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grimmweepers · 1 month ago

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𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘: OCT 10TH

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fyodor dostoyevsky x gn!reader | 𝐜𝐰: oral!giving, messy blowjob, deepthroat, dubcon, he’s kind of mean, facial, bruise mention, no aftercare, established relationship, very little dialogue for reader, dom/sub dynamics, tail, collar, a leash, cat ears, the lot! 1.6k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Fyodor loved the idea of reducing you to something less than human.

Seated high and comfortably in his chair, he delighted in the sight of you crawling naked at his feet. Cat ears were perched on your head and nestled in your ass was a thick tail that twitched with each sway of your hips. Your collar was snug around your neck and in the centre, hung a small tag that simply read: RETURN TO DOSTOYEVSKY.

Kneeling there, perfectly trained, you watched him lure you in with his bedroom eyes. You weren’t sure if this was him giving permission to begin but he didn’t stop you when you leaned down on all fours.

Fyodor didn’t indulge in many things, but seeing you switch into this dumb headspace where your only purpose was to be domesticated—or rather kept for enjoyment—was something he could always get behind.

“Ah-ah, not too fast,” he said in a condescending tone as he tugged at your leash, pulling you closer between his legs. The soft fur of your tail brushed against your thigh as you shifted position.

After five—no, ten minutes of slathering your mouth around his cock, Fyodor found amusement in the way your legs were already trembling beneath you, struggling to hold yourself steady. His eyes became fixed on your cheeks hollowing as you bobbed up and down his length, fat tears streaming down your face while you obediently adjusted to a slower, more deliberate pace.

You took him as deep as you could which only muffled any chance of coherency.

“Mmm, that’s better,” he cooed.

You whimpered around him as he gave you an appreciative pat on the head. When you leaned into his touch, his lips bore the slightest grin, humoured by how willing you were to please him.

He lazily trailed his fingers down your jaw before his thumb brushed the little bell on your collar, flicking it lightly to hear its delicate chime,

“See? You get what you want when you listen.”

His thick shaft was lodged too deep in your throat for a response, but there was no point. The painful ache in your jaw was your own doing, a consequence of following him around and nagging him for attention when he was far too focused on his latest scheme.

Nagging never worked. But having you like this? On your knees, gagging on his cock? That always did it.

You took him inch by inch until the tip of your nose brushed against the dark patch of hair at his base. A quiet huff escaped him, barely audible, but it sent a rush of relief through you.

Slowly but surely, Fyodor was beginning to unravel, which only spurred you on. You needed to see him lose his composure, otherwise what would be your purpose in all this?

So you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, tracing every vein with wet, sloppy strokes before swirling it around his sensitive tip. Over and over.

You repeated the motion, causing him to shiver slightly after every stroke.

One point for you.

Occasionally, you’d drag your tongue away from his cock, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his inner thigh, tasting the salt and sweat on his skin. The thick scent of his musk and arousal made you dizzy. Delirious, even.

You softly hummed around his length as you resumed putting your mouth to work and felt a shudder ripple throughout his entire body, his thighs tensing beneath your palm. The room filled with obscene sounds of your lips sloppily sucking and swallowing his cock. Spit dribbled down your chin and pooled in your lap, mixing with your own arousal.

The glow from his monitors bathed your tears with an otherworldly purple light. When you looked like this, it always justified his decision to keep you in this state.

He could see you were just as turned on by all this from how often your legs would quiver whenever he elicited a sound. Your hand even dared to slip between your thighs to take care of that ache but you knew better than to touch yourself without his permission. The tail buried inside you sent small, rippling jolts of pleasure that you had to ignore, lest you anger him with your lack of focus.

You were so well-behaved that not even the pain from bruised knees could coax a complaint from your lips. So out of what he considered kindness, he gave you a small gesture, allowing you to pause.

“Breathe,” he said.

You released him with a wet pop, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. You panted softly, drool still coating your lips, and when you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, you saw a flicker of satisfaction on his face.

Unfortunately, this brief moment of generosity was just that—a moment. Because Fyodor wasn’t done with you.

With a sharp tug of your leash, he forced you back to his cock, “Now finish cleaning me up,” his voice was eerily warm for someone who had you shackled by the neck.

The look he gave you was pitiful but you didn’t hesitate. You took him deep again, sucking him with renewed intensity. This time, when your lips reached his base, he took the opportunity to enjoy you fully, tilting his head back while his Adam’s apple bobbed at the feeling of your wet mouth clenching around him.

“You’re…” a drawn out, breathy moan escaped his chest, “…doing so well. How exquisite, you are.”

His grip on the leash got tighter, twisting the chain around his hand so he could buck repeatedly into your mouth. You could feel his fat tip prodding the back of your throat which made you gag and slurp again and again.

In. Out. In. Out.

It was filthy and rough and the bell around your neck jingled with each thrust. At this point, you weren't sure what you wanted more—his thick hot cum spluttering inside you or some damn air.

“Take it deeper,” he slurred, his body shuddering as your throat desperately stretched to accommodate his length, struggling to keep up with his ruthless pace

You were a mess of spit and tears and he ogled every time it would disappear behind your poor little, beaten lips.

"You can do it," he said—but this was far from encouragement.

He was taunting you, just another attempt to bully one more helpless gag out of you. And he observed you as he pounded your mouth, you felt his balls lewdly slap your chin.

“Want it, kitten?” Your vision was blurred by your tears but you blinked up at him anyway. Yes, yes, yes. Please!

“Think you’ve been good enough?” His voice lowered but it was laced with urgency.

He wanted to finish and you craved for him to finish in you.

You slurped around him, breathing through your nose while his cock impossibly stiffened and ached. After a deep breath, you took the entire thing in one go and held it at the base.

“God…” he hissed through clenched teeth.

The last thing you heard was a long grunt when he finally came. His hips jerked forward in one final thrust, forcing himself deep into your throat before pulling out, his hand pumping himself as hot ropes of cum splattered across your face.

The first burst hit your lips, the second painted your cheeks, and the third dripped down to your chest, each twitch of his cock sending more cum spilling across your skin. The broken whimper that followed was strangled and raw, enough to make you shudder.

Giving himself to you like this wasn’t a common occurrence so he always came so much, and seeing his face twisted in pleasure like this almost had you cumming untouched.

Sometimes he missed finishing inside you, to have the warmth of your walls squelching around him as he drained his balls, all while you struggled to take it—but dirtying you up was another form of entertainment in itself.

He leaned back on his chair, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Admiring you through half-lidded eyes, he was pleased with the mess he left on your face.

“Such diligence,” he muttered as he used the still-throbbing tip of cock to smear his seed across your cheek, making sure to cover every spot he might have missed, “What a pretty, impure little sight you are.”

