#just needed to get some shit off the chest

[burreauxsworld]

Ours To Keep (5) | Joe Burrow

Major Angst, Fluff

Summary: Joe’s words hang heavy over you. So much that you haven’t spoken to him in a week unless it was work related. Joe is on a mission to make it up to you.

You sat at your desk in your office typing away, answering email after email. The Bengals had their second pre season game yesterday against the Falcons, although Joe didn’t play yesterday, it was still a long day for you. Jake Browning’s assistant ended up getting covid, so you took on that role for the day. Mostly just to piss Joe off, which you succeeded in doing. Between that and losing the game, Joe was on a warpath.

He’d tried for several days to reach out to you, or corner you at work, or even show up to your house unannounced. But you always pretended you weren’t home. He feels terrible for what he said and he knows you’re hurting. But you’ve completely shut him out. He hadn’t heard anything about the baby, or if the baby was even okay. He deserved it, he knew that, but he thought the two of you would have talked it out by now.

Which is why he didn’t give you a choice when he burst into your office and slammed the door. You looked up instantly and let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and looking back down at your laptop. “What do you want Burrow?”

“Burrow? That’s where we are now?” It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he stands in front of your desk with his bulging arms crossed over his chest. “I’m busy” you say, not looking up. His large hand pushes the top of the laptop closed. “Not anymore.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You say. “Too bad. We’re having a baby together. You have to deal with me for 18 years” he retorts and you let out a dry laugh. “A baby that you don’t even want” you mumble. “I never said that I didn’t want the baby. I was just frustrated and you-“

“Are you really trying to justify how you treated me last week by saying that you were upset?!” You exclaim. “Joe, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your emotional punching bag whenever you lose a game or when you’re mad at the world. We’ve been together exclusively for all of 2 weeks and I spent one of them questioning everything” you rant, tears filling your eyes. “If this is how it’s going to be now, what’s it going to be like when she gets here?”

“She?” Joe asks, confused.

“The ultrasound. The one that you were too mad at the world to go to. We’re having a girl. By the way, I’m due February 11th if you even care” you spit. His face softens and he takes a step toward you, and you take a step back. “Baby-“

“No. Immediately no. You don’t get to come in here and do that. You said some really hurtful shit to me and you don’t get to act like it didn’t happen just because you’re saying sorry,” you rant. He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “I can’t be you punching bag Joe. I get it, your pissed because the team isn’t off to great start. You’re mad at the world, and that’s fine. But you don’t get to treat me like shit because you feel like shit. We’re a team, Joe. Now more than ever” you continue, tears brimming your eyes.

“When you didn’t show up to the ultrasound, I was more hurt than angry. You promised me you’d be at every single appointment, and that I wouldn’t feel like I was doing this alone. This week showed me a different side of you and I’m not sure how I feel about it. You aren’t my boss anymore, Joe. You’re my boyfriend. The father of my child. So if that’s not what you want, you need to tell me now. I’m tired of the back and forth and feeling like I’m just wanted for sex-“

“Hold on. I’ve never just wanted you for sex. You know that” he says defensively. “Lately it feels like if we’re not fucking, we’re fighting” you respond, your voice cracking. “Joe, I love you with my whole heart. I want to be with you more than I want the air in my lungs, but I’m not going to tolerate you being an ass to me every time you lose a game” you tell him, not breaking eye contact. You notice his eyes are brimmed with tears too.

“So if you want out, please just say the word-“

“I don’t want out. I don’t want to go anywhere” Joe says, stepping toward you. This time you don’t move. You let him wrap you in his arms and you start to sob into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Non now, not ever” Joe says, kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have a lot of things I need to work on. Treating you better is at the top of my list. I’ve started going to therapy-“

You pull your head back and look up at him. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to reach out to you all week to tell you. I know that there’s no amount of apologies that can make up for what I said to you. I made you feel like I didn’t want you or this baby and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Y/N, you’re my best friend. You’ve stuck by me at my worst. I’ve lost my mind. But all I’m asking is that you try to forgive me. I’m not asking for right away. I just want you by my side without hating me-“

“I don’t hate you Joe. I’m still very hurt, though. It’s going to take some time” you tell him. “In the mean time, I have sonogram pictures. Do you want to see our little girl?” You ask him, a smile forming on your face. “Uh, yeah. Is that even a question?”

•••

Joe headed back out to practice after looking at the sonogram pictures. You were still really hurt, but seeing his smile while looking at the small pictures made you happy. Before he left he gave you a kiss, and after a week of not speaking to him, it had your hormones soaring. You lean back in your desk chair and place a hand on your growing bump.

It’s only a matter of time before people start to figure it out. Wearing hoodies and baggy clothes is only going to work for so long. It was a relief that Gabby knows though, you didn’t have to wear a hoodie in your office and your desk hid your bump if anyone besides Joe or Ja’Marr came in. Speaking of Gabby.

“Hey, girlie. Brought you lunch. You and baby need to eat” Gabby says, placing a bag in front of you. You groaned at the smell of the food. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until now. “Subway? How did you know I’ve been craving a chicken bacon ranch”

Gabby laughs. “You’ve only been talking about it for 3 days”

“I saw Joe coming out of here a few minutes ago. How did that go?” She asks while taking a seat at her desk. “It was okay. He apologized profusely and we looked at sonogram pictures” you tell her as you start to literally devour your sandwich. “He understands that I’m still hurt and it’s going to take a little while before we’re back to normal” you add. “Good. He can’t treat you that way just because we lost a stupid game” Gabby says.

“And speaking of sonogram pics, did you find out what your having yet?” Gabby asks excitedly. You look up at her with a smirk on your face and she jumps to her feet. “Y/N! Oh my god!” She squeals. “We’re having a girl” you tell her, and she squeals even louder. You suddenly stand to your feet with urgency.

“Sorry to cut this short but this baby is sitting right on my bladder and I have to pee”

•••

You find yourself walking up the driveway of Joe’s house after work. After not being here for a week, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss sleeping in his bed. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, you’ve slept better if he was there. So when he called and asked you to come over after work, you agreed.

You open the door using you key that he gave you and walk in to a delicious smell of food cooking. You walk toward the kitchen where Joe stands in front of the stove stirring some kind of sauce. “Hey,” you say, and he turns around with a soft smile. “Hey gorgeous”

“What are you making?” You ask as you wrap your arms around him from behind. “Cajun shrimp Alfredo. Your fav” he says, and you smile. “You’re really trying to butter me up, aren’t you?” You tease and he lets out a laugh. “I think I’ve buttered you up enough, hence the baby bump pressing into my back” he jokes, and you both laugh. “You filled me up, not buttered”

“Y/N!” Joe calls out surprised while you let out a loud laugh. “My god, what am I gonna do with you” he jokes, turning around in your arms. “Um…” you tap your chin pretending to think. “You can start by bending me over this counter,” you tell him, giving him what he calls the bedroom eyes. He smirks. “Oh yeah? Then what?” He asks, walking you back until your back is pressed against the counters edge. “Then you can fuck me until I see stars” you whisper, before he smashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss is filled with passion, and pent up sexual frustration. Joe’s hands land on your ass, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze, while your hands move along his biceps. His kisses start to move down your neck and you crane your head to the side to give him better access. The growling of your stomach causes him to laugh against your neck before pulling away. “As much as I want to do this, let’s get some food in you and then we can talk about sex” he says. As he’s playing the food, he looks deep in thought.

“You okay? You look a little lost” you say with a slight laugh. “Yeah, I’m good. There’s just something I want to talk to you about,” he turns toward you and he sets the glass plate in front of you on the kitchen island, and stands across from you. “You can totally say no. But I was wondering if you wanted to move in here? With me” he says, his voice quaking from nervousness. “I just figured it might be easier once the baby comes, and you’re here all the time anyway-“

“Joey, I would love to move in with you” you say, reaching over to place your hand on top of his with a soft smile on your face. “There’s also something I’ve been meaning to bring up to you” you start, and let out a sigh. “I think you should stop paying me” you say, looking up to meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I pay you? You work hard, and on top of everything else you’re still my assistant” he says, confused. “We’re dating now, Joe. I’m sleeping with you. I’m not a prostitute” you say with a laugh. “But I’m not paying you for that. I’m paying you for all the shit you have to put up with because of me” he argues.

“Joe-“

“Not to mention game days. I put you through hell on game days” he rambles, before taking a deep breath. “You done?” You ask him. “I don’t want you to pay me anymore, baby. If I’m going to be living here I’ll be fine. I only had you pay me before because I needed to make rent money. Now, I’m not saying you’ll be responsible for everything financially. I’ve found a remote job that all I have to do is log onto a computer. I’m going to do that, while still being your assistant because whether you want to admit it or not, you need the help” you joke, and he scoffs.

“You’re not wrong.” He says and you laugh.

After that, the two of you eat in silence. But not an uncomfortable silence, just enjoying each other company. Once finished you walk your and Joe’s plates over to the sink, as he leans against the island watching you. When you turn toward him he smiles and opens his arms for a hug, but you have other ideas.

“Now I wanna do something that I’ve been thinking about all week,” you say, as you drop to your knees in front of him. He has a smirk on his face as he looks down at you. “Go to town, baby”

[papaya-twinks]

Reader in a f1 journalist hooking up with Lando kind of fwb but not really friends and she said something negative about him and decided to “punish” her in the bedroom

Warnings: Smut, 18+, degradation

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

“Lando, that race obviously was far from ideal,” you said, standing in front of the McLaren driver. “I’m aware,” he said, cutting off the end of your sentence. “Max’s championship lead has come to-,” you started to speak yet again. 

“I don’t care,” he said, “Y/N, I really don’t care about the championship, I’m not focused on it, I’ve said that so many times,”. This was frustrating, it wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to piss off Lando. 

“So-So why don’t you give us your opinion on the race?” you said, seeing the frustration, both at you and the whole race, in his eyes. “It wasn’t good, was it?” he said sarcastically, before he ducked his head, leaving promptly. 

He was making this so much harder. So unnecessary. Though you could tell the question you had asked had definitely pissed him off, of course it had, but it wasn’t like it was personal anyways!

Lando 💋🧡: Come to my place. 

Well if this was one thing you were definitely sure of, it was when Lando used punctuation, he was not in the mood to joke. And so you went to his place after the interviews, fixing your hair as you knocked. 

“La-,” you didn’t even get a chance to finish as Lando pulled you into his hotel room. He had nothing but a towel round his waist, his curls damp and wet as he held your forearm, pulling you to his bed. 

“You’re such a bitch,” he said, his words full of spite as he let go of you, the backs of your knees against the bed as he pushed the towel off, shaking his curls as he pushed you down, his cock springing against your cheek. 

“What, did you think you’re funny, askin’ that shit?” he pushed his tip onto your tongue, heavy and hard as you gagged, his length sliding into your mouth. “C’mon, let me fill your mouth with something that isn’t total bullshit,” he pushed his cock further down as you gasped. 

You could feel your throat bulging with his thick cock, the vein flexing as he held your head back, sliding down your tongue, your eyes watering at the strain to fit him. He held your head against the bed, fucking your throat slowly, almost tantalisingly slowly, teasing, no, mocking you. 

You gasped for breath as he pulled back, your tongue coated in a mix of your salvia and his pre-cum as he pulled you back up, pushing your skirt up. “Let me answer your stupid question, then,” he snapped, rubbing circles over your clit as you shuddered. 

“Think you can ask me in that in front of the whole fuckin’ world, but you can’t even stand properly when your needy little pussy’s getting some attention,” he pushed his finger all the way into your cunt, right to his knuckle, as you clenched round him, head falling back. 

“Max’s lead had fuckin’ gone up, yeah,” he said, pushing another finger in, fucking it in and out of you as you gasped, rubbing your hips down on him, “but does he get it fuck the stupid little reporter afterwards?”. 

“N-No,” you choked out, your orgasm flooding through you as your eyes rolled, his fingers slick with your need. “You always cum so fast,” Lando said, pumping your salvia over his length as he turned you over so your chest was pressing to the bed sheets. 

“Never let me drag it out,” he continued, aligning his tip with your entrance, dragging his cock through your folds, collecting your juices on his tip, “is it coz I’m so good? Or you just a slut?” he sneered, pushing into you as you gasped. 

Your body shuddered again, hands balling into fists in the bed sheets, your eyes rolling as he pulled your head back with your hair so your back was pressed to his chest, your face visible to him. “Tell me,” he said, refusing to move as you whined. 

“Is it both?” he asked, his voice commanding as your mouth fell open. “Y-Yes,” you choked out as he hummed, pushing you back down, pulling your arms up so they were bent behind your back, sliding his arm through them as he snapped his hips against yours. 

“Always askin’ me shitty questions like that, you tryna make me look like a dick, Y/N?” Lando jeered once again. “Always sayin’ shit like that and then givin’ me those eyes as if you don’t expect me to fuck the shit out of you for it,”. 

