smirked, before nuzzling his head into her neck, making her giggle. You turned around to leave, only to be surprised by flowers. Tulips. I looked up. Green eyes. Lando. "Tulips are the first flowers to bloom in spring. After a long period of no sunshine, no warmth. The bloom first, which is why they symbolize; rebirth and new beginnings." Lando explained, lifting your hand up to give the beautiful tulips into your hand. You grasped the stems looking at the various colors. "It's your time for new beginnings." he whispered, whilst looking into your eyes, which were glossy. He softly wiped the tear threatening to escape, away. "You're too beautiful to cry." I'll smile and you'll have to face it I'm the greatest love that you wasted. But, by then, I'll be far away (uh) And, oh, shit, you lost the breakup.

Suzuka, Japan. You walked into the McLaren paddock, smiling, looking for your best friend, well that's what you thought you were. You joined Lando on the track walk, since we both love this track. You were laughing at something stupid he said. We were both lost in our own stupid jokes, that we didn't notice eyes on us. Logan. He stared at Lando, but then he looked at you. How free you look, your laugh sounding genuine and real. He looked at his girlfriend beside him sighing. 'I messed up.'

After the race, you congratulated Lando, he pulled you to his drivers room. "I need to do media interviews, but these are for you." he said pulling out a bouqet of Baby Breath's. "Symbolizes everlasting love." he quickly managed to said before disappearing for his media duties. You were left in his drivers room alone. Looking at the flowers. Then it hit you. You two are definitely not best friends anymore.

You're gonna walk into some underground bar You'll see a pretty little thing catching eyes in the dark.

Miami, United States. He won, Lando won his first Formula 1 race. After 5 years of hard work, seeing him cry, nearly giving up. He won. We drove up to the Parc fermé, infront of the number 1. You watched as he stepped out on top of his beast that got him the first place. He threw one finger in the air, fans screaming, cameras clicking. He won. You watched from the paddock balcony. Watching him look up noticing you, he motioned you to come down, making you look at him like he's crazy before someone pushed you to the stairs to go to him. Once down he threw the helmet down before running up to you. Picking you up hugging you tightly. "I won, I won, can you believe this?" Lando said excitedly, his voice muffled because his face was pressed in your neck. You felt tears down my cheek "You did, you won." you said excitedly. After the hype, media interviews, celebrations with the team. You two were at the drivers room getting ready to go celebrate this well deserved win. "Here" he said giving you a bouqet of roses. Red roses. You looked at him, wide eyed. "Lando-" you tried speaking, before he cut you off. "Be mine. Let me show you how you should be treated. How you deserve to be treated" he spoke with confidence, with determent. You look into his green eyes, that you by now love dearly. "Yes, I'll be yours." you said, a smile creeping up your face, before you got pulled into a tight hug. "Finally." he whispered. The celebration took in an underground bar, everyone having fun. You were stood by Lando most of the time, being so proud of the papaya man beside me. He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close. His scent was delicious, with a hint of alcohol.

Logan walked into the bar, his eyes catching something. Laughing, being worry free beside Lando.

And it's me, I see you too, I wave And I'm dancing over to you in the corner and you'll say

Lando was beside you his arm still around your waist whilst Logan spoke up "Wow, hey, it's been forever. Do you wanna get a drink, like together?" You laughed and said to him "I'm kinda busy, but, like, stay in touch?". You felt Lando's arm tightened whilst he pulled me away, not before pressing a firm kiss to your lips, showing off to Logan what he lost. You smile into the kiss, thinking 'Oh, shit, I won the breakup'.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant #imagines f1

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pipsipey17 · 2 years ago

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love and literature | chapter 1: never be the same.

professor!natasha romanoff x college student!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: you hate the subject and you hate the teacher. but don't worry, she hates you too.

contains: none as of now :>>

next chapter

Your grades were out today and you were nervous, especially for your grade in Russian Literature 2. You checked your card and you got a 2.0 to a 1.0 for your subjects which was no surprise to you at all but when your eyes landed at your grade for Russian Literature 2 you felt your anger slightly rise, it was 2.75 and it was also your lowest grade.

“What the hell? I did everything and this is the grade that I got?!” you exclaimed in anger.

“Let me check mine,” Wanda said, then she checked her card and you saw that her grades ranged to 2.0 until even a 1.0, your eyes widened at her grade in Russian Literature 2, it was 1.5.