You remained on your knees, staring up at him through the sticky mess, sheepishly waiting for the next unpredictable thing he had up his sleeves. The air between you was hot, and you ached to be touched—to be praised again. Your body burned for it but Fyodor wasn’t in any hurry.

With languid motion, he dragged your leash back between his legs, the chain clattering as he did. “You missed a spot,” he pointed out.

Without hesitation, you carefully lapped up the remnants of his seed from his softening length. Another strangled moan poured from his lips, the aftershock of his orgasm still making him tense in your mouth.

When you were done, you licked your lips clean of any lingering mess. His eyes were sharp as they met yours and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing.

“You’ve done well,” he finally said. “But don’t think for a second that we’re finished.”

Fyodor stood up, letting out one last sigh before savouring the picture of your naked, cum-streaked body. With an unreadable expression on his face, he towered over you as he adjusted his pants. There was an air of finality around him as he looked down at you.

“Stay like that,” he didn't bat an eye as he sat back down, swiveling his chair back to his desk, “We’ll continue later.”

“Yes, Fedya,” you hoarsely responded after what felt like a lifetime. Hearing his words made you gulp, you almost forgot you had a voice after he had just abused your throat.

As he resumed his work, you stayed in place, a silent, obedient pet at his feet, knowing that this was only the tip of the iceberg.

dividers: @/astrumaur

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 4 months ago

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Honest?

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Summary: Lying always seemed to be the best way to navigate your attraction to Dabi. This definitely didn’t aid you after getting hit with a truth quirk

Warnings: slight smut/mentions of smut; a tiny bit of blood at the start; language; teasing;

Word Count: 2k

Your foot slid across the pavement, damp concrete aiding your narrow escape from your opponent's axe.

The weapon slammed into the wall behind you, making a small dent in the stone that had been a few centimeters behind your head moments before.

Glancing up, you watched them grasping the hatchet, the heel stuck within the wreckage. The struggle gave you a chance to sweep your leg under theirs, bringing them to their knees as you jumped up.

However, the force of their weight effectively pried the axe from the wall, it’s edge cutting through the fabric of your shirt and piercing the skin underneath.

“Shit!” You groaned, watching red bloom through the cloth, dripping past your elbow and onto the chest of your fallen combatant.

A bang sounded off from your left and your spun on your heels, watching Twice incapacitate some enemy that had sticks of dynamite for hair.

Maybe the quirkless didn’t actually turn out to be the least fortunate group that society made them out to be.

The distraction was just enough for you to almost miss the haywire explosive shooting straight for another one of your comrades.

“Toga!” Your shout echoed through the alleyway, making the blonde turn her head in question, giving her just enough time to sidestep away from the projectile. She giggled, turning back around to stab her own opponent in the shoulder. He let out a cry of pain as she waved in appreciation for your warning.

Fear shot through your chest as a hand slithered around your ankle, a final attempt to overcome you that was easily squandered with a kick to the nose.

Still, the sensation of your opponent's skin against yours left an icky feeling that trickled up your spine, almost like the area below your knee was tingling with infection. You tried to ignore it, glancing up in relief to see the rest of your team similarly victorious in this fight.

A rigid breath left your lungs, beating heart still hammering away.

The stroke of adrenaline slowly drained from your limbs, leaving a comfortably sound mind that pushed you to remember the scratch just above your elbow.

“Ouch! What happened?” You looked up, quickly shielding your bloodied limb from Toga's view. Her tone seemed falsely sincere, but it greatly clashed against the carnal excitement gleaming in those golden irises.

I’m fine.

“My arm got cut and my ankle feels kinda gross."

You blinked.

That wasn't what you wanted to say.

While this was hardly the worst injury that you had gotten over your time working with the League of Villains, you were never exactly one mention any of your personal problems regardless.

It was just easier to patch yourself up unaccompanied, not to mention your underlying anxiety regarding making yourself seem weak in front of your cohorts.

Of course, most of them weren’t the type to notice, with the minor exception of-

"What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dabi, despite his usually disinterested nature, was quite the perceptive individual.

Actually, it probably would've taken someone with the observation skills of an ice cube to not notice the confusion overtaking your expression.

Nothing, I’m fine.

The lie got caught in your throat, an unwanted truth quickly taking its place and pounding against your vocal cords. “I can’t stop talking."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"I can't stop talking. My mouth isn't doing what my brain is telling is to," you sputtered.

Now you were starting to panic, mind racing in sync to the pounding of the muscle in your chest.

Dabi, however, took a moment to ponder your words before striding over to your previous combatant. He nudged their crumpled form with the toe of his boot, getting nothing but a fractured groan in response.

Sighing, almost like the lack of answers pertaining to your well-being was of common inconvenience, he moved back to you, cerulean irises boring into yours. "What are you scared of?"

The words were almost immediate. "Abandonment and letting people down. But clowns are also pretty-"

Eyes widening, you slapped a palm over your mouth, an amused grin overtaking his. "Truth quirk. You'll probably be fine in a few days."

You exhaled in relief.

Honesty quirks were annoying, sure, but you weren't going to die and your brain wasn't going to melt or anything like that.

Wait...

"Days?" You jogged to catch up with him, Toga and Twice following closely behind.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Hiding something?"

No.

"Yes."

Fuck.

He clicked his tongue, feigned hurt lacing his tone. "Ouch, and here I thought that we were friends."

You were.

Kind of.

At least, in the way that villains could be friends.

He would bug you with teasing comments that border lined flirting on several occasions. In response, you would ignore him, sending a comparable quip back in his direction when you felt like it.

But for the most part, you tried to keep your distance.

Despite your current ally-ship, you would've been stupid not to recognize how dangerous he was.

The fact that you had found yourself vastly attracted to the man for quite some time definitely didn't help.

It was safe to say that you spent the rest of the walk back with your hands over your mouth.

While Dabi had become uncharacteristically quiet, much to your growing concern, your other companions had only seemed to become more talkative.

"Who's your favorite person in the league? It's me, right? It's pretty obvious." A strangled cry came from Twice's direction. "Why do you hate me?"

Toga tugged on the cuff of your jacket. "When we first met and I asked if we could be best friends and you said yes, was that just because I was covered in blood or did you mean it?”

All of those answers were muffled beneath your palms.

It seemed like an eternity before the league's hideout finally came into view.

But just as you were ready to slip past the door and book it upstairs, somebody grabbed your elbow, pulling you towards the bar.

"Come on."

Almost having to jog to keep up with his long stride, you looked up at Dabi in surprise. "Where are we going?"

"To make sure that arm doesn't get infected."