You could hardly form words, your moans barely able to come out as his hips snapped against yours, the feeling almost painful a the sound of his skin slapping against yours, mixed with the noises of his cock plunging into your heat again and again, faster and faster-

You clenched round him as he quickened, his thrusts sloppier by the second, your cunt clenching round him as your second orgasm hit, his own thrusts becoming weaker as his seed shot into you, ropes of the stuff leaking from your core. 

“This is what happens,” he panted, his hand bunching in your hair so he could pull you back, pressing a kiss to your collarbone and then your cheek, “when you don’t act like you should,” he pressed another kiss to your lips, tongue swiping along your swollen lower lip.

[arc-misadventures]

NNN Coco: With you writing so much about her and Jaune it seems like the right time to do this ask.

NNN: CO

Jaune: Haa... okay, Coco what is it you wanted me to see?

Coco: T-This.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: (Whistles~!)

Jaune: Wow... I knew you could pull off the bunny girl, but I didn't think you could pull it off that well!

Coco: Oh thanks, Jaune.

Jaune: So, what's with the outfit? Proving that you could pull it off, or is it for something else?

Coco: It's... It's November...

Jaune: Yeah, I know. I've been threating, Nora's life if she even thinks about bringing, Christmas items out before, November eleventh. The twelfth is fine, but not before the eleventh!

Coco: Oh, why is that?

Jaune: Because I don't like listening to, Christmas music. I think the transition from, Halloween to, Christmas is too fast, like a minute hasn't even passed, and we're already going from Jacko lanterns to snowmen decorations. Remembrance day is on the eleventh. Things such as those.

Coco: Oh, so it has to do with the timing, Christmas comes into play.

Jaune: Precisely. I don't mind Christmas, it just comes into play too soon in my opinion. But, I don't think that has anything to do with you in that bunny suit now does it?

Coco: N-No it doesn't...

Jaune: Oh what's this? Coco Adel, being all shy, and nervous? Pray tell, pray tell what is really going on with the bunny girl, Ms. Adel?

Coco: It's November... Meaning it's, No Nut November... a-and, I want you make sure you fail...

Jaune: Oh? OH?! Oh, Coco...

Jaune's placed his hand on, Coco's cheek turning her face to look at him.

Jaune: Why are you really doing this? I know you are not doing this to get me to fail some silly little game. You would have put any other girl in a bunny suit to get me to fail. But, why are you trying to get me to fail?

Coco: B-Because I thought it would be fun to make you lose, NNN...

Jaune: Coco... Just say the word...

Coco: The word...?

Jaune: The unspoken word. The word that could make, or break our relationship. The word that we are both too scared to say, but know in our hearts that we must say it. So say the word, Coco. And, I will be yours...

Coco: ...

Coco: J-Jaune...?

Jaune: Yes...?

Coco: I-I...

Jaune: ...

Coco: I love you...

Jaune: Ahh, there it is...

Jaune leaned forward, his lips crashing upon, Coco's causing her to swoon as their kiss deepened, before they broke apart.

Jaune: I love you too, Coco. I would have told you so sooner, but... Something told me that it wasn't me who needed to be the one to say it, it needed to be you. And, I must say... It was worth the wait...

Coco: You jerk~

Coco felt her body fall into, Jaune's as she embraced the feeling of his broad chest. She hummed softly as she felt, Jaune's tender embrace wrap around her.

Coco: So...

Coco: Can I still make you fail, NNN, or is now not the time for that?

Jaune: That depends...

Coco: On?

Jaune: You have any other sexy little numbers you want to try on for me?

Coco: Oh, I can think of one, or two~!