“What the fuck? I knew it, she hates my guts for no goddamn reason. This is just unfair.” you groaned in annoyance then slumped onto your chair.

“Are you really sure you didn’t do anything to make her hate you?” Wanda asked.

You shook your head and said, “None that I can think of.” Wanda then raised a brow at you, “Remember the time when you wanted to drop out of her class during the first day? Also the little stunt you pulled during her class?” she asked you.

“What stunt? I just fell asleep in her class, that’s it.”

“Well yeah, but still, it pretty much pissed her off even more.” Wanda said and you rolled your eyes in response, “But after that day she has been attacking me non-stop during her class even though I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Probably because you left a very bad impression on her.” Wanda replied.

“There must be some mistake, do we seriously have Russian Literature 2 as an extra co-curricular?” you immediately said as you received your schedule for the second semester.

“I heard that we have a new Russian Literature teacher though.” Wanda said.

“Please, what’s only going to make me happy about that class is when I get to drop out of it.”

“Oh come on, Russian Literature isn’t even that bad.”

“Yeah right, says the person who gets a surprising grade of 1.25 from that class.” you said sarcastically, “I’m seriously going to drop out, I’ve had enough of this subject.” you continued then started walking towards your Russian Literature professor’s office.

You slammed the door open then immediately approached the professor and said, “I’d like to drop out.” The woman sitting in front of you was busying herself on her laptop, her green eyes left the screen when you spoke.

You made eye contact with the woman and you were immediately taken aback by her beauty. You never really thought that she could be attractive, her aura was screaming dominance and it was making you feel a bit small.

She raised an eyebrow at you and said, “What makes you think I’ll allow that?”

“You will, because I already took this subject last semester-” the professor in front of you interrupted you, “I believe that you’re going to take Russian Literature 2 this semester correct?” She asked and you lightly nodded in response, “Well then Miss… whoever you are, if you do drop out this semester you will automatically fail and you’re going to be required to take this subject for your third semester, so whether you like it or not you’re required to take this subject. I’ll see you later in my class.” she concluded.

You wanted to say something or at least anything at this point but your mouth didn’t want to move at all, you just turned around and slammed the door shut behind you.

“So, what happened?” Wanda asked.

You huffed out in annoyance, “She said if I do drop out I’ll fail and be required to take the subject in my third semester.”

“Told you it wasn’t going to work. I did hear from the others though that Miss Romanoff is pretty strict and intimidating so you definitely just ruined your chances of having a high grade for that class.” Wanda said and it made your brows furrow together.

It was time for your Russian Literature 2 class and you immediately tensed up when your professor spoke, “Good afternoon class, I am professor Romanoff and I will be your new Russian Literature teacher.” she said with confidence.

“You didn’t tell me that she was hot.” Wanda whispered to you.

“Seriously Wanda? You’re already ogling on our new teacher?”

“Says the one who’s into redheads.” then Wanda nudged your shoulder, “I know she’s definitely your type.” she teased.

“Wanda, she’s literally the teacher who didn’t allow me to drop out of this fucking class.”

“And most of all, I won’t tolerate any unnecessary noises while I’m talking.” you suddenly heard your professor which made you stop talking to Wanda. “Is that clear for the two ladies at the back?” she continued, “I know that one of you is not interested in this class so you are free to leave and not attend my classes but be sure to comply with all your activities.” then every single one of your classmates looked at the both of you. You bowed your head in humiliation but it was definitely pissing you off even more.

A few moments later you pushed your chair back and got up, “That’s it, I’m going to talk to her, I’d already have enough of her bullshit this quarter.” you then walked out of the library and went straight to her office.

You were back in here again, the place where you first met your most hated professor who is undeniably gorgeous even for you, but all you felt for the woman right now was hate, after all the unnecessary humiliations you received from her throughout the quarter.

You opened the door and were immediately greeted by the scent of lavender perfume, you stood in front of her desk and said, “I’d like to talk about my grade.” you directly said to her.

“And what about it, Miss Hill?” she asked.

“I’d like to know why and how my grade became a 2.75 when I submitted and passed every single assignment.”

You swear you saw her smirk to herself before she said, “You did submit your assignments on time, but most of your answers were wrong in one of those and you failed almost every quiz and you even failed your midterm exam.”