You stopped in your tracks, heels skidding against the worn floor panels as you tried to yank your wrist out of his grip.

Of course, he was stronger than you, annoyingly so, but stronger nonetheless.

He dragged you to a bar stool, forcing you into the seat by your shoulders with a scoff. You watched him trudge behind the counter towards the smart cabinet of medical supplies the League kept around before emerging with a small container of rubbing alcohol and some bandages.

“I’m…” I’m fine, it’s not that big of a deal, is what you wanted to say, but the words stuck to your tongue like peanut butter. You took a minute, attempting to find a happy medium between what you wanted and what was the truth. “I can take care of it.”

You reached for the bottle, fingers grazing the glass as he yanked it out of your grip, completely ignoring your statement. With his free hand, he grabbed your wrist once more with a quick roll of his eyes.

Even as you tried to squirm away, he let a steady stream of the liquid fall onto your arm. He looked almost bored doing so, eyes only flicking up as you hissed through your teeth at the burn.

Dabi let out a mockingly kind pout. "Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Did that hurt?"

Your answer, an undoubted 'yes', was muffled beneath a palm, the action making him grin as he picked up the gauze.

“I can finish.” You muttered quickly, almost like if you spoke less, you may be spared from saying something embarrassing. “Thanks.”

Surprisingly, he relented, but not without another eye roll, and let you fidget with the bandages.

"So quick to get rid of me, doll? Won't you miss this pretty face?" Dabi let out a humorless chuckle before moving to put the bottle back.

The comment was just for show. He was one of the cockiest individuals you’d ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. He was arrogant and awfully flirtatious when it came to you, but it wasn’t very difficult for anyone who looked hard enough to understand that he was internally pessimistic concerning his own appearance.

Those scars littering his skin were clearly a sore spot for him, although he didn’t seem to give a damn about giving anyone who would make a snide comment the satisfaction of a reaction.

Usually, they would just end up as a pile of ash.

Of course, his own secretly insecure views made it quite easy for you to keep up the image of your general dislike of the individual.

Which made it all the more terrible when you immediately responded with-

"Yes."

If it was anatomically possible, you could’ve sworn your stomach turned inside out as you watched him freeze, cerulean eyes lighting up as he slowly turned around to face you.

"Excuse me?"

"I said that I'd miss your pretty face."

He blinked. “You think my face is pretty?"

Run me over

"Yes."

with a freight train

The horrid grin crawling over his features made you queasy.

You leapt off the chair, shoes slipping on the wooden floor as you dashed to the stairs, the sting of embarrassment nipping at your heels.

But he was quicker.

Dabi's hand slipped around yours, yanking your body back and pushing it against the wall. "And where are you going?"

Almost instinctively, your arm shot upward, your palm aching to cover your mouth. The attempt was one that was easily squandered, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging it upward before grasping both of your hands between one of his own. "My room."

"Why?" The smirk gracing his lips seemed to combat with the tension blazing in his eyes, quiet anxiety brewing for your answer, the one you would be forced to give.

"Because I like you and don't want you to know."

The silence that followed made you want to vomit, eyes burning with tears that you willed not to fall.

And then he was kissing you.

Fingers strewn through your hair, he pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing the gasp that followed his actions.

Your eyes flit to a close as you let Dabi take you, his hands slipping from yours to snake around your waist and push your hips together. Warmth sparks between your legs as his touch dipped dangerously beneath your pelvis.

A groan was forced passed your lips as he gave your left thigh a squeeze, smirking as he pulled away, palm still cradling your chin. "If you told me, we could've done this a lot sooner, ya know."

"Bullshit," You scoffed. "If you didn't feel the same, you would've been an asshole. You're always an asshole, actually."

Leaning forward, his breath tickled the side of your neck. You felt him grin, teeth nipping at the top of your ear. "Maybe, but I don't seem to have any issues turning you on. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." You looked down with a huff, shuffling your feet. "Whatever..."

He intertwined his fingers with your own. "Oh, come on, doll. No need to be embarrassed." With a small tug, he dragged you towards the hallway, barely missing the blue haired individual holding a glass of whiskey walking past.

Shigaraki raised his cup. "Where the hell are you two going?"

Dabi glanced down at you, a smile gracing his lips. "I don't know, princess. Where do you think we’re going?"

You were smart enough to know, but you sure as hell didn't want to say it.

Unfortunately, the man standing next to you didn't seem to care in the slightest.

"To fuck, probably."

The sound of your fearless leader choking followed you both up the stairs, your curses of annoyance bouncing off the decrepit walls and into his room, the door slamming shut with a bang.

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #mha smut #todoroki touya

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whump-imagines · 2 months ago

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Backup

Jay x reader

Wc: 920

Reader is in intelligence and goes to talk to a suspect alone. Kind of inspired by the episode when Erin gets held hostage. Also Connor didn't leave. Because it's my fic and I can do what I want.

---

As soon as the suspect pulled the knife out of his pocket, you heard Jay’s words echo in your head 'just wait for me to get there'.

You had just assured him you could handle one interview on your own.

The knife swung towards you and you managed to dodge it and throw a punch. Then you were in an all out brawl trying to disarm this suspect without getting stabbed.

You heard the door crash open followed by Jay shouting your name.

In the moment of distraction, the knife suddenly connected across your abdomen. You curled into yourself and then lost your balance as you dodged another blow.

From your back on the ground you kicked at the suspect trying to regain control of the situation. Kicking and trying to roll out from below him, he managed to slice once more across your thigh just above your knee.

“Drop the knife!” Jay shouted from the doorway. The guy hesitated and Jay tried again. “Drop it and put your hands up!”

“Okay!” The guy bent like he was going to comply but then straightened and took off running out the back door.

“Suspect is on foot out the back door. He is armed,” Jay relayed into his radio.

You heard Adam and Kevin confirm they had eyes on him and were in pursuit.

Knowing they would catch him, you relaxed onto the floor exhausted from fighting. You knew you should assess your injuries but you just wanted a moment.

Next thing you knew, Jay was kneeling beside you. “Shit, shit,” he cursed. He grabbed a dish towel from the counter before speaking into his radio again as he pressed the towel to your abdomen. “I have an officer down. Deep laceration to the femoral artery.” He ripped off his belt and wrapped it around your leg and tightened it.

“It's fine. It doesn't even hurt.” You tried to stop him from fully tightening his belt.

“It's not fine. You already lost too much blood, you're in shock.” He managed to tighten the belt enough to slow the blood flow causing you to scream in pain. He pulled the towel away from the second cut and sighed in relief. “That one doesn't look too deep.”

You just nodded. Suddenly everything hurt and you were cold. “I'm tired.”

He gently tapped your cheek and forced your eyes to meet his. “You stay awake. Medics will be here any second.”