Jaune: Perfect.

~~~

Nora: YESSSSS!!!

Velvet: Fucking finally!

Weiss: (Sniff) That was beautiful...

Yang: Since when was, Jaune such a smooth talker?! He was shit with, Weiss, but god damn that was smooth?!

Pyrrha: Told you.

Ren: I never doubted it.

Blake: Took them long enough.

Fox: I don't think we'll be able to stay at our dorm room tonight.

Yatsuhashi: Not likely...

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty four

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women

*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*

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

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”

For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”

No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.

Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.

Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”

Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”

Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.

Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”

“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”

Mine

There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.

He wants her.

Loves her.

For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark. 

Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.

“R–Ro?”

He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”

“I—I need a favor.”

He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”

His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”

It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”

Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?” 

She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”

“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”

He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”

At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”

“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”

He remains confused. “Okay…..”

“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you—did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”

“Okay.”

She frowns. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.

Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.

“But, you don’t even know how much—”

“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”

It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.

Because it’s important to her.

Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him. 

The same way she’s certain their child will. 

“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”

Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.

Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”

Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.

“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”

He hesitates. “Italy.”

Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”

He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”

Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”

It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”

Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing. 

But for his.

Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad. 

Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.

“So who—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”

He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”

She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”

“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”

Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back. 

Not like Jimmy and Jey.

Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.

Like brothers.

“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse. 

More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”

The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach. 

When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”

Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it. 

“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.” 

And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.

“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”

“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”

She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown. 

If not worse.

Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.

“You alright?”

She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband. 

Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”

“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.

But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.

And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?

Damn.

————

“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”

Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons. 

“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”

“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”

Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”

“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.

Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.

Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.” 

Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away. 

She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.

Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”

“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”

Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”

At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”

“He was there, Big Dog.”

‘“I–I was there, sir.”

Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”

Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”

Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all. 

“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over. 

“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”

“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”

Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.

He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”

“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer. 

“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”

Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”

He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”

“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.

“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. “Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”

Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person. 

Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”

“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”

Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.

Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.

Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell. 

Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.

“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.

Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”

“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.

“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”

There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”

“What if I need to spear a man?”

His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”

Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.

It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.

She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here. 

Then again….maybe he does.

She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf. 

Not in the slightest.

And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi. 

However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing. 

Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”

She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.

However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.

Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.

She’s so damn drained. 

In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”

“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”

He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”

“Roman—”

“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”

“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”

And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”

It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.

Just why she’s so fatigued.

And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”

————

“So why exactly are you fighting again?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time. 

A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.

Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.

So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.

Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.

Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.

Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.

Or worse.

Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.

She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything. 

Even his fine ass wife.

Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.

“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”

He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.

She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”

A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”

That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”

That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”

“Ever?”

“Naw.”

She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”

“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”

She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.

And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.

He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”

She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.

If only.

————

Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.

Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.

It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them. 

A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms. 

Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?

In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.

It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it. 

And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.

Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.

“You alright?”

Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her. 

Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”

He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”

She has to believe that. 

Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’

Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her. 

“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”

Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast. 

“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana. 

Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”

“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic. 

“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry. 

“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.” 

Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”

“Nia?” 

To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”

“You talk to Roman about it?”

Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan. 

“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”

“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”

“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been. 

As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline. 

So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.

The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.

She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.

Her husband, however, is unbothered.

As he is with most things in life.

Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.

So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.

But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.

The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.

If only she could relate. 

For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.

Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point. 

And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase. 

It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort. 

Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.

The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling. 

He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.

No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.

Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating. 

Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.

Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost. 

And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?

————

Roman doesn’t say much to her.

It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.

It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.

She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her. 

She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together. 

However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep. 

But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm. 

Another……symptom?

Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.

But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.

Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.

It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.

Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.

Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.

Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”

“Where the hell were you?”

Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been? 

Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”

This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”

This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”

“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”

“But—”

“You heard what I said!”

His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.

She needs to be direct.

“Ro….what happened tonight?” 

She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”

In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity. 

She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.

But.

 But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul. 

And that….that is what scared her. 

His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”

“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”

“Does it matter now?” 

“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.

And it confuses the mess out of her. 

What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”

Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre. 

“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”

“Ro…”

And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.

Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”

“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”

“It’s fine, Ro. I—” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”

“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”

And not for their child growing inside of her.

“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”

“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell. 

“We��ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.

It seems like a perfect plan to her. 

Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his. 

His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.

“I’ve gotta….save…them.”

Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”

Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.

Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him. 

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.

Least of all, Roman. 

And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.

“Roman! Wake u—”

“No!” 

It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face. 

It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband. 

A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters. 

“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”

Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”

“I hit you….”

Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”

“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing. 

“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”

Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him. 

“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”

He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”

“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”

Because she is.

Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.

She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response. 

“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching. 

“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”

It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category. 

Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—” 

Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.

It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night. 

Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.

If only she could tell her husband that.

Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.

He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.

Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body. 

She knows that she’s pregnant.

But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child. 

This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this. 

He deserves better.

The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time. 

Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing. 

“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him. 

The way she'll always hold onto him.

————

It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber. 

But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.

“Jesus Christ….”

Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.

Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her. 

He fucking hit her. 

It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.

Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.

Because that’s exactly what he’s done.

He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.

And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.

Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.

Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face. 

Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it. 

She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.

What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.

A line was completely crossed.

And it can’t happen again.

Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.

She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”

She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Solana.”

“I can make—”

“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”

His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”

Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”

“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach. 

Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.

And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him. 

Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.

“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”

She closes her eyes. “Roman—”

“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

He won’t let it happen again.

“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”

“Solana—”

“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”

“Sol—”

“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do. 

Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her. 

He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.

That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.

Because he swore he’d always protect her. 

And he always will.