It made you stand still, you knew that you failed some of her quizzes but you were pretty sure that you passed the midterm exam and most of her assignments.

“If that’s all you need to know why you have the grade that you have, I suggest you leave,” your professor said then she stood up and grabbed your chin with her thumb and pointer finger making you look directly at her green eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

You immediately walked out of her office all hot and flustered, you took a deep breath and then grabbed your phone from your pocket to text Wanda that you were going home.

~~~

“Hey, I’m home.” you said as you entered the home that you live in with your sister, Maria.

As you were placing your jacket on the coat hanger you noticed that there was someone else’s jacket, it wasn’t your sister’s that’s for sure. Then, it suddenly hit you, Maria said that her best friend was going to visit today and you had totally forgotten about it, making you mentally slap yourself.

You haven’t really met your sister’s best friend, she would sometimes tell you tiny bits about her best friend but other than that, you really don’t know her, not even her face, you only know that her name is Natasha, and the name just reminds you of that professor of yours.

Due to the fact that your parents had separated and you used to stay with your father in England while Maria stayed with your mother. When you told Maria that you were going to study college in America, she was thrilled, she even offered for you to move in with her and you happily accepted.

“I’m in the kitchen!” you hear your sister yell, she’s probably cooking something you thought.

You walked to the kitchen and saw that your sister was cooking what seems to be some pasta. She looked behind her and greeted you, “Hey sis,” then you approached her and hugged her.

“I’d like you to finally meet my best friend, Natasha.” your sister said as she gestured to the bar counter and you were immediately met with a very familiar fiery red hair also the very recognized emerald green orbs. Your eyes widened in shock after seeing who your sister’s best friend was.

Her best friend was your goddamn Russian Literature professor.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x yn #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow x yn #marvel #avengers #avengers imagines #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years ago

Text

Livin' a Lie

Summary: Dean thinks he’s doing the right thing, believes it’s for the best. Still, he struggles to let go, even when he overhears that you’ve moved on with someone new.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Dean being Dean; Language; Mentions of smut; Canon divergence.

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 2,318

Pulling out of Jody’s hug, Dean’s eyes scan the room.

“She’s not coming,” Jody says, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“I wasn’t-” The mom look she gives him cuts him off. She knows. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

The monthly get-togethers had started a while back at Jody’s insistence. He and Sam hadn’t been able to make it last month, and he was hoping… Well, he doesn’t know what he was hoping for, not sure if the flood of emotion is unmitigated relief or agonizing disappointment.

“How are you?”

“Good. I’m good,” he lies. He’s so far from good he doesn’t even know how to explain it. “You?”

Jody lets the lie slide this time. “The girls haven’t killed each other yet, and no one is pregnant. So, I’m taking the win.” Patting him on the arm, she steps around him to hug Sam.

“Who’s manning the grill?” It’s a safe enough subject. Or so he thought.

“Garth.” Jody chuckles.

“Oh, hell no! I like some pink, but I don’t want my meat still mooing.” He takes off in the direction of the backyard to save their meal.

A couple of hours later, everyone sated with good food and the alcohol of their choice for those old enough; the group lounges around the fire pit, making s'mores, sharing stories, and enjoying each other’s company.

Dean excuses himself to take a leak. Returning from the bathroom, he heads toward the kitchen to sneak another slice of pie but stops short upon hearing Alex.

“Dean looks hap- well… like he’s doing okay. You think it’s just a cover?”

“Hard to tell. He went home with some waitress a couple of weeks back.” Sam overshares, and Dean can visualize the disapproving bitch face and condescending roll of his eyes.

“Really?” Donna tosses out. “He back to his old habits? Or, ah y’ know, just trying to drown his sorrows ‘cause he still loves her?”

Of course, I still love her! Do they honestly think I could ever stop?

“Honestly, I don’t think he ever stopped. He probably loves her more than ever. Even if he refuses to talk about it.”

That’s because it’s none of your goddamn business, little brother. Sharing my feelings like we’re in some chick flick ain’t gonna change anything.

There is no way in hell he will ever tell Sam that all he did was drop the waitress off at her home—walked her to the door, waited until she was safely inside, then left. Instead of going back to the motel to put up with more of Sam’s whiny nagging, he’d parked on an old dirt track and spent the night in Baby, dreaming about her, trying to recapture even the tiniest scrap of happiness.