“Jay?” You hear Sylvie shout from towards the front of the house.

“Back here!” Jay answers. Then he turns his focus to you. “You hear that? Sylvie and Violet are here. They'll get you to Med and we'll get you all patched up.”

“Hey,” Violet greets as she kneels down beside you. “What happened?”

“Knife wounds,” Jay explained. “She needs a better tourniquet on her leg. Belt slowed it but it's not enough. She's also got a shallow one across her stomach.”

“BP is low and she's tachy,” Sylvie added. “We should go.”

“This is going to hurt,” Violet told you before horrible pain shot through your leg. You heard velcro and then the jingle of Jay’s belt buckle as it was removed from your leg.

Sylvie handed an IV bag to Jay and then leaned so you could see her. “I'm going to give you something for the pain and then we'll get you to Med. How's that sound?”

“Sounds good.”

By the time they were loading you into the ambulance you were struggling to stay awake. Soon after the doors closed you lost that fight.

You hear Jay talking. Why is he talking so loud when you're trying to sleep? You groan, hoping he will get the message and be quieter.

“Y/N?” Jay is closer now. “Are you awake?”

Groaning again, you shake your head. “Shh.”

He chuckles. “No, shh. I need you to open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

You hear the hiss of air and then something is squeezing your arm. Confusion finally makes you crack open your eyes. As soon as you look around, you realize you're in the hospital and then you remember the fight and the knife.

“Hi.” He runs his hand over your head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “How're you feeling?”

“Hi,” you croak and then cough. Jay grabs a cup of water for you to sip. Clearing your throat you try again. “Hi. Um, I feel okay. Tired. Maybe a little dizzy.”

He nods. “Any pain?”

You take a moment to access. You shift slightly, testing. There's a slight burn as the gown shifts over your stomach and a bit of an ache in your leg. “Nothing unbearable.”

Just then, the door opens and Connor enters. “Hey, glad you're awake.”

“Yeah. Can I go back to sleep now?” you asked. “Better yet, can I go home?”

“No. You'll be here until tomorrow at a minimum,” he explained. “I need you off that leg for now.” He moves the blanket and checks your stitches then moves to check the pulse in your foot. “Everything looks good. Get some rest.”

“Thanks, man,” Jay walks over to shake Connor's hand.

“Yeah, thanks!” you add before he can leave the room.

You yawn as the door closes. Jay takes your hand in his and peppers kisses to your knuckles. “Do me a favor…”

“Hmm?” You hum trying to stay awake.

He presses one more kiss to the back of your hand. “Next time, don't go in without backup.”

You snort. “Yeah, deal.”

#jay halstead x reader #one chicago fic #chicago pd fanfic

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in-som-niyah · 1 year ago

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"Come on princess, don't be like that. Give Red what he deserves..."

You are Red Hood's relief. Nothing more. Nothing Less.

Your bedside alarm clock displayed an ungodly time in the morning.

It was a cold night in Gotham, your apartment filled with a chill accompanied by a familiar emptiness. It was just you, after all, and you didn't really have anyone over.

This changed, however, when a certain masked vigilante came to you for help when he was bleeding. Knowing you were a medical professional, he decided to swing by for a stitch or two. Who were you to deny him?

How could you refuse the six foot something, broad shouldered, panting, limping man barely making it across your living room?

You decided to indulge your curiosity, because let's be honest here: If he wanted you dead, he would have made it so a long time ago.

One night became two, then three, then a month and now a few times a week.

You were always welcoming him with a fresh roll of gauze and a chilled bottle of spirits for the pain, since he refused to take anything else.

But it was more than just medical attention. It was the way his chest heaved, back muscles flexed and forearms tightened when you hit a particularly tender spot. It made another certain tender spot on you wet.

Scandalously so.

You tried to hide it by wearing dark underwear and pants to bed, but it didn't help; he had you squirming and squeezing your thighs together in no time.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

He unknowingly infiltrated your senses, his scent of sweat and musky body wash making you dizzy, his vice grip on your bedsheets when you cleaned his wounds making your knees weak.

You wanted him.

You wanted him bad.

On this particular chilly Gotham night, you might just get what you want.

A loud pair of feet landed on the hardwoods near your windowsill. Heavy, irregular, yet determined footsteps proceed into your bedroom, where you've prepared your ensuite for a battered and bleeding Hood.

"Quickly, in here." you rasped having been torn from a restless sleep.

"I'm comin' sugar. Someone's eager to see me huh?" the familiar teasing tone of his voice modulator replied.

"You're only allowed to make jokes when you're not bleeding on my floor, Hood" you shot back, followed by a playful scoff and a silent eyeroll.

However, that eyeroll might not have been so silent.

As Red Hood approached the bathroom doorframe, he caught a glimpse of your feigned annoyance in the mirror.

He sat down with a thud on your toilet, exhaustion invading his bones.

You made quick, wordless work of his belt and jacket, revealing his toned exterior and the scars littering it. You never mentioned his scars, for fear of making him uncomfortable but more so because you couldn't bear the thought of someone hurting him so much that it left such a vicious mark.

"Sweet girls like you shouldn't roll their eyes, it's rude" he huffs between pained groans.

You briefly still your hand, look up at him and quirk your brow as if to challenge him. Then, you roll your eyes right in his face. You have no idea what prompted this pettiness, but your thoughts were hazy and disorganized as you looked back down to continue cleaning and stitching his wounds.

Red Hood chuckled darkly and sighed as he felt you get back to patching him up after your little stunt.

He lolls his head to the side, as if to emphasize his astonishment at your smart comeback. He didn't take you for a fiesty one.

"Really doll?" he prompts.

You say nothing and continue with your bandaging.

"Hey. Look at me." He tries again, this time with a gentler tone.

Still, you ignore him and repackage the unused gauze for another guaranteed visit from him in the future.

You go to get up, but his hand presses your shoulder down and you stop, entirely oblivious to his intentions.

Finally, your eyes meet his mask.

Red can tell you're both making eye contact, which lasts an unusually long time. You both bask in the absence of awkwardness as you indulge in this tender moment.

Slowly, you move closer to him and reach a hand up to caress his helmet. You know he can't feel it, but it feels intimate and personal nonetheless. It is only until your fingers roam lower, toward the base of his helmet and lift, that one of his hands flies up to stop your own.

"Nuh-uh babydoll, the mask stays on" he spits sharply.

The vigilante shifts in his seat, and it's only then do you realize the growing tent in his pants.

Your eyes flick back up to his helmet and it is only now, that you realize you weren't alone in your inappropriate arousal.

Hood maintains the eye contact and brings his hands to your hips, as if asking for permission before taking the plunge.