Even if that danger is himself.

Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her. 

Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her. 

Whether they’re together or not.

[tanjamikaelson]

UNSPOKEN CONFESSION | Rafe Cameron x fem!reader |

This basically happened in my dream, I just changed and added some things so that it would make more sense 😂 and I think this was happening in season 1 (based on Rafe’s hair and outfit), and there was no Kook vs Pogue rivalry.

Summary: You and Rafe were good friends and you got jealous when you saw him staring at Sofia. Warnings: none except a little bit of jealousy.

The summer air was thick with the scent of salt and freedom, mingling with the melodies from the live band playing at the open-air festival in the Outer Banks. The sun had just begun to dip, painting the sky in deep purples and pinks, a beautiful backdrop for a night meant for good vibes and unforgettable memories. You were sprawled on the lush, slightly prickly grass with your group, a drink in your hand and laughter spilling around you. Topper and Kelce joked loudly, their voices blending with the music, but despite the carefree atmosphere, your focus was somewhere else.

Rafe. His name sounded like a melody you couldn’t get out of your head. He sat just a few feet away, close enough that the edge of his laughter touched your heart. The sun highlighted the sharp line of his jaw and the mischievous spark in his blue eyes. But today, those eyes kept drifting elsewhere, landing not on you, but on Sofia, who danced freely to the music, the hem of her dress swishing with every beat.

You watched as Rafe’s gaze lingered on her, a look so palpable it made your stomach twist with jealousy. Sofia was radiant, laughter bubbling up as she moved, and you knew all too well why people kept nudging Rafe to make his move. You’d heard it from Kelce and Topper too, that maybe he had a chance, that maybe she liked him back. And it stung because he didn’t see you like that. Nobody knew you harbored feelings for Rafe—buried and locked up inside, where they festered quietly.

Kelce jabbed Rafe with a teasing elbow. “Bro, you’ve gotta do something about that staring problem,” he laughed. Everyone laughed with him, and Rafe smirked, looking almost bashful. Your face burned, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression neutral. The jealousy coiled in your chest like a snake, hissing every time he looked Sofia’s way.

Unable to take the heat prickling your skin, you made up an excuse about needing a drink. As you approached the vendor, the crowd thickened, and you wove through people, clutching your cup of cold soda. But just as you thought you’d found a gap, someone rammed into you. The impact sent your drink flying, the icy liquid splattering all over your clothes.

“Oh my god!” you shouted, voice laced with irritation. “Watch where you’re going!” You stared, mouth agape, as the culprit and his friends doubled over in laughter. They mocked you, pointing at your soaking wet outfit, and anger flared hot behind your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you spat, the words bursting out before you could rein them in. You flung the remainder of your drink at them, your heart pounding. “I’ve had enough of shit happening tonight!” The laughter rang in your ears as you stormed off, feeling the sticky chill of soda seep through your clothes.

You didn’t make it far before you heard your friends calling out to you. But it wasn’t Kelce or Topper who pursued you—it was Rafe. His footsteps were heavy against the grass, and you cursed under your breath, wishing desperately to be alone.

“Hey,” he called, voice softer than you expected. When you didn’t stop, he jogged to catch up, falling in step behind you. “Want me to beat the shit out of them?” he asked, and you could hear the protective edge in his voice.

You halted, not trusting yourself to face him, and answered tersely. “No, it’s fine.” Your emotions were a storm barely contained, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

“Look, I know you and—” Rafe began, and something in you snapped.

You laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “You know me?” you echoed, spinning around to meet his eyes. There was a desperation simmering beneath your words, and you hated how vulnerable it made you feel. “If you knew me, Rafe, you’d know how much I hate when you’re staring at Sofia.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Staring at Sofia? Why are you bothered by that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, and it was maddening.

You stared at him, unsure if he was clueless or pretending to be. Either way, it hurt. “It doesn’t matter,” you said, forcing a flippant tone. You turned to leave again, but he grabbed your wrist, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, it does matter,” he insisted, stepping closer. “Tell me why.”

The frustration spilled over, words tumbling out in a rush. “Because I like you, Rafe,” you blurted, voice trembling. “There, I said it.” The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed. You hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t wanted to, but the truth tasted bittersweet on your tongue.

Rafe’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared, stunned. Then he closed the distance, moving with a purpose that made your pulse race. “You like me?” he asked, almost disbelieving. “Since when?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling suddenly small. “Since I’ve known you,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. Your heart ached with the fear of rejection.

He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, your shoulders pressing against the rough surface of a wall. His blue eyes searched yours, and then his lips curved into a soft smile. “I didn’t know,” he said, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your defenses.

“Yeah, obviously,” you replied, a bitter edge to your words. “No one knows, and I wanted to keep it that way. But tonight, seeing you look at her... I just couldn’t take it.”

You didn’t have time to feel embarrassed or regretful. Rafe’s hand came up to cup your jaw, and before you could utter another word, he kissed you. His lips were warm and demanding, a rush of electricity that made your knees go weak. Your surprise melted into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt.

When you finally pulled back for air, your voice wavered. “What are you doing?” you whispered.

Rafe’s breath mingled with yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I like you too,” he confessed, eyes shining. “I thought you liked me as just a friend, so I tried to like Sofia. But it never felt right. I thought I didn’t have a chance with you.”

A laugh, soft and almost incredulous, bubbled out of you. “Really?”

He grinned, his boyish charm making your heart flutter. “Yeah, really.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering. “Kiss me,” he whispered, a plea you couldn’t ignore.

This time, you closed the gap, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands explored the curve of your back. He pulled you close, his touch igniting a fire that warmed you from the inside out. You broke the kiss, gasping when his hands gripped your waist, his touch so sure, so possessive.

“Is this what you needed to get rid of that bad mood?” he teased, voice husky.

You nipped at his bottom lip, a boldness overtaking you. “I want to get out of here,” you murmured.

Rafe's eyes darkened, and he laced his fingers with yours. “Yeah, let’s go.” With a grin that made your heart skip, he pulled you into the night, and for the first time that evening, you felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

A/N: I think what resulted in me having a dream like this was that I had been thinking about a festival that I want to go to next summer and it brought back memories from a few years back when I was there with my friends(and I liked one or two of them 🤣) and we would dance and sit on a grass just enjoying the music. I really miss raving like that, those were the best years of my life, but we’re not friends anymore and I haven't been at the rave in 2 years.😫

[beanlot]

butterfly knife

a tlou canon love story, a collection of ellie's memories, and a butterfly knife.

wc: 4k (fluff + major angst, brief vanilla smut segment)

reader referred to as ‘pretty’ and ‘ma’am’, major character death, mutual masturbation. just a sappy story.

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“how long have you been collecting all this?”

she was astonished, gawking at the collection of daggers, folded knives, dual blades. your first knife, a typical switchblade, laid there neglected and rusty - you refuse to use it, she doesn’t ask why. “since i was.. twelve, maybe.” you answer, your singular karambit swinging back and forth between your fingers. “still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..” she scoffs, inspecting one of the daggers closely, her fingers gliding alongside the handle’s delicate intricacies. some are brand new, handcrafted with glory.

it was hard enough finding a serrated piece of metal that wasn’t blunt and rusted to shit, never mind a functional butterfly.

its habit, the way the karambit spins in your fingers; you’d spent years collecting knives, learning them until mastery. she watches as the metal swirls around your thumb, hypnotised under its beauty, she’d never seen one in person.

“which knife did you use first.. y’know, for your tricks..?” 

“mm. this one. it’s pretty basic, but.. it’s a good starter knife.” you tap one of the combat knives, and when you do, ellie observes the rugged scars on your hands from practising over the years; the side of your hand littered with slices and morbid consistency.

“been going through infecteds’ pockets and everything.” you mumble, and she releases a breathy laugh under the impression you’re bantering - when she looks up and sees the earnestness in your gaze, her laugh falls flat. “oh.. you’re being serious..” she gawks.

she admired you. the tangible things, from the bruises on your shoulder blades to the indented scar on your collarbone; the intangible things, like how willing you were to clear a corner first incase you needed to bite a bullet, or how you made her stomach ripple whenever you returned a witty remark.

“look at you being a little garden gnome.” you hear her approach from behind. your arms are sunburnt and itchy under the blistering wyoming sun. and so you snap at her, a sour “not in the mood.” through the dehydration and empty stomach. “it’s boiling hot, i can’t breathe in this fucking greenhouse, and there’s spiders everywhere.”

“want me to come join? i can do the cabba-“

”even fucking worse. get out my face.” 

she knew it was your relationship friendship. it was her ‘tsk’ing you teasingly, understanding the sarcastic dynamic between you both. you were partners in crime, rum and cola, two broken people who found comfort in eachother.

winter was nice though. she’d amble into her little cubby in jackson, hanging up her jacket with a spirited hey you when she’d notice your curled figure stirring under a blanket. the ground outside is crunchy with thick snow, the wind whipping against the windows and the wispy air barbaric against your skin.

she’d slide a vhs tape into the tv, gather some more sheets from her bed and cove herself behind you. body warmth intermingling as your back presses against her chest, her arm settling around your collarbone.

she’ll inspect your face, alarmed by the brutish graze on your cheek, fingertips impulsively feathering against the wound. “holy fuck. what’s this?”

“ow! don’t touch it!” you flinch, rolling on your back.

“sorry.. sorry..” she’d whisper yell, before you feel her wintry touch along your jawline, framing the abraded skin. you hear her tut, her verdant globes darting along your cheeks,

down to your lips,

and then to your eyes.

“your pretty face.. all ruined..” she sighs. she’s not sure what she’s doing, how to initiate; all courage in her stomach rotting to doubt when she sees your eyes nailing into her. you look confused, so she decides to play it off. “i’m joking. you’re not even that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“that was also a joke. you are that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“hm?”

“just stop talking, or i’m gonna beat your ass.”

“.. yes ma’am.”

it’s silent for half an hour, the occasional rubbing your legs against eachother like crickets or her fingers tracing circles on your arm. she wishes she could settle her hand on your waist, or your hip. but she struggles with establishing boundaries, the mere handshake or high-five is too awkward for her.

“have you ever liked someone?” you hear her murmur, her breath fluttering against your neck. you think for a little, eyes glued to the tv screen. “i guess.”

“did you ever tell them?” her nails are delicately feathering against your bicep, soothing patterns that heat your stomach with vim. you tell her a simple no, rolling to your back and maintaining eye contact with her.

she studies you, much like you study her. her cheeks are florid, peppered with subtle freckles that could be counted up close, pupils dilated and pooled with something you could only describe as adoration. “same..” she whispers, eyes mesmerised when they scan your lips. “sometimes, i wonder if i should’ve said something.”

you’re not stupid. and she knows you’re not stupid. you’re piecing the puzzle together, analysing the way her gaze softens with vulnerability, a sweetness which is such a stark contrast to her usual hostility.

“ellie..” you clear your throat, breaking her trance. it’s like she’s asking you, wanting your guidance, your permission. “if you want to kiss me, then do it. stop being such a pus-“ you’re interrupted as she leans in, tilting her head and swallowing your words.

her lips are weightless against yours, a years-in-the-making kiss, longing yet patient with you. her hands hold her up, one by your head and the other beside your waist; she parts her lips again, inviting you to connect with her, deepening it experimentally.

she wants to dart her tongue out and taste you, but the unknown boundaries of.. whatever this is.. is suspenseful and terrifying to her. so she’ll let you take initiative, her lips only smooching at yours with yearning, tilting her head to ease into it.

when you do part, her eyes are brimming with intimacy, as if she’s savouring you in this moment. you rub your lips together, and tastes like coffee, which makes sense. considering it has been all she’d been drinking this morning.

“.. ew..” you whisper, your hands cupping her jaw. she rolls her eyes, and she’s about to say something, but you pull her down towards you; your lips brushing together, feather-light and exploratory, before she kisses at the corner of your lips.

“m sorry-“ peck. “you’re just-“ peck. “too fucking-“ peck. “pretty-“

her kisses dot around your jaw, mindful of your tormented cheek, spreading to your neck. she was nurturing, taking your hand in hers, bringing it to her graceful lips and kissing each knuckle; each scar, each rugged slice.

the verdant shade in her eyes reminds you of the outside, the earth, the soil and the overgrowth; her pupils dilate as you maintain eye contact, bleaching that infected overgrowth with adoration. “can i..?” she whispers, fingers tracing the dips of your hips, dusting your stomach in circular motions.

“no. those are places you can’t touch.” you whisper, jokingly. but when she looks at you with soft brows and convincing eyes, you feel like siren bait.

“places i can’t touch.. yet?” she whispers back, genuine softness in her voice that seeps out like caring silk.

she’s a little bit of a loser. but it’s okay, because you’re wanting it just as much when you look down and see her slender fingers, admiring veins around her knuckles.

your legs subconsciously part at it, accepting her, inviting her. she takes the hint, manipulative fingers dipping under the fabric of your torn sweatpants.

it was essentially lovemaking, her obsessively pecking at your lips as your hands are nested into eachother’s underwear, mutually masturbating. you provided for eachother, blossoming pleasure when you feel her finger tease your swollen clit.

“feel good, baby?” she’d whisper against your cheek, lips lazily grazing your skin, breath hitching when you’d circle her clit.

at first, it was being careful around the edges, tracing each other precisely; then it was hips rutting against each other’s hands messily, the silent room filled with your heavy breaths and your thighs walloping sloppily against her hand as she��d fuck you with her fingers.

“fuck, more up. more up.” you’d whimper, core tightening as her dilated pupils look at you.

you wish you could make sense to her, but the stimulation is forcing your words to melt into difficult blether. “more up? like this?” she whispers, and you feel her fingers curl more, your clit pulsing with its own heartbeat as she does so.

“holy shit, you’re so good.. so fucking good, ellie.” your head would fall back, legs quivering as her fingers would twine inside and rock into you how she learnt you like it.

“that.. that was-fuck, you.. you’re incredible..” she’d swallow, trying to regulate her breathing, feeling your clit throbbing under her palm; your tight core and clenched hips relaxing post-orgasm. “you-you came so quick..” you hum, your hand gliding out from between her legs, her cum glossing your fingers seductively.

“can you blame me? you’re in my ear going mmph.. mm-mhm, mmphm..” she would mimic your whines, because your relationship friendship situationship was teasing. you’d roll your eyes, nudging her shoulder from embarrassment.

she loved you, to pieces.

but those pieces started to crumble after joel.

“didn’t mean to wake you..” you hear her mumble as she zips her bag up, consumed by grief. she’d been packing as you slept, which wasn’t totally out of character - ellie’s always been sneaky. “what are you doing?” you sit up, scanning the puce bruise under her eye through your blurry vision, framing her bloodshot and revenge-driven pupils.

she’s silent for a little, as you rub your eyes and try to regain consciousness from your heavy sleep. she’s wondering if she should tell you this truth, but she knows you’re not stupid.

“i have to find her..”

she seems cold, distant, too numb to remember everything you had both built. it’s hard to see her go down this route, this isn’t your ellie.

“so.. you were gonna.. what? sneak out?” you slowly rise to your feet, tilting your head in challenging. “you were gonna leave me here? i’ll be waiting here for months.. when i could just go with you?”

i think this was the first time where ellie found something she hated about you. your ambition, your selflessness, your urges to wrap her in cotton wool. she wished you could just.. listen.. please listen. even though she knew you were so capable, you took charge of the ground you were on, domesticated it.

but her gut feeling told her something was off. you can’t come with her.

“i just.. no offence, but.. you haven’t exactly been the most helpful recently.” she mumbles, and she hopes you don’t hear. she can’t bear to look at you, your narrowed eyes hammering into her relentlessly. “what are you saying?” you contest, “you think everything revolves around you, ellie.”

and it was a spiteful comment from you, you know that. but it gives ellie some courage to look back at you, eyes of conflict. “you’re not like me, you don’t have to do all this shit. you have nobody.”