“Have you talked to her?” Sam asks.

Oh shit, what if it gets back to her about the waitress?

He hadn’t given any thought to it becoming a rumor that might make its way back to her.

Sam and his stupid big mouth.

Flirting with that woman had been a means to an end, an old habit resurfacing to disguise his misery and to stop Sam’s perpetual insistence to call and make things right or let go and move on.

Dean refuses to call. The threat is even bigger than before. There’s no moving on, either. The memories that haunt him are no longer of his time in the pit but of the hell of losing her. Every time he closes his eyes, she’s there—the warmth of her body, her sweet scent, the whisper of her voice, the taste of her lips. All of it was a reminder of what a thickheaded fool he was to push her away... to hurt her the way he did.

“Yeah. She’s moving next week. Cooper asked her to-”

Throat closing around a lump of guilt and pain, he stumbles forward—guilt for treating her the way he did and pain for the finality of knowing that he will never be able to call her ‘mine’ again.

He needs air, the open road.

Striding toward the front door, he hollers over his shoulder to no one in particular that he’ll be back later. Not waiting for a response, he’s outside and backing out of the driveway in a matter of seconds, speeding toward the clearing by the lake a few miles away. The sound of Baby’s engine helps to ease muscles held tight with tension and soothe the anger raging in his soul.

She’d shared what she had dubbed Stargazer’s Loch with him a few years back. He’d shown up at Jody’s after a bad hunt, and she’d been there recovering from a hunting injury of her own. She’d brought him out here, told him it was her sanctuary, a place of peace and inspiration. It was the night he’d admitted to himself that he was falling in love with her.

They’d run into each other several times before, worked a few cases together, and had fun hanging out, playing darts, or hustling drunk locals out of their hard-earned cash at pool, but he’d never ‘gone for it’ with her. Something about her was different. He felt different around her. He had never wanted her to be just another notch on his bedpost. It had taken him a while, but at this lake, is where he first told her he was in love with her.

Not until he’s lying on the hood, back against the windshield and staring at the stars, does he let his mind wander and the tears fall. The months had dragged on, but with years of experience under his belt, he shoved down the regret and loneliness, locking it away with all the other crap. He can put on a good show for others with a smile plastered on his face and a nonchalant attitude. Yet, there are still times, usually when he is relaxed, guard down, like tonight, they rise to the surface like a tidal wave.

He’d heard things about her in passing from other hunters—She looked happy. Saw her in Chicago outside a museum, dressed for some fancy event… Colorado… New York… California—but nothing about another guy. She’s obviously traveling a lot, but no one seems to know what she’s doing. He knows she’s not hunting, though. Anyone who had spoken with her said she wouldn’t assist with anything beyond what she knew of the lore. Said that she’d told them, ‘I’m not a hunter.’ His harsh accusation echoed back to him.

How could he have said that to her? She was a great hunter—an exquisite balance of book and street smarts, keen instinct, skill, and heart. He’s glad she’s not hunting, though. She’s safer and seemingly happier. It’s what he wanted for her. She’s better off without him. He just wishes his heart had gotten the message.

Absentmindedly reaching for a hand that’s no longer there, finding only cold metal, his chest seizes, and he chokes on a sob. Fuck, he misses her. Of all the idiotic things he’s done over the years, forcing her away ranks the highest. He wishes he could tell her that it was all a lie. He figures she knows. He simply had given her no choice.

Folding his hands on his stomach, he does nothing to curb the surge of tears streaming from his eyes. There’s no reason to repair the dam with no one around to suffer the flood. So he lets the groundswell of memories wash over him.

“The porch?” Delicate fingers traced along his temple, curling behind his ear, thumb strumming over his cheekbone.

“Wrap-around,” a quick peck to her palm, “a porch swing facing a lake so we can watch the thunderstorms in the spring and the leaves change in the fall. Rocking chairs for when we get old.”

She laughed. “You? Sitting in a rocking chair? Doing nothing? I don’t care how old you are. I don’t buy it.”

“As long as you’re next to me, I can do anything.”

It had become a post-bad hunt ritual. They would lie in bed, the back of the Impala, or, weather permitting, beneath the stars, usually naked but always wrapped in each other’s arms, and talk about where they would live, the home he would build for her when they got out. A way to escape the current reality of their life. The thin thread of hope they clung to while holding tight to each other.