Carefully, you move your hands down his naked torso, noting how his sore muscles twitch at your light contact.

"Fuck baby-"

A hiss escapes his concealed mouth when your hands ghost over his bulge. You knew this was wrong. You knew he should be gone to wherever he should be by now. Were there people looking for him? For Christ's sake was he a criminal?

Too many questions for a mind too far gone. You weren't thinking anything beyond how sticky the bottom of your panties had become, how puffy your lips had become from constant chewing, and the cool air ghosting over your sensitive nipples.

There's no going back.

While looking at him for confirmation, you begin to unzip his fly, then massage his length from his boxers instead.

A drawn out, desperate moan is exaggerated by his modulator as hood grinds his hips into your hand involuntarily.

"Don't tease me darling, you know what I want" he orders.

Normally, you would have slapped anyone that told you what to do, but here, it only made your sopping cunt beg for relief.

Mesmerized by his boldness and not wanting to keep him waiting, you pull him out of his boxers and kiss the tip. You're met with another whine and roll of his hips.

You begin to stroke him a few times, working him up just to give him his relief.

Just as he was about to speak again, you swallowed him from tip to hilt, making his words die on his tongue.

His body tensed and relaxed with every moan and heave as you began to bob your head up and down, taking him in full each time.

His hand flew in your braided ponytail to guide your head down his shaft the way he liked it, your tongue licking at his balls every time you went down.

"Shit- Want you to touch yourself pretty thing. Show me how those dainty fingers make you feel good"

Warmth shot straight to your core at that, but you were embarrassed to pull down your shorts and panties, and show him just how bad you wanted this.

You hesitated for a moment and pulled off his length. Stroking him with one hand and licking stripes up his shaft with your tongue, you managed to smile sheepishly in a weak attempt to refuse.

Though the heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your potential embarrassment was stronger.

Red Hood cocks his head and tuts in disproval.

"Come on princess, don't be like that. Give Red what he deserves..."

You looked up at him with glassy and desperate eyes, as if to ask if he really wanted to.

The strong hand in your braids comes down to cup your cheek and rub at the side of your mouth.

"Don't keep me waiting pretty girl, I ain't asking a third time" he rasps sternly. You knew better than to disobey.

Slowly, your removed your hands, earning a groan from him. You stood up and hooked your thumbs in between your panties and supple skin and began to pull down.

Embarrassment still clear on your features, the vigilante outstretched his hands and placed them on your plush hips, rubbing circles in your skin.

This silent encouragement prompted you to continue, until you felt the cool air brush against your exposed, puffy clit.

"So pretty" Red mumbles under his breath as the hands on your hips apply gentle pressure to get you back on your knees.

This is his turn to stand up, doing so with his angry red and leaking cock in his hand.

He held it out in silent offering to you, which you took gratefully, and resumed your earlier routine.

Subconsciously, your hand made its way down to your core and your fingers found purpose in rubbing tight circles on your clit. You moaned on his length at the contact, eliciting a pleasurable hiss from him.

You could tell his eyes were trained on the target between your legs even from behind the mask.

"That's it sugar...make yourself feel good for me...good fucking girl"

Your eyes rolled again at that as you increased your pace and suction. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Though you would have no way of knowing, Red was a true gentleman despite his nighttime activities. As a gentleman, he wanted you to cum before him.

"Faster pretty girl, come on, you can do that for me fuck-"

You gave a small nod and increased the speed between your legs. You began to focus on the feeling of your fingertips sending sparks throughout your body, but you weren't close enough.

As if a psychic, he pulled himself from your mouth and sat back down. Confused, the hand between your legs stilled, and your face beginning to pout.

Before you could protest his hands again found your hips and pulled them toward him. Your hands moved to find the back of his neck as the hooded man pulled you onto him to straddle his lap.

When his hands retreated, you whined in frustration at the lack of contact.

"Shhh pretty baby you'll get it" he cooed.

You began to rock your hips against him impatiently, but his strong hands stopped your movement. Before you could complain, his right thumb began to press circles into your core with full intent of making you cum.

"Ah-ah Red please-" you cried out, unable to take the sudden pressure and pleasure at the same time. You gripped his wrist, a weak attempt to get him to slow down.

"You can take it, yes you can princess" he replies. The cheeky bastard knows just how to make your pussy throb.

"Fuck- I'm gonna-... pleasepleaseplease" you blabber desperately nearing your peak. The pressure in your tummy growing and tightening, just waiting to snap.

The Red Hood pressed his shielded forehead to yours and whispered in a deep, modulated voice.

"'M right here pretty girl, cum for me. I know you need to. Let go."

The coil snapped with ferocity and left you screaming his name. Surely the old woman next door wouldn't appreciate it, but you didn't care. Not while he was here, making you forget about the world.

You gushed on his fingers, and he took this opportunity to pump himself to completion with your juices smeared over his shaft. He came with a low grunt and short pants.

After you came down from your high, you slowly and carefully eased yourself off of him, minding his bruises and sore muscles which he appreciated.

It was still ungodly early, your eyes beginning to close with sleep as you washed your hands in the sink.

He will never admit to you that he's never been more in love with you.

Instead, he stuffs himself back into his pants and brings you back to your bed.

Once you're situated under your duvet, you reach for his hand and weakly grasp his fingers.

"Stay?" You slur, barely holding onto your awake state.

He chuckles fondly, and you can almost see a blush under his helmet.

"Maybe another time doll."

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relifsanan · 5 months ago

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anjelicawrites · 6 months ago

Text

Board made by the amazing @zaldritzosrose. Thank you so much! It is amazing!

Paring: modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: Period kink collaboration with my amazing dragon friends! Based on an ask @lady-phasma received; read the rest of the works here. Aemond sees in how much pain you are during your period, and decides to lend you a helping hand or better, fingers.

Warnings: period smut, fingering, blood, mention of blood flow, kissing, overstimulation, reader is a bit anxious and ashamed of being on their period, a tiny bit of gore (Aemond says that he has to clean his eye socket and prosthetic), a dash of possessive!Aemond.

A/N: reader is AFAB, where needed, they/them pronoun used. Reader is nondescript but Aemond has to bend a little to hug them.

You’re writhing on the black bed sheets, your naked back arches and slides on the silky material with every gentle motion of Aemond’s long fingers inside your cunt.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

You weren’t too sure when he proposed to help you deal with your period pain, you were feeling so self conscious about the flow and the mess you would, inevitably, make; now? You don’t even remember where you are, your body is a floating bundle of nerves, no pain, no thoughts, only pleasure.

Aemond had kissed you, senseless, as soon as you were back from work, cranky, in pain and tired. He had cornered you against the door by putting one bent arm over your head, while his other hand had cupped your chin to make sure you were staring at his face.