you bite back your malicious words, eyes shutting to adjust your temper. “i’ve done this, ellie. i was just asking to go wi-“

“i don’t want you with me.” she interrupts, and it’s then that you find something you hate about her. ellie’s always blinded by rage, she likes getting her point across, cutting you off. “it’s just gonna slow everything down, i’ll be here qu-“

“slow you down? me?”

“fuck me. this is the thing, you think you’re something special because you’ve done this and that-“

“woah, i do not think i’m-“

“yes, you do! i see through all of..” she gestures to your body, and you look down at the scars on your arms, the slices on your hands. “all of that. you think it’s made you all strong and mighty, you aren’t shit.”

“ellie, respectively, you’d struggle making it there alone even if you had five hands and six legs.”

and when the insults bounced back and forth, you decided to sit out on the porch. it’s quiet, an owl hooting amongst the stifled streets of jackson, snowflakes settling on the ground.

after half an hour, you hear the door open, her bag shuffling against the wooden floor as she sits beside you. she’s not good with apologies, and you’d find it cute if she hadn’t annihilated your self-esteem just now.

her eyes are fixed to an invisible point in the floor, and she’s testing the waters, her breath misty with every exhale. you feel her reluctant eyes on you, as she bites her lip out of newfound anxiety. “i wanted to say sorry.. i said some nasty things..” she mumbles, looking ahead at the streetlights and the hushed streets of jackson. “you deserve the world. i wish.. i could give it to you..”

you look at her, feeling your insides marshmallow up inside with her endearing and sincere words. her eyes are overflowing with apology, and you nod at her, grateful. “i’m sorry, too. i didn’t.. mean anything i said.”

she processes your words, eyebrows peaked, as if she’s melting with your apology. “i know..” she whispers, shuffling beside you and her lips planting a remorseful kiss on your shoulder. “i love you..”

you feel sedated under her touch, your lids low as she brings her lips from your shoulder to your forehead, pecking it fondly. and so you whisper back that you love her too. it feels like home to her, confirmation that the relationship between you is okay.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

idaho falls was stop number one. it’s hard to believe tommy had made his way through it alone.

ellie was focused on eastlake, that was the golden ticket. although she was affectionate enough to put her hand on your waist on horseback, or send you quick reassuring nods, she was rather inanimate. you can’t blame her, you’d be the same.

“bastard things..” you huff, trudging through the disarray of infected corpses, trying to retrieve your knife, lodged deep inside a clicker’s shroomy neck.

you’re both blood-soaked, heavy breathing from the ambush. you’d gotten used to shivving through large groups like this, but it was game over when you’d set off nail bombs. it was as if the whole town had came alive and started sprinting at you, screeching and cackling.

“what are you doing?” ellie mumbles when she sees you look through a dusty bag that had seemingly fused into the clicker. “there’s no way you’re actually looking.” she releases a breathy laugh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“you never know, it’s how i found one of my daggers.” you look at her defensively, fingers carefully diving into the bag, only to find a crumpled letter and a lighter. “i mean.. these guys used to be people, ellie. with hobbies, and memories and people who cared about them.” you mumble under your breath, “if someone ever found me like this, they’d have a fucking field day going through my pockets.”

“don’t say that.” she sighs, eyes softening as you rise to your feet. she’s trying not to imagine it. “besides, remember your whole i don’t die talk yesterday? if anything, it’s your ego that’ll get you killed.” she smirks, and you’re a little surprised. because it’s the first time in a while ellie’s taking intuition to lighten the mood with some playful banter between you.

you return a subtle smile when you remember the conversation from yesterday, wiping your knife clean against your shirt, watching the muddy blood smear the fabric.

e: “if you die, i’m gonna be so fucking furious with yo-“

“i don’t die.”

e: “whatever, fine. don’t disappear on me then.”

“yeah, i don’t disappear either.”

fuck, she loved you so bad. even the cockiness, the snark, the things that made you such a smartass. but as she watches you wipe the blood off the knife, her smile just.. suddenly drops. her usual barbaric eyes are blank and cluelessly staring at you all of a sudden.

you think she’s daydreaming, or maybe thought of a bad memory.

“what’s with you?” she thinks she’s seeing wrong, because it’s not possible. there’s no way.

denial.

“ellie..? what is it..?” you watch as her eyes start brimming, a glassy reflection of sorrow pinned to your hands. she approaches reluctantly, before she takes it in hers, and tilts it. whilst she’s used to seeing your usual scars and slashes, she’s not used to the fresh bite mark, fungal teeth that have torn your skin.

you stare, your hand piping hot and starting to tremor. because there’s not much for her to imagine anymore, it’s reality.

it’s nobody’s fault. you didn’t feel it, the adrenaline helped block it out. you hadn’t even realised one had gotten that close to you. “i didn’t.. but i didn’t feel it..” you blink in refusal, trying to remember if you’d felt it, when you’d felt it.

“i told you. i fucking told you to stay. and you just, don’t fucking listen.” her voice cracks, hands clenching into wrathful fists. she can’t believe you’ve been bulletproof all these years, untouchable, survived wounds from the neck; the head, every limb. yet a measly bite was all it took.

anger.

maybe you’re immune, you’re like her. maybe it’s a mistake, you didn’t get bitten at all. maybe if she’d fucking knocked you unconscious and left before you had woken up, you’d be okay.

bargaining.

“ellie. listen.. it’s not your fault.” you state bluntly to her, cupping her face in your hands. she struggles to hear through the stressful ringing in her ears, it’s as if she’s already screaming on the inside. “ellie.. can you hear me?” you ask when you notice her eyes go blank for a second, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. it feels as if she’s exiting her body, pretending it’s not real.

“ellie.. listen. i don’t know when this shit is gonna kick in, but when it does. i need you to think straight.. okay..” you explain to her, noticing the life in her eyes revive only slightly as she reads your lips. “you need to think straight, because i won’t be.”

and she slowly nods, blinking through the tears.

she decided to wait it out with you, she’s not sure why, it’s not like you were going to get better. by the second hour, your vision was pixelated, violet blurs that you try to blink away as you look at the sculptures around you.

it’s a museum, and you smile slightly.

“always wanted to visit one of these.” you slump into the leather chair, head aching and eyes feeling as though they’re being hammered from the inside. ellie kept her distance for the first hour, regretful eyes that scan you - your skin is glistening with sweat, and she doesn’t think you notice how your limbs keep twitching.

you look at her, eyebrows arched as you spin your karambit between your fingers. “talk to me.. please, ellie..” you plead quietly, noticing she hasn’t said a single word. she’s void, a mourning shell.

she ambles towards you, hands out as she delicately takes your arm, tilting your hand to inspect the wound. “let me look..” she whispers, as if she’s still trying to convince herself it isn’t real. but how can she, when your hand is ice cold, stripped of its usual warmth?

by the third hour, ellie could tell you were really struggling. really struggling. you had kept asking her to repeat what she said, when she hadn’t said anything - you’re hallucinating, it feels like you’re going crazy.

“baby..” you hear her murmur through the deafening ring in your ears. “please.. please tell me it’s a joke.. you’re fucking with me..?” she clears her throat, releasing a breathy laugh. “please.. i’m fucking begging you, say you’re just messing with me..”

her fingers intertwined with yours as she kneels infront of you, on her knees, helpless. “i.. don’t make me do this.. i can’t.” she can’t see through the puddles in her eyes, it feels like she’s talking to herself.

because she knows she has to stop this, your misery, your suffering. she has to walk away and make peace with the fact she did it for you.

“you’re gonna be fine, ellie. people like you always are..” you whisper breathlessly, your lungs feel useless, paralysed by something growing inside.

“ellie..” your lids are low, eyes morbidly rolling to her, feeling heavy and strenuous. you’re so fatigued, seeing ellie’s bloodshot eyes and her cheeks raw and worn from the constant rubbing of her tears. she maintains eye contact, shuffling closer until her forehead presses against yours.

her lashes are dark and thick, and she closes her bleary eyes. you used to cup her face when she’d press her forehead against yours, but you’re so cold, and limp, and lifeless.

“give those bastards hell.”

and it took until the fifth hour - until you were unresponsive, until you’d start begging her with pained tears to end it - that she’d muster up the courage to let go of your hands, give you a graceful kiss on the forehead,

“i love you..” she’d choke back a sob, lips against your forehead, “you.. you are.. the most magnificent person.. i have ever met..”

and shakily aim at your head, pistol quivering in her hand as her finger rests along the trigger.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

jackson, wyoming. blissful summer, two years later, the grass dehydrated.

she’d be kicking at the dry ground, scraping her converse against the cracked mud simmering under the heat. she needed air, time to think, to dilute her thoughts. she’d cut her hair recently, it hurt. you fucking loved the half-up half-down, and she knew it.

it feels like she’s erasing you, which aggravates her. it wasn’t just the hair, or the sound the scissors made when she cut the tiny ponytail off, or watching the strands streamline down the sink. it was dina’s confession, and constantly taking out the roll bag you kept your knives in when she felt strong enough, only to quickly roll it back up and hide it in her drawers when she realised she wasn’t.

but she’s done well recently, she’s sleeping more, dreaming less; eating bigger portions, and she’s able to look people in the eyes. her dead rabbit lays beside the stream, bow slung over her lanky shoulders.

she kicks against something solid, slowly kneeling when she realises it’s caved in the ruptures of the ground. there’s a metallic glint as she tilts her head, digging into the parched earth and slowly dragging it out.

“still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..”

it clicks in her hand, her fingers trying to rub off stains of mud, and she sighs. she sees your face, pretty lashes fanning your cheeks, the echo of your laughter when she’d kiss at the ticklish areas of your body.

“so.. how does this work?” she looks at you, knife in hand.

“you see that red thing right there? you throw the knife at it.” you point at the target on the wall, crossing your arms as you inspect her.

“wow.. so helpful, baby..” she murmurs under her breath, before she adjusts her shot, and throws the knife at the wall. it lands beside the red bullseye, a decent throw.

“wow. that was..” you start, eyebrows arched as if you’re impressed. she feels a gratified smile pull her cheeks upwards as you walk towards the wall, clutching at the knife’s handle before pulling it out. “ass. go again.”

you were beautiful. she’ll never love like that again.

and so she slowly tucks the knife back into the ground, respectively concealing it in the soil, it feels as if she’s burying you within these meadows - letting go of you a final time.

acceptance.

[ahhnini]

temperance - frat!rafe x tarot!reader

warnings - rafe being a jealous guy, slow burning with rafe is slow burning, not proofread!

the star / the world / texts pt one

soft classical music played over the shop, you’d just finished a reading with a client and you’re making polite talk with him as you clean your space. rafe was in the back, making himself a cup of coffee.

“i’ve been really interested in these things but never got the chance to do any research, can you tell me more?” your client, derek, asks. you nod your head, showing him to the tarot aisle of your shop. all the meanwhile, rafe is leaning against the doorframe, keen eyes watching over you.

“here are the cards we have in stock! for first time users i’d recommend the classic rider tarot deck,” you pull one from off the shelf, “it was originally made in italy and has the most powerful symbolism. the guidebook that comes with this can be hard to read, but there’s a ton of free guidebooks online. we also have some physical copies of guidebooks if you wanna check ‘em out,” you smile, handing him the box. your hands brush against each other. feeling an electric shock run through your body, you flinch away. derek softly smiles at you, pushing a stray hair behind your ear, and you whisper a “thank you.” you then nod shortly, clearing your throat, “oh, you also need some incense to cleanse them before you begin bonding,” “bonding?”

he follows you to the corner filled with incense sticks, “yeah, so your cards can resonate with you. if you go right into readings they won’t resonate as much and you may get some overly negative readings if you don’t cleanse,” you hand him three sticks of incense, “you can use one, just giving you a couple extra!” you beam, his hand lingering over yours again. he softly chuckles, taking the sticks. “how do you ‘bond’ with your cards?” he asks, taking a step closer towards you.

“usually, after I cleanse them I put them under my pillow and sleep with it. then I start doing a reading on myself and keep doing said reading until everything starts to resonate,” you sigh, “it’s a long process, but it’s an efficient one.”

your lips form a small smile as he nods. you bring him to the checkout counter, ringing up his items, “thank you for your services again today, I really appreciate it. and thank you for telling me more about tarot,” your polite smile widens into a genuine one, “you’re very welcome, derek,” derek hands you a hundred dollar bill, and you open your register to give him his change before he interrupts you, “—you can keep the change,” your eyes widen and you stumble upon your words, “oh—thank you!” he lets out a soft hum, grabbing his bag. before he leaves your shop, he turns around, approaching you again, “I might forget the process of cleansing the cards and bonding or whatnot, so…in case I forget, do you mind if I call you?”

you lightly scoff, a soft giggle emitting from your lips, “smooth,” you click your tongue, handing him a business card, “here, that’s my personal number, but don’t tell everyone that,” he takes a glance at the card before exiting your store, the ringing of the bells overpowering the soft music for a moment.

“smooth?” rafe walks over to you, eyes dark. you cross your arms, facing him. “yeah? it was,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes, “you’re not actually gonna call him, right?” “why not? if he needs help with his cards i’m gonna give help,” you try to squeeze past him, but his broad frame doesn’t let you through. “rafe. relax,” “he was flirting!” his eyes widen and his arms flail in the air. “no shit he was, besides, i’m only gonna give him tarot advi—are you jealous?” rafe’s face turns bright pink, no longer being able to hold eye contact with you, “n-no,” “oh, rafe cameron is jealous,” you poke at his chest playfully.

“just don’t want you to be calling him while we’re sharing a room, I like my peace and quiet,” his voice is soft.

“uh-huh…” you reply, walking back to your workstation as you mumble to yourself, “definitely jealous.”

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[slut4bill]

All For You - B.Kaulitz

𝜗𝜚 - bill kaulitz x fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 - horror

𝜗𝜚 - mentions of blood, murder, just gore in general

ღ - a/n: decided to try my hand at writing horror while I work on some smut fics...

"Baby" he cooed in your ear, putting on his sweet innocent facade as if he hadn't just brutally murdered your best friend right in front of your eyes. You felt sick to your stomach looking at the bloody scene in front of you, almost gagging when you saw what looked like a chunk of brain next to what used to be a head.

It wasn't always like this of course. When you first met him, he seemed like a sweet, decent guy, much different from the losers you were used to going out with, those men always used to getting praise for doing the bare minimum. Bill, however, would buy you gifts and shower you with love and affection, and in your eyes, he was the best boyfriend you had ever had. Perfect even. But of course, like all good things it had to come to an end, this whole 'perfect boyfriend' act becoming too good to be true. It started slow, as you noticed the way he started to become more protective of you but that was only natural right? He was just being a good boyfriend and it seemed like a sweet gesture. But then he started to get weirdly clingy, never leaving your side, always begging to spend every moment of every day with you which was a bit odd but hey you can't exactly say you hated the attention. Next came the small bit of obsession, it seemed normal at first just a few small mumbled I need yous or a random moment where he accidently blurted out something you swore you had never told him. And then came the killings, almost like a real life scream movie except the murders were never random, always someone you knew, someone you had just talked to the day before you saw their disfigured bloody body on the news. You were terrified when your boyfriend, the guy you loved so much, the guy who you swore would never hurt a fly, came crawling in through your bedroom window covered in blood with a toothy grin on his face as if he had just accomplished the greatest thing in the world. You were frozen in fear, eyes wide open as you tried to wrap your head around the sight in front of you. He trapped you in a warm embrace kissing all over your face assuring you that everything was fine and trying to convince you that all the people he killed had a reason to die.

Bullshit