“In the mountains, away from everyone. In the winter, we’ll hole up and hibernate like bears. In the summer, we’ll go skinny dipping in the lake.”

Soft lips, breath moist and hot against his ear. “With no one else around, we could stay naked all the time.”

“I like how you think.” He’d taken her then, on top of the old fleece in the middle of a field lit only by firefly glow and a sky pin holed by stars. Gentle and slow, teasing out moans and getting drunk on every whimper and sigh she surrendered to him.

He’d had the perfect property in mind, Rufus’ old safe house in Montana. They could fix it-it up exactly how they wanted. He’d never mentioned it, though, before everything fell apart. He’d wanted to surprise her, check into actually purchasing it, and start renovations.

Hell, he’d even fantasized about proposing, down on one knee in front of the refurbished home when he told her to remove the blindfold. But with each new hunt, the threat grew bigger and badder, the burden to save innocent lives grew exponentially, and the struggle to keep those he cared about safe and alive became an almost impossible endeavor. So he pushed—shoved—her out of his life and away from danger.

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in my old room tonight.”

“No. I want you to pack your things and get out of the bunker. I’m tired of having to rescue you. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to try and keep you from getting yourself killed all the time.”

“Rescue me?! You didn’t rescue me. I killed that bitch before you even got to me. You’re being an asshole! How-” She’d cut herself off, tilted her head, and huffed, “huh.” Eyes narrowed, she’d clicked her tongue. “I get it. I know what you’re doing, and I’m not leaving. You’re scared. Afraid that something will happen to me. You can’t make me hate you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I can make you do. Hate me or not, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, “I don’t want you here. You’re not a hunter. You’re a liability.”

The forceful harshness he put behind the words, the way he had sarcastically called her sweetheart, drawing himself up to tower over her, had made her stumble in shock, gripping the desk for support as she bumped into it.

He’ll never be able to dislodge the memory of utter devastation drenched in sorrow—exhale of disbelief, trembling bottom lip, the twitch of her eye as tears gathered on her lashes—right before it was all hidden behind a stoic mask. Once she had steeled herself against his acerbity, she didn’t plead or yell, didn’t try to change his mind with honey-drenched words or soft touches. No harsh discourse left her lips.

The calm acceptance she’d radiated had been unexpected, and a shiver caressed his spine. He’d felt relief and disappointment within the same heartbeat. He’d wanted her to be angry, curse the day she met him and walk out to never look back, but she hadn’t.

After the initial pause, he’d understood what she was doing. She had always tried to ease his burdens whenever possible, and even then, when her heart was most likely as broken and battered as his, she had still wanted to make it less difficult for him. It hadn’t lessened any of the pain.

“I love you.”

That was it. Nothing else. Stared him dead in the eye, standing tall and creating an imposing figure of her own. Three words, filled with so much promise and hope, nearly broke his resolve.

Instead, he spat, “Yeah, well, sucks to be you,” and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Two steps into the hallway, the sensation of his heart being ripped from his chest made him stumble and press a hand against the cold tile to stay upright. Unlike in hell, there was a finality to it. There would be no rejuvenation. He wouldn’t wake up the following day and be whole again; he’d be left with a void in his chest for the rest of his days.

It nearly had him turning around to fall on his knees in front of her, beg for forgiveness, and plead with her never to leave him.

He reminded himself why he was doing this. He couldn’t keep her safe. The target on her back would only continue to grow the longer she stayed with him. The next step was painful, forced, but with each subsequent footfall, his pace quickened until he sprinted through the garage and spun Baby’s tires as he hauled ass away from the bunker… from her… from the self-inflicted misery.

Even though he’d driven for hours, returning just before sunrise, he’d yearned to find her still there, waiting—her anger, her stubbornness, her love, refusing to let her leave. He’d suffer anything she threw at him, every angry word, every slap, kick, or punch hurled, just to see her.

As soon as the Impala’s front tires had hit the concrete, brutal misery encompassed him. The space where she’d kept her truck was empty, as hollow as his chest.

He’d sat in the car for a long time cycling through the stages of grief, never reaching the final one. He has to accept it now, though, right? She’s moving in with some guy. A guy that’s not him.

He waited too long. Too afraid, too ashamed to contact her.

Part Two

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#livin' a lie #rumors-part one #dean winchester x fem!reader #dw's witch writes #031023

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