“Welcome back, ñuha ōños, my light.” He purred.

“Hi baby.” You answered, with a small voice.

You knew what he was trying to do and he wasn’t being that subtle about it, if you had to go by the erection pressed against your center.

“Long, hard day at work?”

You couldn’t look into his blazing eye, the naked need and hunger there, yet you were mesmerized.

“Yeah, my back is killing me.”

You weren’t lying. You have been on the pill for years, which had been a big help, and had pumped yourself full of pain relief, yet you didn’t feel totally comfortable.

“Let me help with that.” He growled.

“Aemond…” You whined when his hands grabbed your hips to push you as close as possible to his hard body.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't lend you a hand.”

You recognized the tone: he was in full negotiation mode.

“It’s disgusting.”

“I have to clean my eye-socket and prosthetic. I call that disgusting.”

“It’s unsanitary.”

“I will wash my hands afterwards.”

“I will make a mess.”

“I love when you do that.”

“It’s not proper.”

“Aren’t you the one who taught me that ‘being proper’ is a silly society construct?”

“Aemond, it’s blood, from my vagina.”

“So? Eye-socket, remember? I am not afraid of some little blood.” He cupped your cheeks with his big hands. “Look, you’ll never know if you don’t try and I’ll stop if you tell me to. I want you to feel good.”

You felt the heath spread all over your body at the eagerness you heard in his voice: Aemond wanted to help, he had always been your protector, your sworn sword, your rock, you knew he hated when he felt like he wasn’t doing that, even when there was no enemy to fight.

“Kiss me?” You asked, needing to feel safe in his arms.

“Gods, yes.”

His arms moved to envelope your body, his back bent a little to reach you comfortably and his lips, Gods his lips, soft and warm on yours, kissing you slowly, until you parted your mouth to welcome him in.

You moaned when your tongues met, your body held upright by his only, your knees wobbling dangerously.

“Let me take you to bed and treat you like the queen you are.”

You giggled when he swooped you up and carried you bridal style, you hid your face against the side of his neck to breathe in his masculine scent and leave small kisses on the soft, alabaster skin.

With the utmost care he laid you on the silk sheets and undressed you, kissing and nibbling every patch of skin he could reach, making you laugh when he started tickling your sides and you had to threaten him, or he wouldn’t stop.

You felt self conscious when he removed your panties and you noticed that the inside of your tights were stained with blood (pill or not, the flow is always out of control).

“Are you still with me?” He asked, with a soft voice, as if he didn’t want to startle you.

“Yeah.” You hated how unsure you sounded.

“Will you show me then, ñuha ōños? Will you spread your legs for me and show me how beautiful you are?”

You couldn’t look into his eye when you, slowly, let your legs fall on the side, displaying your curls, wet with fresh blood.

“You take my breath away, dōna jorrāelagon, sweet love.” He murmured.

You dared take a peek at his face and took in his mesmerized expression, the enlarged pupil of his eye and the way he licked his lips, absentmindedly.

“Do you truly like it?” You loathed the embarrassment in your voice: you shouldn't feel the way you do!

“Yes. You’re always beautiful. Look at me.”

Slowly, feeling your whole body lit up, you let your eyes bore into Aemond’s lonely one and almost choked when you saw him lick his fingers with long laps of his pink tongue.

“You can scream and cry as much as you please, I will stop only when I know your pain is gone.”

You let your body fall on the mattress with a moan: Aemond is always a man of his word, he will drive you crazy and bend your body to his whims.

“Give me a kiss, dōna jorrāelagon.” He said, covering your body with his.

“Yes, Aemond, yes.”

His still clothed front lay on yours, the expensive cotton of his shirt was so soft against your naked breasts, his tongue was gentle in your mouth, easing you into relaxation as his long fingers slowly traveled from your knee to your center.

He leisurely followed the lines of your muscles, kneading the knots of anxiety he found along the way, teasing around your needy center until you started moving your hips, trying to catch his wandering fingers; you moaned when he, finally, spread your lips. You couldn't see them, but there were tendrils of blood and come already formed, his index finger squelched with the obscene amount of it when he slowly breached you.

You were so warm around him, warmer than ever and so responsive: you’ve never clenched this tight around him, he had to work your muscles open, slowly, gently, his lust inflamed by the needy sounds you were making.

“You’re sucking me in so eagerly, my love.” He drawled in your ear and you tried to hide your face. “None of that. Let me enjoy all of you.”

Your first orgasm hit you unexpectedly, fueled by his gentle movements and the hungry expression on his beautiful face.

“Aemond…” You begged, when he didn’t stop fucking you, he simply slowed down to help you ride the high.

“Shhh, shhh, ñuha ōños, one is not enough. I know what you need.”

Slowly, one by one, his middle and ring finger entered you, to crook in a come hither motion that had your hips jump off the mattress when he started massaging your G spot intensely, precisely, with one goal in his wicked mind.

Your body writhed under his, your hands grabbed at his arms to scratch as you felt the intense burn of pleasure explode inside of you, your whole body burning with it, until you came, with a long scream.

Aemond didn't truly still inside of you, he kept massaging your walls, slowly, scissoring you, eyeing you like a hawk: he didn’t want to miss a single blessed out expression on your face, not when you were the picture of pleasure, his personal Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, and you were calling his name so sweetly, as if he was your only tether, your safe haven.

Aemond had you dance on his fingers for hours, slowing down and hurrying up, until your body was a writhing mass of nerves and tears, your blood and come had formed a puddle under your ass.

You're his masterpiece, your body his temple, your pleasure his only goal; he smiles softly when you try to say his name, but only a dis-articulated sound of pleasure slips from your tired lips.

“I'm here, I'm here.” He tells you softly.

He lets his thumb massage your puffy clit, so overused the light touch has you clench painfully around him as he lays over you.

He's still dressed, his nice shirt splotched with your blood, his slacks too uncomfortably tight for him to move without a moan of pain: not that he cares, only you and your pleasure exist, he's the mere conduit of it.

His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss, you tongue subjugated to his can barely move, his fingers so deep inside of you drive you mad, your pain all but forgotten; when his mouth lands on your breasts you keen, back barely arching to meet his ravenous mouth and teeth. Your hands slot in his hair to control his movements and he sucks harsher, leaving marks all over the soft skin. The dual sensation forces your body into overdrive; your brain is already so drunk with pleasure that you start shaking violently when Aemond's fingers pick up speed again. In vain you try to beg, you cry, your abused walls inflamed by his constant use clench so tight he can barely move or spread his fingers, his thumb brutal on your clit, fast horizontal sweeps that send shock waves up your spine.