You were shaken out of your thoughts by the feeling of lips pressing against your neck and the warmth of a pair of arms tightening around your waist. The only sounds filling the atmosphere were the soft clicks of Bills lips leaving your neck with a small 'tch' sound, not seeming to be stopping anytime soon. "Did you like my surprise?" he asked in a hushed tone breaking the silence. What? "What?" I ask more rhetorically than literally as tears brimmed at my waterline threatening to spill at any second. "Did you like my surprise?" he repeats again emphasizing every word this time. "I did this all for you baby, for us" he whispered in my ear as he continued trailing soft kisses down my neck. "Did I like it?" I laughed, "Did I fucking like it are you fucking insane you psycho piece of shit??" I yell as my voice shakes in anger, fear and shock. He looked down at me with a small hint of hurt in his eyes. "Don't yell love I was doing something nice for us" he frowns as if you getting upset about this was unnatural. you look up at him in disbelief. How is he failing to see what exactly is wrong about this? "How is this nice Bill you killed my best friend what is wrong with you-" you cut yourself off as your voice began to crack signaling that you were about to start crying. You sob looking at the lifeless being on the bathroom floor, the tiles already smeared with blood. "My best friend- h-how could you Bill" you asked in a hoarse voice, body still shaking from the breakdown you were having. He just hugged you tighter against his chest leaning down to kiss your cheek. We both stood in silence for a moment before he spoke up again. "She was trying to take you away from me I couldn't have that love you have to understand" he explained trying to reason with you. You were speechless and scared. More scared of your own feelings than the gruesome scene that had just unfolded in front of your eyes. Scared because despite everything he's done, what he just did, a part of you still loved him. And you couldn't bring yourself to push him away. "Let's go get you cleaned up, yeah baby?" he says referring to the small splatters of blood on your face and clothes sure to leave a stain later. You just nod still in shock and not able to properly speak as your mind tries to process everything that just happened. "Arms up" he hums as he lifts your shirt up over your head tossing it on the bloodied ground somewhere. He unclips your bra tossing it near the shirt and bends down to do the same with your jeans and underwear. He helps you step over the body and turns on the shower waiting for the water to heat up. Once it started to get warm, he carefully helped you in the bathtub squirting some shampoo in his hand and lathering it on your head, making sure not to get any in your eyes.

"I love you baby, I always will" he hummed in an affectionate voice, looking at you with nothing but genuine love in his eyes.

and you loved him too.

You were trapped in a living nightmare.

[blackknight-kai]

I don’t talk about her much, because she changes based on the au I use. The art below for my OC is from the wonderful WKZ who is not on the platform anymore for reasons of their choosing - *Friend if you see this know I appreciate you and you are missed*

If you want more of her let me know 😊 I’m gonna write some fics with her.

OC name: Kavara

(I do have a monkey version of her written out 😊 just not added to this post cuz she’s special and I’m still working on her)

Mix of Modern/Ancient Era traits

- [ ] Shes 5’6”/167 cm tall , shorter than the monkeys, her forehead is at mouth height (I hc them kinda tall? Like 5’10” /177cm or so). She has nice curves/ not too skinny not too hearty and a c/d-cup.

- [ ] She has deep burgundy red hair due to fire based abilities (wip)

- [ ] Amber eyes / almost orange in the right light

- [ ] 6 little dark freckles/moles that are in a straight line all the way down her cheek starting from the far side of her left eye, almost like a tear left stain, like me, (lore thing I’m still thinking about)

- [ ] Depending on what I use her for she has short curly/wavy hair or long curls.

- [ ] Likes peach scented body oil. (😏)

- [ ] Used to look mean - but she is gentle inside.

- [ ] Has to touch everything that’s soft if she walks by it, soft blanket? Gotta touch. Soft monkey? Gotta touch. Also likes being wrapped in cozy soft things. (Likes lots of pillows and blankets on her bed - she runs warm though so likes the air to be cool)

- [ ] Seriously she loves petting his fur…would do it all day long.

- [ ] Doesn’t eat sweets often, too rich for her.

- [ ] Likes sweet fruits though like peaches, plums (likes the tart skin on these the best), and crunchy apples.

- [ ] Dances/wiggles in her seat a little if she likes her food a lot

- [ ] No matter what AU she always finds DO/WK (or his variants) handsome instantly- crush may take longer but she always finds him charming and interesting in his own way.

- [ ] Enjoys messing with DO-Wukong/catching him off guard. Shes a little menace too (especially to those she likes). Enjoys annoying people (but not too much- like if making a pop sound with her mouth repeatedly gets under your skin she’s gonna do it - not to the point of pissing you off but she’s gonna get on your nerves).

- [ ] Chews on stuff sometimes to alleviate aggression/help keep focus/lower anxiety.

- [ ] Not a big drinker but will have a drink or two. Doesn’t mind a drunk monkey.

- [ ] Likes to collect pretty rocks and smooth stones that feel good in her hand.

- [ ] Not big on fancy luxury. Or stuffy clothes.

- [ ] Her weapons are similar to Kratos, (dual blades that can be smoldering etc and have chains she can use to throw them and pull them back. She likes to make big explosions 💀

- [ ] She hides them as earrings so they are always with her.

- [ ] Under her outfit she wears chest wraps to keep girlies together and tight to her chest. She wears the equivalent of panties but a loincloth sash covers her ass and front- legs exposed - this way if she loses her outer wear due to her fire she isn’t nakey.

- [ ] Puts her friends first.

- [ ] Curses internally a lot- sometimes out loud.

- [ ] Again, seems tough/uncaring but she is the most accepting person (as long as you aren’t genuinely bad/do bad shit) and will be the mom friend.

- [ ] Enjoys taking care of DO/WK. wants always help him, he’s her best friend. (Eventual lover)

- [ ] Wants him to feel cared for - and that she’d be there for him.

- [ ] in alt universe’s she would fight the fuckers at the begin of the game for him. Or by his side. She would genuinely die to keep him from having to resign himself to dying just to be free.

None of this is fine tuned but it’s the basic of whatever I got. I changed some stuff to suit my needs so…so I’m sorry if it’s a bit confusing but here we go!

This is a version of her specifically meant to know Wukong before BMW events. (Other versions of her like modern au or whatever I need her for don’t follow this but have similar things)

She is an immortal, one birthed of fire, chaos, destruction, (rebirth if you think about how fire culls the land for new life to grow), the embodiment of the roaring fires on the sun basically.

So in her younger days she is not exactly well liked, shes strong and was someone who didn’t like to held down. She didn’t outright disobey or was rebellious but if something wasn’t right or if she felt slighted/felt someone was slighted she would make that shit known. Quick to anger.

Because of this she had pissed off the wrong person, they placed a curse on her - (again not fine tuned) and it basically is like a black tar root that starts from her heart and starts spreading and coiling around her body the more emotion she feels, specifically negative ones like (seen negative) anger, hatred, fear, all those kinds of emotions.

She can heal, but the pain and the curse will spread to such agonizing levels that if she pushes it too far it will take over her body and encapsulate her/put out the fire in her which keeps her immortal. She of course tries to break the curse but there isnt anything that works. It’s like a spore that is attached to her heart that has molded to her and wont go.

Unfortunately this makes her shut down emotionally, she doesnt have a support system so as much as she tries to fight the agony gets worse and worse. Her fire dims, not dead, just dims. Kavara at this point just does her duties, keeps to herself, and represses all emotions whatsoever. She’s free of pain and honestly doesnt have to worry about shit, so it becomes her new norm.

In comes Sun Fucking Wukong.

The charming egotistical chaotic monkey yaoguai that wants to play immortal. She hears of him mostly, but remains indifferent. Until one day they finally meet.

Probably the worst thing that happens to a lot of people actually…..because Sun Wukong is the first to make her laugh. Ever. Not one of those “haha i am victorious” laughs she might have had when fighting back in the day. No, a full on belly aching laugh. Tears down her face and a wide pretty smile, something she honestly wasn’t capable of/thought she had. (She’s beautiful but never thought about it I guess)

This is the first time she realizes that HAPPY or positive emotions dont make the curse spread.

Wukong of course takes this as his sign to KEEP making her laugh (when he isnt being a little shit in heaven and to others).

Over time they do become friends, he learns of her curse, she learns of his goals. Unfortunately for everyone else Wukong influences her to stop being an emotionless doll and she becomes his partner in crime. Best chaotic duo ever.

THERES MORE BUT THIS IS JUST SOME OF HER STORY!!!

I didn’t wanna give the WHOLE lore, if you want more let me know. It’s quite a bit and a mix of angst & happiness.

Same with a version of her that meets Destined One. It’s a different AU and one that is a bit on the angsty side but I will ALWAYS give a happy ending.

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter VI

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: sorry for the major delay on this chapter everyone, I've been juggling a lot privately and professionally but I'll be back to regular updates over the course of the next week <3 also, just broke 20k with this update, woo!! summary for this chapter is: the art of self-sabotage. or, old habits die hard.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark @sadslasher13 (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 2.8k

Masterlist Next Chapter

How could you let this happen? Be this stupid?

This is exactly what you didn't want, trying your absolute damnedest to bury your feelings for Bjorn deep, deep under the weight of denial and downplay but—you can't, no matter how hard you try.

You're fighting an increasingly losing battle, falling further every time Bjorn comes around, every time he fucks you and holds you in his arms after. Every time he apologizes for whatever mean things he said in front of the others just so he can keep up the appearances you so desperately wanted to uphold. Every time he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers that everything's going to be alright when nothing about this remotely is.

And you cry every time he leaves, finding it harder and harder to hold it in each time he does, like he's taking another piece of your heart with him every time he goes, crying salt into your pillow as you hug it close to your naked chest in the hours after, until your sobs taper off into pathetic wet sniffles, dehydrated and drained like you’re grieving a loss that hasn’t yet come to fruition.

But it will—and that’s the crux of it isn’t it, because you know in your bones, in your soul that you’ll lose this just like you’ve lost everything else before, because you’ve learned early on that everyone, no matter how much you need them, will always, always, leave in the end.

It’s a tough pill to swallow but then again, the truth always is, so you do what you can to prepare for it, choosing to shatter the illusion of happiness yourself instead of waiting for it all to inevitably come crashing down around you, desperately hoping it won’t hurt as bad when you do.

A decision you come to after another night spent drinking in the quarry, most nights spent together spent drinking, alcohol the only thing that really takes the edge off after an incredibly long and difficult shift.

Slumped back into the camping chair you’re sitting in, the one that you’ve unofficially claimed as yours, you quietly watch the familiar dance of flames everyone was sitting around, finishing off the last of your beer while the others talked and laughed.

You’d been pretty quiet all night, barely contributing anything to the conversations happening around you, too busy in your own head contemplating how to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve found yourself in as you tossed the now empty glass bottle into some nearby bushes.

Usually you'd stop after three, never one to catch anything more than a buzz but tonight, tonight you wanted to get absolutely shit-faced, wanted to shut out all the white noise inside your head, if only for a little while.

So you go to get up, intent on grabbing another drink from the worn down cooler Navarro’s feet were propped up on when Bjorn’s voice made you freeze, asking, “needa refill luv?” from the other side of the pit, head whipping up so hard you almost throw it out.

He must’ve been watching you, had to have been for him to have immediately noticed you were out, your stomach fluttering wildly at the assumption, doing your absolute damnedest not to show it on your face, no matter how badly you want to hiss at Bjorn, “what the fuck are you doing—sit back down!!!” but, you don't. Can't. The words dying in your throat every time you went to say it.

With your eyes glued to him, you watched as he walked around the burning steel drum towards his sister, his shoulders slouched and his chin down, the confidence swagger he usually carries himself with gone and been replaced with a level of uncertainty you're not used to, one that helplessly flashes you back to shy blue eyes unable to meet yours just before he sucked on your breasts or stretched you open on his thick fingers.

You squeezed your thighs together, feeling wetness starting to seep between them. Not the time.

Bjorn nudged Navarro’s feet off the cooler lid, totally ignoring the scowl his sister threw at him while her hand was cupped around the dying cherry of her cigarette she was trying to keep from going out, fishing another bottle of aspen beer from the half melted ice in the process.

He came to a stop in front of you, holding the drink out by the glass neck to take, giving a smile meant just for you, so warm it had you burning hotter than the kindling wood behind him as everything briefly dissolved around you, like the entire universe was made up of just you, him, and the space in between, the warmth he was wearing radiating throughout your chest.

It was incredibly tender and brief and all wrong, the moment interrupted when Rain cleared her throat beside you, bringing you crashing back down to reality.

More than enough to make you recoil—hard. The bottle you'd been mid hand off slipping from your grip and shattering onto the pebbled stones between his and your feet, splashing chilled lager across both of your pant legs.

Bjorn had sworn under his breath then, asking you things like, “fuck, ah’ ya alright?” and, “ya’ ain't hurt ah’ ya,’ darlin?’” but you’d barely heard, had tuned it all out as your gaze swung wildly around the lopsided circle your friends were huddled in, all eyes on you.

Whether from the beer or from Bjorn you didn't know—didn't want to know, feeling severely scrutinized under the weight of their collective stare, like they could see right through you, like they knew what you were hiding, causing you to shrink down low into your seat, line of sight trained on the freshly wet gravel as you snapped at Bjorn that you didn't want his fucking handouts.

You could see the lower half of Bjorn’s body go rigid from within your periphery, refusing to look up and meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find, of possibly seeing some of that blossoming affection you’d been feeling mirrored in his icy blues, waiting to let out the shaky exhale you’d been holding until he walked back to his seat.

No one commented on your bizarre little exchange, probably because they knew you were a flight risk, that you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of conflict—like you always did, which is why you forced yourself to stay, not wanting to raise any more questions.

After the bonfire had ended Bjorn, like most nights, found his way back to your apartment, a bit cautious to approach you in your bedroom, probably sensing the sour mood he'd inadvertently put you in, asking for permission to touch while he crawled into your bed to join you.

And now here you are, Bjorn grunting as he thrusts into you once, twice, three more times before he finishes inside the condom buried eight inches deep between your legs, hairline damp from exertion with his bangs sticking to his forehead in sweaty little peninsulas.

He leans down, the cool metal of his dog tags brushing up your bare chest while he does, to plant an incredibly tender kiss to your lips, smiling into it when he feels you reciprocate, going in for a slew of quick pecks the same time he lets go of the leg he’s still holding up, fingers dimpling the back of your thigh.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he grins a little wider, still a bit winded as he tries catching his breath, rolling off of you to lie flat on his back instead, covered in a fresh set of scratches trailing down from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

There's a beat of silence, only punctuated by the mingling of your heavy breathing slowly returning to normtand the systematic tick of your alarm clock on the bedside table next to your head, feeling Bjorn's hand find its way into yours down between your bodies.

Tears start to crease along your waterlines, rapidly fluttering your lashes to try and blink them away, to not draw Bjorn’s attention to how absolutely vulnerable you feel. This was a mistake. A big one. And not just tonight—all of it. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered filthy praise shared between you, closing your eyes for a moment, just long enough for you to work up the nerve and say, “we have to talk,” voice thick with thinly-veiled emotion.

Bjorn perks up at that, rolling onto his side as he sat up on his elbow, cheek resting on a loosely curled fist, the shitty stick and poke of the losing dice frowny face he has tatted on the back of his right hand, one of the many Navarro gave him when he was fifteen and they were both high as a kite while giggling quietly on the floor of his bedroom as to not wake their dad, upside down from this angle.

“Glad ya’ said sumthin’ princess,” he smiles a shy, tiny thing you aren’t used to, fighting the overwhelming urge to back out now, “cuz m’ pretty sure I feel tha’ same.”

You seriously doubt that, your suspicion sadly confirmed when he confesses, “I think m’ fallin’ fo’ ya,’” the same time you say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

More silence, except—this one says a hell of a lot more.

Your throat goes tight and painful, like you just swallowed shards of glass and poured salt into the resulting wounds, watching the smile on his face quickly dissolve, replaced by a pinched frown and the confused furrow of his eyebrows, sitting all the way up to stare down at you.

“Wha’?” He asks, so small and fragmented it feels like a knife stab to the chest having to hear it. Fuck, you knew it was going to sting,that you were in too deep by the time you realized you were falling for him, but you didn't expect it to hurt this bad, like you want to take it all back but you don't—you can’t, for your sake and his.

“I said,” you push through the acute ache, disguising your tone with something harsher, something hurtful, “we should stop seeing each other. It's just—not working out anymore.”

“M’ sorry but where in tha’ bloody fuck is this all comin’ from? I thought things wuz’ good between us,” he argues, using his hand to gesture between your body and his as you sit up against the headboard, pulling your blanket up over your chest so you aren't so exposed.

“Well, you were wrong. We just—we aren't meant for each other. We're only hooking up out of convenience and you know it,” you reinforce, unable to meet his eyes head on, just like the quarry, gaze trained on the worn comforter by his naked thigh.