Your eyes open wide, through the veil of tears you can see his focused expression and the hungry smile on his soft lips. Desperate you grab his biceps, your voice failing you when you try to scream the pain, and the pleasure you're feeling.

“The last one, ñuha ōños, give it to me!” He roars.

Through the turmoil you want to scream that you can't, he's ruined you, God please Aemond have mercy! No more! But your body is not yours anymore, it's his instrument to play, you’re simply along for the ride.

When pleasure explodes you arch so much you're sitting, body ravaged by the pleasure your muscles shake, your cunt clamps so tightly Aemond can't move his fingers and it's only his will that stops him from coming untouched at the sight of you coming undone, with fresh tears streaming down your cheeks.

You flop on the bed, spent, leaking obscenely when Aemond can slip his fingers out of your overused hole.

His fingers are covered in a mix of your blood and come and the mess has leaked down his palm and back of hand, almost to his wrist; when he spreads his fingers there's red tendrils adorning his digits. You have turned him into your masterpiece, a miracle he could never deem possible, marked him in a way no one ever did before and never will.

You're making distressed sounds now, so cold and lonely on the big bed and Aemond immediately grabs your spent body and sits you with your back to his front, curling protectively around you. He murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, he kisses all the soft skin he can reach: pretty, pretty and amazing you are, perfect in any way: his own, personal, miracle.

“You did so good, do you know that?”

The gentleness in his voice, the sweet tone he only uses in these circumstances, are the line that tither you back to reality, to him, your only love.

You try to say his name, to voice your needs, but your brain is too muddled and drunk on endorphins to properly work.

“Do you want to do something for me, ñuha ōños?”

Even as drunk as you are, you can feel the devilish tone and you can't help but nod: you’d do anything for him, even kill, if that meant keeping him by your side.

Aemond smiles at your eagerness, even floating in a sea of pleasure, your only goal is to make him happy, as he is you; he knows he could ask you the most heinous things, and you'd accept: but he would never do something that would harm you, mentally or physically. Not in a million years a Goddess would bestow their gaze upon a ruined thing like he is, yet you did and he will never risk losing you, or hurting you, he’d rather lose his other eye than let that happen. When he pushes you to check your limits, he does it because he knows it’s to help you better yourself, the same way you make him a better man every time you choose him over another, or tell him when he fucks up.

“Lick this mess clean, issa jorrāelagon, my love. Will you do that for me?”

You nod and babble your consent, sticking your tongue out for him, a part of you trembling in the wait.

Iron and a tangy taste hit your tongue, not a bad combination, foreign though, addictive in its novelty, to the point that Aemond has to slow you down when you choke on his fingers and you whine when he tries to have a little taste himself.

Your tongue licks fast and hungry, not leaving a particle of yourself on him until he's clean and your lips are red with your blood, only then Aemond lays you on the bed again and puts his head on your sternum, listening intently to your heartbeat slowing down.

“How are you feeling?” He asks when he feels you try to adjust your position.

“I’ve never been better.” Your hand flies to his mouth. “Don't say a word. Not one.”

As one would expect, Aemond says something intelligible against your palm.

“Why are you still dressed? Oh my God!” You shriek when you see the mess: he looks like a serial killer!

Aemond simply shrugs his shoulders and throws the shirt on the floor: he has another ten in his wardrobe, he can afford losing one.

“Oh God Aemond I am so sorry!”

You can't curl on your side because he's keeping you pinned against the mattress, but you can cover your face with your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“None of that!” Aemond's hands are strong in yours as he forces you to look at him. “I have enjoyed every second of it!”

He silences your objections with a sound kiss and by tickling you until you squirm and laugh under him: you make him so happy just by existing, he wouldn't want anyone else in his life but you.

“Aemond?” You ask, alarmed, when he moves down your body until his face is hovering your drenched pussy.

“Since you were so ravenous, I need to have a little taste.” He smirks at your whine. “Just a quick one, and you need a clean you up, let’s call it me repaying your favor.”

His hands grab your tights and pull them on his shoulders, opening you up to his hungry gaze: just a quick taste and he’ll let you sleep. This is just your first day, he has a whole week to eat you out until you're all he tastes.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottmikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader

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trippinsorrows · 5 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

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

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

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

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh.

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life.

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror.

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth.

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears.

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself.

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference.

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares.

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths.

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them.

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good.

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious.

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde.

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number. “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse.

She’ll make sure not to lose it.

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world.

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval.

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers.

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again.

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes.

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish.

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood.

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks.

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is.

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious.

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know.

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself.

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning.

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief.

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?”

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.”

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly.

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family.

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.”

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them.

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed.

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up.

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it.

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true.

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe.

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time.

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire.

“No!”

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck.

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her.

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing.

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.”

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction.

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe.

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance.

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished.

She almost….she almost feels calm.

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now.

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one.

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side.

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome.

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question.

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

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

190 notes · View notes

luffington · 7 months ago

Text

heat of the summer ♡

➤ summary: It's the hottest day of the year, and thankfully, you're dating the coldest man alive. (18+)

➤ pairing: aokiji (kuzan) x afab!reader

➤ word count: 1.7k

➤ warnings: temperature play, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, established relationship, post-timeskip (mild spoilers)

➤ notes: easily one of the sexiest characters in op but he does Not get the love he deserves... sorry if this feels rushed, i tried my hardest to write pwp!

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Summer days on summer islands were always pretty intense, but that day was particularly unbearable. According to the daily news, the entire area was experiencing a heat wave, and it was the hottest day the town had seen in decades. Steam rose off of the pavement outside as the sun beat down relentlessly. The air was thick and muggy. Even with every window open, heat was trapped inside your house and it baked like an oven.

Not that it mattered to Aokiji, of course. He was actually enjoying the bit of warmth he could feel in his unnaturally cold body. The man was lazily reclining back in a chair with the forgotten newspaper draped over his face, giving him some shade he could doze off in.

The door to your bedroom suddenly slammed open. He blinked away the sleep from his eyes and peeked out from underneath the paper. You looked miserable. Cheeks bright red, sweat dripping down your face, wet strands of hair stuck to your forehead. Your shorts had been discarded long ago and patches of sweat even soaked through your t-shirt – well, technically his t-shirt, which was comically oversized on you. You held your chest as if you were in genuine pain and whined, “Kuzan, I’m hot.”

“Arara...” Your boyfriend gave you a blank stare. “How cliché.”

Soon your sticky back was pressed against his deliciously cool bare chest, his scarred arm wrapped firmly around your waist to hold you still in his lap. Chilly breath tickled the side of your neck, which would’ve felt refreshing had the situation been innocent. Aokiji’s large thighs hooked under your own to keep your legs wide open for him, your pussy on full display and ass nestled snugly over his clothed bulge. His free hand cupped and kneaded at your breasts.