Still, you're able to catch a glimpse of the confusion on Bjorn's face morph into utter annoyance, snapping at you to, “cut tha’ shit already.”

“Excuse me?” You bristle immediately, letting your anger temporarily eclipse your pain so you don't break down in front of him, “fuck you if you think I'm lying.”

“Oh, m’ sorry if m’ havin’ a hard time believin’ ya, but ya’ can't jus’ fake tha’ kinda chemistry. I'm willin’ ta’ bet it all on black ya’ felt it jus’ as much as I did.”

You can see desperation bleed into his eyes, hear it seep into his words, wavering like he's not so sure anymore but still trying to convince himself that he's right—and he is, you know in your bones that he is but he doesn't need to know that, muttering back, “what the fuck do you even know.”

His nostrils flare as a result, clearly offended by your statement, leaning in on his palm, fingers spread over your sweaty, wrinkled bed sheets, his gaze firmly transfixing itself on you, “‘scuze me? Ah’ ya’ tryna be daft on purpose?” not giving you any room to respond before he continues on.

“Listen—I can't speak fo’ ya,’ but I know wha’ I fuckin’ feel. D’ya really fuckin’ think I wanna feel like this?! Tha’ I wanted this ta’ happen? Course fuckin’ not. I don't get close ta’ people tha’ ain't mah’ family but then you. Ya’ came along an’—I neva’ intended ta’ get ta’ know ya’ at all. Yeah I thought ya’ wuz a total smokeshow when I first laid mah’ eyes on ya’ but I figured ya’ wouldn't stick around long with how bloody standoffish ya’ were, always lookin’ like ya' didn't wanna be there

“But then ya’ did. Ya’ did an’ we almost fuckin’ died so I opened up ta’ ya’ figurin’ we wuz both gonnas’ then ya’ let me touch ya.’ Let me inside ya,’ an’ I couldn't stop fuckin’ replayin’ it in mah' head tha’ night I slept ova’ at Kay an’ Tyler's. Had ta’ rub one out in tha’ bathroom an’ bite down on mah’ fuckin' fist like a hormonal tweener. I woulda been embarrassed if I wuzn't so fuckin' turned on.

“So I had ta’ go back fo’ a round two, see if it wuz jus’ a fluke but once I was fuckin’ ya again I couldn't stop, I wanted more every time, like a fuckin’ junkie lookin’ fo’ tha’ next fix, no matta’ how hard I tried resistin.’ But then I started ta’ notice otha’ things ‘sides tha’ face ya’ make when I make ya’ pussy weep around mah’ cock an’ ya' sing so pretty fo’ me,” he says, face neutral and tone even despite how hot your cheeks are hearing that.

“Like how carin’ ya' ah’ fo’ tha’ othas’ despite actin’ like ya’ don't. Tha’ ya' had ta’ grow up fas’ as fuck an’ took it out on yaself’ instead o’ lashin’ out like an’ insecure prick. Like me. Tha' I thought I'd neva’ seen someone so fuckin' beautiful in all mah’ life when ya’d fall asleep befo’ me, even when ya’ wuz droolin’ on mah’ chest and snorin’ like one o’ them fuckin' minin’ drills. Tha’ I thought I could listen ta’ ya' horrendous singin’ in tha’ showa’ all day when ya’ woke up befo’ me. Tha’ I wanted ta’ call ya’ mine fo’ a fuckin’ while now.

An’ I know I wuzn't jus’ imaginin’ shit. I might be shit at expressin’ mah’ feelins’ but so ah’ you. Ya’ can’t convince me none o’ it wuz real.”

You consider trying to take it all back, while he’s still giving you an out, feeling like your heart’s been violently ripped out of your chest but you refrain from doing so, choosing to stand your ground, no matter how shaky the earth beneath you feels. You can’t afford to lose someone again, it’ll be better in the long run to ruin it now than to let life steal someone else away when you least expect it, when you can’t possibly handle any more heartbreak.

Finally meeting his eyes you force yourself not to flinch at the intensity of his gaze as they scrutinize you, like he can see right through you, feeling more exposed now than you did when he first got you naked.

“It wasn’t,” you insist, somewhat petulantly.

It’s his turn to roughly swallow at what you say, his confidence visibly waning in the slouch of his shoulders and the way he pulls back a little, the uncertainty of his words when you first confessed making a comeback—much stronger this time but still underscored by a level of defiance like he’s clinging on to some modicum of hope.

“So allat—allat really meant absolutely nuthin’ ta’ ya?’”

You know you have to inflict maximum damage, to crush any chance of making the same mistake twice, finding yourself leaning in like he did earlier to emphasize your point, not deviating away from devastated blue as you hiss, “nothing. Nothing at all.”

And that was all it took, watching how quickly Bjorn turned his back to you while he quietly yanked on his clothes, shoulders shaking in anger, in rejection—in defeat. He's hurting, it's more than obvious by the way his voice shakes, sounding like wet gravel as he croaks at you to, “have a nice fuckin’ life,” before storming out of your apartment, leaving you alone, the silence you once found comfort in when you were on your own bordering on unbearable now.

It's for the best, you reason, it's what needs to happen, you don't need to make this any harder than it already fucking is, finally allowing yourself to break down, as pained sobs rack your body, crying so hard you grab at your chest like you’re trying to open another airway, gasping between each tearful moan.

So, if this is really for the best—then why does it feel like the worst decision you’ve ever made?

[goodboyyyy]

Another hot summer day working out with your neighbor Tommy. You guys had been friends when you were kids, and stayed that way in highschool, both sticking together as two skinny nerds like you would. You went to different colleges, though, and when he came back the next summer he was like a different person. You'd changed too- you'd finally gotten the courage to come out at college- but nowhere near as much as him. You'd guessed he must've been a late bloomer, or that puberty had really done a number on him- his pale, skinny frame was now full, thick, and covered in hair and muscle, and where he had just had some stubble and peach fuzz before was now covered in an equally full, thick beard right above his beefy neck. He had a couple tattoos too, on his broad lats and bulging biceps. Most strangely, he'd had a cross necklace on- both of you had never been that religious.

Still, he was pretty cool with you, even after you came out to him- almost more after that- and started inviting you to workout with him. You didn't have much else to do over summer break, and figured it would be good to start getting active. Your new boyfriend at college would probably appreciate the results.

"Damn, I stink!" he said with a dumb grin, lifting his pit and giving it a long sniff.

You stared at him, confused.

"What? You don't do this?" he asked.

"I really don't," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Gross," you thought.

He shrugged. "I guess I used to think it was weird too when I'd see guys do it at the gym. But once I started lifting and got that testosterone pumping, damn! My pits started to leak all the time. I'd just be sitting there watching TV, get a whiff of something, look down and see these bigass pit stains under my arms," he said, laughing dumbly. "I'd have to change my shirts 3 times a day, even if I was just chilling."

That got you kind of hard, to be honest. He gave his pit another whiff until the smell started to make his eyes water. "Ah, fuck yeah," he said shaking his head. You stared at it, the sweaty, dark hair under it binding together from how wet it all was. You looked down at your own. They were sweaty, but only because you'd been working out. Otherwise you never sweated much.

"C'mon man. Give it a try. There's nothing like inhaling your own hard earned sweat after a workout," he said in his deep voice.

You did, but it didn't really smell like anything, which you told him.

"Haha, that's cuz you just started working out bro. I remember those one-shirt days. Enjoy em while they last," he said with a dumb laugh. Then he smiled goofily. "Nah, you need to see what I mean. Wanna lil preview of what you'll smell like soon?" he said, quickly swiping his finger through his pit and towards your face.

"Fuck off ma-" you yelled, backing away, but a few drops of sweat from his dripping fingers landed on your face. The first hit you right under the nose, filling it with his musky scent. The next two landed right in your mouth. You barely noticed, barely tasted the sweaty drops, but something in you changed as his sweat ran down your throatm soaking through your skin and into your bloodstream. You wanted... more of it suddenly.

"Haha, that's what's up man," you said, your voice now as deep as his. "Yo, can I get another whiff? You fuckin reek, bro." He really did, haha.

"Dig in bro," he said with a laugh, lifting his arm again. His bicep rolled up into a mountain as he showed off his sweaty pit.

"Good shit man," you said, diving into it and giving it a whiff. It didn't make you turned on exactly- moreso enraptured, like something in you was awakening- like a deep instinct.

"Haha, you see what I mean now bro?"

"Fuck yeah," you bellowed.

Your hands roamed over the muscular, hairy peaks and valleys of his chest.

"That's a good boy. You like this body, baby?'

"Yes," you spluttered from under his pit.

"Why?

"Big... strong... hairy."

"That's right boy. I'm a fuckin man now. Fuck that skinnyboy nerd shit. You know how it feels walking around, knowing you can fuck whoever you want? One look, one fuck and these bitches are beat over me, texting me nonstop, begging to have this cock again," he saudm grabbing at his junk through his shorts. "Once I got a taste of this, why would I want anything else? I know we fucked around and did nerd shit in highschool, but its time to be a man now. That's it boy. Lap it up. Drink up all that testosterone. It's just gonna amplify what we've been getting going in your system the last couple weeks."

"Yeah," you said, barely noticing that your voice was deeper every time you spoke. "Yeah, good shit bro."

"Alright, enough for now. Time to finish benching. I'll spot you."

You slid onto the bench, energized. You usually wobbled and had awkward placement, but now you slid back onto it like a pro, arching your back as you gripped the weight. You friend stood over you, dick eye level with your face to spot you. You pumped a rep out, inhaling deep on the way down, then coughed. A blast of his musky ballsweat seeping through of his shorts filled your nose.

It was so pungent that it made your eyes start to burn. You were about to say something when the weights shot up higher than ever before.

u9His ballsweat smelled even better than his pits had. You felt blood rushing into your pecs. Another rep. You felt the pump getting stronger and stronger, like your chest was going to burst. Another rep. Another inhale. Another whiff of his ballsweat. He nodded. Another rep. A bed of sweat dripping off his nose into your open mouth. You swallowed it. Your chest felt like it would explode now- your arms, lats, back and biceps too- all doubling in size with each rep as his extra testosterone coursed through you. You stared up at his big, hairy chest towering above you. You needed to look like that, a primal voice in you said. If you were still cavemen, he'd be an alpha- strong, powerful, virile, spreading his seed. What would you be? Weak. No. You were a man- you couldn't be weak. You had to keep lifting. Get bigger. Stronger. Your eyes glazed over as your arms moved automatically now, up, down, up, down. A thin layer of hair started to grow over your suddenly huge chest, getting darker and bushier with every rep.

He smiled down at you, feeling your now hairy chest, nodding and smirking as you continued to work. It made you want to push harder. He lifted his arm behind his head again, flexing his big bicep. You stared in awe. Ten minutes ago you'd've wanted them cuz they were hot; now you wanted them because you wanted to be big like him. Powerful. Masculine. Built.

He reached into his pit with his free hand, coating it in sweat and moving it towards your mouth, which opened automatically for it. You were still pumping out reps, just starting to feel tired, but when that sweaty hand hit your mouth and your tongue instinctually swirled around it, licking up every drop, it was like you'd just begun. You grunted as the hair on your own pits there got thicker and darker everytime you lifted the weight. His hand went back to his pit, coating it in sweat, in all his excess testosterone, and back in your mouth. Your shoes ripped as your feet went from a size 8 to a size 15. A thick beard appeared on your face where your patchy facial hair had been. Musky sweat was leaking out of your own pits now; you inhaled the scent deeply, grinning. You smelled like a man now- fuck yeah. It made you push even harder as you felt your cock and balls got thicker, heavier, making room for all the extra seed you'd spread now. Your friend smiled down at you, nodding in approval as your bulge expanded.

"I think you're good man," he finally said. "The last few bits will finish up even if you stop now with everything we've got pumping through you. I'm really glad we still have so much in common after all the years, man. Same time tomorrow?"

"For sure. I'm glad too, brah," you said, racking the weight and sitting up. Something hit you in the face. A gold cross chain had appeared around your neck. You stared at, confused for a minute till you remembered you'd always been pretty old school, traditional and religious. All you wanted was a nice wife, one who'd be traditional like you, cook your meals, wash your clothes, rub your feet after a long day, serve you like a wife should and fulfill her role.

You'd cheat on her, of course. Your cock was too virile to be satisfied by one pussy. But that would just make her love you more, try harder. You'd just have to pick the right one and slowly chip away at her till she'd put up with anything for you, till she was addicted and begging for your approval. You'd put babies in her, raising them into more nice strong, religious men- and bring them up to be just like you. You'd accept nothing less.

And that's just how it happened. You spent the rest of the summer pumping iron and sweating it out with your bro by day, comparing how bad you smelled and laughing like idiots. Working out outside bronzed the thick, muscular skin under all your body hair, giving you a hot glow that was great for when you spent the night hitting the clubs and bagging chicks by night.

Every now and then you'd feel yourself question things, wonder if this was what you really wanted from life. For some reason, it felt like there was something more you'd imagined, once, or something different. But it was like whenever that happened, you'd feel your dick suddenly start getting hard, distracting you, pulling your focus. The more you tried to remember, the hornier you'd get, till the thoughts drifted away and you were practically feral, consumed with thoughts of fucking or lifting. You slowly had the thoughts less and less till you stopped having them at all. Your life was pretty great now.

[overnightheartbeats]

“It matters to me. When I’m being told I’m doing this for fun, I kind of like to know why.” Her frown was in clear display. Why wouldn’t it matter? Well, at least he wasn’t telling her to go away, so she took a seat next to him and turned to face him. This could go either way, and if this was where everything went to shit, she wanted to make sure she got everything.

Hearing his level tone was new, especially when she was used to bigger displays of anger or just silence altogether. "You keep saying I had my fun? I don't," she paused, shaking her head. "Do you think I'm so shallow that I use my free time to flirt and mess with guys? Okay true, I did seek you out and maybe that was a little too forward, but I didn't do all of that just because I was bored and needed a..pet project." Listening to him recount what happened had her experience a wave of emotions - stunned, confused, and just generally lost. He described Jenny in a way she had never heard before. It wasn’t landing in her mind, but as he spoke, her mind was already working through it. He had no reason to lie, right? Clearly, he had no issue saying what he thought. But if he did, where would he even get all of this? "Jenny told you I'm playing you?" That sounded outrageous, but why else would he be so upset towards her. “That doesn’t sound like her, but I guess, yeah.” He had no reason to lie to her, did he? She couldn’t quite place it, but there was a part of her that did trust him. Even if her mind was clouded with doubt. Her mind was running at one hundred miles per hour, but it all came to a halt with his latest mention of fun and their kiss. Laurel was upset about many things right now, but their moment being tainted like this was the most irritating (even above him thinking the worst of her). "I didn't kiss you because of some game or to have fun, stop saying that. I did it because I wanted to, and I liked you," she blurted out, exasperated by the conversation and confusion drowning her.

The silence was killing her. It was her worst nightmare, she rather go back to him telling her the different ways she was playing him and how her friend was this big bully. Laurel and silence never really got along, it made her uneasy. She pulled her knees close to her chest, a sense of defeat washing over her. This was done, wasn't it? So much for Juju's optimistic outlook, and that first date. If this situation didn't indicate the end, his comment on girlfriends certainly did. No one being worth the fucking effort, noted. Laurel shook her head once more, "sorry. I..I just thought that you were running off for a girlfriend, and then what you said in class about wanting to stay. I just thought that..well, it doesn't matter." She thought he was like the typical college guys, yeah. "I assumed, my mistake, but that's also why I asked. Because, like I said, not a game to me. It felt that way, and I don’t want to misread something. I didn’t have any other context, just you running off and being gone for however long. Then what you said earlier…well, yeah.” Whether intentional or not, he was drawing lines. Ones she had quickly ran past the last time around. "I am glad that your family holds so much value, I confused that. I’m sorry, you’re right. We just met and I’m not entitled to your personal life.” Even with all of this, he still said bullies - her included? There was no changing this. The annoyance in his tone was clear, even if she wanted to ask anything else, it was not very inviting. “I don’t know, are you up for answering? Or we’re still strangers?”

Jenny knew Laurel’s schedule, being roommates and all. After messing with Eli, she went to grab a quick bite and grabbed something for Laurel after class. She figured if she showed up with lunch, plans would be decided for her. Walking down the empty hallway, she was surprised to see Laurel outside of class but soon it made sense. There he was with her too. Rolling her eyes once, she willed her best smile and walked right towards them. “Hey guys! Ugh, you guys look so cute - right out of a movie! No class today? I came to meet you for lunch, but didn’t think you’d be out so early! You could join us!” She directed at Eli, though she knew that was unlikely.

Despite himself he moved the books and made room for her next to him. "Does it matter?" It seemed laurel wasn't going to let it go so he sighed. "The bully brigade. Your friend Jenny is the leader. She made it seem like you knew and have just been playing a game with me because you're bored. Which if that's the case, I want no part of it. Just leave me alone. I'm not a pet project."

"I called her what I did because that's what she is. I don't tend to say something I don't fucking mean." The rage against Jenny was strong but he kept his even tempered tone. "She's made it her personal hobby to keep badgering me just because we keep hanging out. You must like me better than her might be going around in her head. I don't want trouble. I can see my way out of this equation just do me a favor and leave me out of it. You've had your fun. Had your kiss. Let me go back to obscurity. You can go back to her. Since she's so scared to lose you to a nobody. Her words not mine."

He sat there in silence too exhausted to get up and walk away. The flight had him wired enough not to sleep and he was paying for it now. His eyebrows knitted together as their conversation came to mind. "Why on earth would you think I'd kiss you if I had someone back home? What kind of asshole do you take me for." Girlfriend made him snicker. "Doing this much for a girlfriend," he shook his head. "No one is worth this much fucking effort. I didn't run away from you because I wanted you to think I was playing. I'm sorry but we've just met. There's no questions or hesitation when my family calls. Least of all my little sister. Could I have been more straight forward , sure but no one is entitled to my personal life. Especially bullies. It's earned."

Setting his arms over his knees he watched the empty hallways. "Anything else you need to know?" He had been annoyed but he also wanted to be left alone. If this was a trick then he'd rather have Laurel pull the bandaid off.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Celebrations and Confessions

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIRIUS BLACK

Remus has been looking forward to Sirius' eighteenth since the marauders first started planning for it. Seventh year has made the war feel all too real, and having a day to celebrate someone who means so much to him, to all of them, is more than welcome.

It's the biggest celebration the marauders have ever thrown. Sirius is practically worshipped all day, and the amount of decorations and alcohol the other marauders have shoved under their beds for the evening is obscene.

The party is absolutely magnificent. Remus mostly stays on the sidelines. Watching Sirius have fun is better than being in the throws of the party itself. The smile on Sirius' face is absolutely radiant. Honestly, he's fucking glowing.

By the time it hits 2am, Remus knows the party isn't dying down anytime soon. He's had a bloody brilliant time, but it's slightly too close to the next full moon for him to be able to pull an all nighter like the rest of his insane lot. He decides to slip away quietly. Sirius would be all too willing to abandon the party to come with him, but Remus doesn't want to cut his fun in half. Not when he needs it more than anybody, after Regulus' strange transformation from a quiet, angry kid to head of the Deatheaters-in-Training, as the Gryffindors like to refer to them.

Sirius needs a night of forgetting.

That decided, Remus sneaks out of the common room, up the stairs, and into the dorm unnoticed. At least, he thinks it went unnoticed. That is, until the door creaks open as Remus sits on his bed, legs crossed. He looks up at the door, only to find Sirius walking in with a small smile.

"Hey. You turning in for the night?" He asks.

"Yeah," Remus nods, rooting around for his book. "How come you're not out there having fun?"

"Oh, I've had plenty fun," Sirius waves him off like it's nothing. "Also, I was kind of hoping I could talk to you."

"Of course you can," Remus says, trying to bite back any tension building. At this point, he and Sirius have had every negative conversation under the sun, so he knows that it's probably not anything bad. Still, it's always going to be a nerve-wracking thing to hear. Sirius settles opposite Remus on his bed.

"So, er..." He starts fidgeting with his hands, looking down as he contemplates his words. "Seventh year has been... eye opening. What with the war, and the fact that everything's going to get really shit really quickly. One thing about my birthday this year, turning eighteen, it got me thinking. Since life after school is going to be bloody terrifying, it's probably worth doing some things that scare the shit out of me now." Remus is pretty taken aback by this. Sirius has been doing terrifying shit his entire life, with his insane fucking family. This doesn't quite feel like something Remus can interrupt, so he keeps his mouth shut. "You don't have to say anything, and I- I don't want to make anything awkward. This is more about... doing something scary and getting it off my chest. Christ, I'm really waffling, aren't I?" Remus chuckles at that.

"Whatever you want to get off your chest, Padfoot, you can say it. I won't be upset."

"I don't know, you might be."

"It's pretty much impossible to be mad at you, Sirius." They'd been through the worst, this couldn't be anywhere near as bad as that. Sirius nods, taking a deep breath and meeting Remus' eyes.

"I'm in love with you."

Oh.

Oh.

Remus, for once, is rendered speechless. His eyes widen, as poor Sirius starts to elaborate. He always does this when he's stressed, Remus knows that. He wants to say something, but he can't get his brain to do anything other than repeat he loves me he loves me he loves me he-

"I have for a while, now. I just- I think you're incredible. I've always been... I don't know, I just worried that it was going to ruin our friendship. Especially after fifth year, and rebuilding everything. The thing is, I'm getting a lot worse at hiding it, and I figured it would be best to just get it off my chest. I know you probably don't feel the same way, and that's fine. I just... wanted you to know, I guess."

He's not going to stop anytime soon, is he?

Remus really needs to do something. Words aren't going to come to him anytime soon, and there's only one other solution, really.

"I really hope this doesn't wreck everything, though, because you mean the world to me-" He's cut off when Remus finally manages to do something. Namely, leaning in and connecting their lips.

He hears Sirius gasp, sending Remus' stomach back flipping. Maybe it's the firewhisky, maybe the adrenaline, but in Remus' brief moment of boldness, he lets his hand slide into Sirius' hair. He's rewarded with Sirius deepening the kiss. It's overwhelming, all-consuming, incredible.

After what could be seconds, could be hours, but isn't long enough, they break away, eyes meeting.

"Yep. this is officially my favourite birthday," Sirius says, a grin spreading across his face.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Azul pt 1

The fact that he waited until the next day to find her was a bit surprising, but that didn’t make it any less scary when Floyd Leech catches Yuu outside class.  

“Shrimpy.” his tone is flat. The hand around the collar of her uniform isn’t tight, but it’s clear she isn’t going anywhere. “With me. Now.”  

“Ah shit, he’s actually pissed.” Ace mutters, stiff beside her.  

“Floyd, how you doing?” Yuu smiles. Nope, definitely not in the mood.  

“Wait,” Deuce puts a hand on her wrist. “We still have class. She'll get in trouble if she skips.”  

“It’s not skipping, Azul can write a note as house warden.” He picks her up again, no more than a ragdoll. “If you pull the same trick you did yesterday, it’s not going to be pretty. Nobody has escaped my squeeze before, and we aint starting with you.” He bares his teeth, tapping her nose with his free hand.  

Yuu can’t recognize if he’s genuinely angry or just annoyed with her escape. She isn’t willing to test it, and she knows she is too tired to do so again. Mary had already warned her off of doing so outside of Ramshackle for now, until she got used to Underground magic.  

“Um, I’ll see you guys later?” she waves, hoping that this will be quick at least.  

He doesn’t put her down once, even when she politely asks. He isn’t quiet though. He seems more annoyed that he had to pull in Idia to provide camera footage that she actually disappeared and didn’t just decide not to get her. The twins don’t seem to enjoy arguing with Azul, though the lines look fuzzy from the outside.  

The bubble always feels odd going down, and then the coolness of Octavinelle settles in. It isn’t always a pleasant feeling when you are warmblooded, but maybe that’s why she rarely sees any Octavinelle student without a jacket on?  

Azul’s office is the same as ever, clean down to the last dust speck on the nearly excessive bookshelves surrounding the whole room. The soft glow of the aquariums below offer a nice touch that she’s always enjoyed though, and finds it difficult to not relax when looking at them. 

 He sits at his desk with the strange fishbone pen scribbling over a softly glowing contract. The laptop, some type of the line model probably, almost stands out like a sore thumb amongst the antique designs.  

It better not be for me, she thinks.  

“Thank you Floyd,” Yuu mumbles as her feet finally touch the ground.  

“Ah, Shrimpy gonna be all grumpy now?” He teases, pulling at her cheek.  

“Floyd, please.” Azul says, almost smiling at her swatting hands doing absolutely nothing. “We have business to discuss.”  

“Yea, I never got a text yesterday, so it must not have been that important.” Yuu crosses her arms.  

“Oh, that’ll come later. I am far more interested in what this was. A unique magic perhaps?”  

He turns his laptop monitor to show the footage of her turning into glitter, her wide eyes the last thing to literally blink out of existence.  

“Even if I had a good idea what happened, I wouldn’t tell you. It was a fluke, I haven’t been able to do it since.” Half of it was true at least. She wasn’t able to recreate the distance, though it may be the desire just wasn’t strong enough.  

“Ah, no need to be coy.” Azul smiles, the polite one that makes her eye twitch. “If your magic base is expanding that’s something to celebrate! How about a drink and dessert, on the house of course.”  

“What do you want?” she asks bluntly. “Nothing comes for free with you.”  

“Prefect!” he places a hand on his chest, “Do you think me so low as to not celebrate my friend's accomplishments?”  

“Are we friends?” Yuu snaps, “I didn’t know that friends made each other homeless.”  

His mouth snaps shut with a click. A huff of air behind ear reminds her that Floyd is still behind her, not at his usual spot beside Azul’s desk. Making sure to guard the exit?  

“I-” Azul takes a deep breath, twirling the neck of the fishbone pen before carefully setting it inside the holder, putting a lid on the ink bottle. “I’ll admit, not my best moment.”  

He sighs, walking around to the front of the desk and leaning against the ledge.  

“Ms. Yuu, you clearly have an expanding magical core, which is wonderful. I congratulate you on effort and achievements. But it’s clearly powerful magic.” He adjusts his gloves, avoiding her eyes. “I, of all people, understand powerful magic without a medium to balance it out. We both know what it looks like when there are...no guidelines.” 

Azul was capable of his spell without the contracts. The contracts are what allowed him to keep his sanity and mind. His step father had been the one to teach him and help, the best gift he had ever received from him truly. But there was something addictive in the power, and to see Yuu overblot, even by accident? 

“I...I do apologize for my transgressions in the past.” Even Floyd raises his eyebrows at him. “I’ll admit that I did not think of the repercussions of my actions as I was self-assured in my own victory. And, at the time, it was the only thing that mattered.”  

There are some deals that you prevent from happening, for the sake of his own skin of course.  

“I have teachers that are helping me.” Yuu relents, “Though I understand your concerns better now. If, and it’s a big if, I need help, I will...actually consider your offer?” 

He laughs, something a little softer than his usual one. “Well, as a show of good faith.” He pulls out a small metal piece from his pocket, “Take this. A representation of our benevolence, guided by the Seawitch and her two beloved eels.” 

It’s a simple band, two dark eels wrapped around a small nautilus shell. It was in the style she preferred, something elegant but minimal. It didn’t look like a cheap tourist thing either, she could feel that the shell was smooth, thin but strong. It wouldn't shatter easily at least.  

“Are these actual eel scales?” she asks, feeling the bumpy texture.  

“Why yes!” he smiles, “I thought something handmade would be of preference. You do seem to prefer things of a more sentimental variety.”  

She huffs, raising her pant leg to wear it as an anklet instead.  

“Alright Azul, I’ll choose to forgive, but I won’t forget. Afterall, forgetting how powerful you are would just be stupid for me.”  

A surprised huff leaves him, but he allows her to leave at last. Jade meets her at the door before she can even turn the knob, Floyd staying behind.  

“Huh,” he mutters, “Went better than expected.” Floyd stretches his body out, small pops along his spine that wouldn’t be there in a human body. “You get what you needed out of it?”  

“Enough, though not all.” Azul nods. “We do need her to trust us, and if that means giving away a token to show good faith, it’ll be worth the small energy exchange.”  

“Also allows us to keep an eye on her.” Floyd adds, rubbing the small spot along his upper arm. They were eel scales. Specifically, theirs. Azul wouldn’t be able to see through her eyes the way he could with his or Jade’s, but with a sprinkle of their scales and a small sample of all three of their magics in the shell itself, they’d always be able to have a vague idea of where she was at least. With the way she was progressing in and out of class, she was becoming a threat.  

And the best way to neutralize a threat was to make them a friend.  

“It’s for her own good.” Azul goes to sit back down. He thinks it is for her good at least, and it’s not totally invasive. “Besides, I would like to know more about these teachers of hers. Perhaps they are looking for more students.”  

Floyd shakes his head, making sure that Azul has a drink before heading out himself. He can’t afford to fail this next test if he wants to stay in the advanced classes. At least the advanced classes aren’t as boring as the main ones, but damn if they don’t test his patience some days.  

[sigmadecay]

I think other men (including other trans men!) need to get more comfortable with saying “that’s stupid, who cares” when faced with otherwise benevolent & well-meaning family members or friends trying to push patriarchal gender norms on you. The way some ppl talk about this is like, well, there’s social pressure on me as a man to do this, so I’m literally Shackled To This Role, & that is not true. Dgmw it is frustrating especially when you have to do it over & over & over again, but if we can get one person to give less of a fuck it only stands to benefit literally everyone

Sometimes you just need to be like “fuck off, that’s dumb” & say it with your whole chest & eventually people will stop giving you shit lol

[the--blackdahlia]

Title: Do Not Distrub (Michael Keaton x Reader)

Title: Do Not Disturb

Summary: It starts at an airport bar

Warnings: Unprotected sex, poorly written smut

Gif by @liquidloz, who this fic is a gift for

You sat at the airport bar, deep bass music covering up the conversations around you. You had a Dirty Shirley in front of you, drips of water soaking the napkin it sat on. You could feel eyes on you, taking in that tight black dress you had slipped yourself into. You plucked a cherry out of the glass and slid it between your teeth as he walked up to you. Dressed in black on black, his blue eyes stared you down as you pulled the stem off the cherry and glanced his way.

“I’ve been watching you, sitting here, all alone,” He spoke low, his fingers ghosting down your bare arm, sending shivers down your spine. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“And when’s that?”

“Not until the morning,” She saw the smirk on his face.

“Maybe I could help you pass the time,” he said, sliding his room key towards you. “What do you say?”

“Lead the way.”

He threw some money onto the bar to pay for your drink before the two of you left and headed to the airport hotel. You two took the elevator to the upper floor where the suites were. He led you down the hallway, unlocked the door, and let you in. Once you heard the door closed, you felt yourself being pulled back and pressed against it.

“You looked so pretty sitting there all by yourself,” His voice was a low growl. “Just begging for someone to come along and take you.”

“Maybe I was waiting for one specific person,” you said with a smirk. He picked you up and pinned you between the door and himself. Your shoes fell to the floor, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You could feel him pressed against you, aching to be out of his pants and inside of you.

“Glad it was me,” He carried you over to the king-size bed in the middle of the room and threw you onto it. You bounced on it, but never took your eyes off of him.

“God, you’re handsome,” You purred, making him smirk at you as he took off his belt.

“Please, call me Michael,” You bit your lip and watched him unbutton his pants and pull them down just enough to let himself out. He climbed onto the bed, pushing up the dress you were wearing before going to your underwear. As much as he wanted to rip them off, he went in another direction, grabbing them with his teeth and pulling them down your legs. You were exposed to him. He didn’t want to wait for you both to undress. He needed you now. And he made that known when he barely waited to push his thick cock into your waiting and wet pussy.

“Fuck, yes!” You arched your back, pressing against his hard chest. You wrapped your legs around him, your feet pressed against his ass, urging him on. His thrusts were deep, powerful, and full of lust. From how wet you were, just from this little bit, you knew that there would be a spot on the bed. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as he drove deeper into you.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Yes, daddy!” You felt his lips press against your neck. His teeth grazed on that spot that always got a reaction from you. “Mike, I'm close.”

“Mmm cum for me darlin’.” He purred in your ear. “We've got all night.”

You did not have to be told twice as you came around his cock, tightening to help him cum in you. It only took a few more thrusts before he did just that, collapsing on top of you to breathe you in. 

“I think this was one of your better foreplay ideas,” you laughed when he rolled off to lay next to you.

“Yeah?” Michael smiled and kissed you. “Can't wait to get the awkward looks from the dry cleaner for my pants.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I think this is exactly what we needed,” He leaned over and kissed you gently. “We should probably get some sleep. We do have a plane to catch in the morning.”

“Maybe we could join the mile-high club,” You giggled, then noticed the dark look in his eyes and that shit-eating grin. “Mike, I’m kidding.”

“Well, we’ll just see what tomorrow holds.” He pulled you close to his chest, both of you laying there in the clothes you had been wearing, not bothering to change.