“I-I think that nipple is, ahh, cool enough now…” You moaned as his icy fingers pulled at the fully pebbled nub, already overwhelmed from the shocking change of temperature. Your other nipple had received the same treatment moments earlier.

“Really?” He asked in his typical deadpan tone, resting his stubbly chin on your shoulder to watch himself run his thumb over the areola. You squirmed in his lap and whimpered, not missing the way his cock twitched beneath you. “I dunno, still feels sweaty to me.”

He could play with your tits for hours if you let him, but you were growing impatient. “I’m hot in other p-places too.” You nuzzled your cheek against his own, his dense curls tickling your skin.

Aokiji hummed thoughtfully and gave your nipple a final harsh twist, making you gasp. “Show me where.” He teasingly trailed his fingers across your stomach to rub at your hip bone soothingly. “Here?” Moving further down to wrap around your upper thigh, which he gently squeezed in his large palm. “Or here?”

“You’re so irritating,” you pouted. “You know where.”

“Hey, I’m doing all the work here. I’m allowed to have fun.” He grunted and playfully slapped your thigh, smirking at your reaction. But the man didn’t waste any more time – his patience was running almost as thin as yours, judging by the hardon straining for release beneath you. He shifted his knees to spread your legs even more and ran his middle finger through your needy slit. You let out a shaky sigh of relief, eyes fluttering closed. “Mm, I think this heat may be a little out of my control.”

The former Admiral slyly made his thumb a bit frostier than usual, then pressed it firmly against your clit. You yelped in surprise. “Hey, that’s too cold!”

“First you’re too hot, now you’re too cold. Pick a side, baby.”

“You’re making my body sound like Punk Hazard.”

“Haha, very funny.” He replied sarcastically, trying to hide the amused smile tugging at his full lips. “See what that smart mouth gets you.”

Suddenly, two fingers shoved past your lips and prodded at the back of your throat. They were instantly coated in spit as you gagged around them, the ridges and grooves of his scarred skin pressing against your wet cavern. The sensation actually felt pretty nice, like sucking on an ice cube. You wished it was his tongue shoved down your throat instead, but Aokiji refused to turn his head and tear his gaze away from your body.

The man hummed contently when he felt how wet you already were, slick already flowing out of your hole. He shoved a finger inside your cunt all the way to the knuckle, watching transfixed as the large digit slid in and out with a lewd squelching noise. Soon a second finger was added, rubbing at your walls deliciously.

“You could’ve come to me hours ago and asked me to help with the heat, y’know. Then you wouldn’t be all sweaty.” You whined around his fingers as he expertly scissored you apart, messy drool running down your chin. “But you waited until you were all riled up, right? Knowing that I can’t resist this wet pussy?”

Without warning, he firmly pressed against the spot inside you that made you see stars. You jerked in his grasp but he wouldn’t let up his rough pace, pistoning in and out of you while completely ignoring your clit. With wide eyes, you realized what he was trying to do.

“C’mon baby, let this pretty cunt squirt for me.” He rasped, speeding up his movements and practically hitting your cervix with every thrust. You tried to moan his name around the intrusion in your mouth, heat building in your core until it exploded in a rush of juices spewing out of you. Fingers milking every last drop until you were shaking and shuddering in his arms. He let out a deep chuckle when he noticed the wet stain on his pants. “So good.” He withdrew his digits from your mouth, turned your head towards his and kissed you gently, tongues lazily dancing around each other.

In one fluid motion, Aokiji stood with your bodies still pressed together and bent you over the table in front of you. You tried to regain your senses, lost in the aftershocks of your orgasm, when you heard the metallic sound of a zipper behind you. “Wh-wha…?” You looked over your shoulder to see the man stroke his fully hardened dick a few times. “More already?!”

“I thought this was about cooling you off,” Aokiji tapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you cry out from overstimulation. “Last I checked, it’s only getting hotter outside.”

He danced his fingertips down your spine, leaving behind a light trail of ice that quickly melted into cool droplets of water. Delighting in the way his icy touch made you shiver and shake. Then he grabbed your hip hard and slowly pushed his massive length inside your awaiting heat.

“Shit, so tight,” Aokiji groaned from deep in his throat. He was only halfway inside you and you were already overwhelmed, desperately clawing at the table’s smooth surface for some stability. The man halted his movements and folded his body over yours, careful not to put too much of his weight on you. Your size difference wasn’t lost on him – even after countless rounds of fucking over time, your cunt still had trouble adjusting to his length. “Hey, you okay?” He asked softly, his chilly breath tickling your ear. You took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. “I know it’s a lot. Just relax, baby. You’re doing so well.”

He took your hands in his own, interlacing your fingers, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. Once your breathing had slowed, he continued to slowly move his hips forward, pushing in inch after inch of his cock. You mewled when his hips finally met yours, heavy balls slapping against your cunt.

“Let me know when it’s okay to move.” His thumb ran soothing circles over the back of your hand.

You only took a minute to adjust, letting your muscles relax and open up for him. Your cunt was still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but at least it was wet enough to make the glide smoother. When you were ready, you smiled to yourself and said, “I’m surprised you’re moving at all. I figured your lazy ass would make me ride you. Again.”

“Yeah, you’re okay now.” He rolled his eyes affectionately and pulled his cock halfway out before roughly slamming back into you. You practically shrieked at the delicious burn on your walls.

He quickly established a harsh pace, rocking the table back and forth with the force of his thrusts. His enormous dick hit your cervix every time, causing a delightful mix of pleasure and pain throughout your core. Your stomach felt so full — you knew from experience that it was bulging with the outline of his cock.

Your eyes rolled back into your head when he started rubbing your clit in tight circles. He was already close. He normally had more stamina, but seeing you so desperate for him, the only person in the world who could provide this comfort on a hot day, made his balls ache.

“Gonna cum,” he grunted and nipped at your ear.

That was the only warning you got before the icy man’s hot cum burst inside you, coating your walls. The feeling of nearly impossible fullness brought you to your peak as well and you cried out, eyes scrunched shut and mouth hanging open. Aokiji’s giant body stayed pressed to your back, thumb drawing cold circles on your hip as he waited for you to come down from your high. You jolted when he finally pulled his cock out and he let out a low whistle at the sight of his semen flowing out of your hole and down your thighs.

Body still slumped over the table, you looked back at him and batted your eyelashes. “Can you cool me off in a normal way now?”

“Sure,” he shrugged and hoisted your body over his broad shoulder, making you squeal in surprise. He paid no mind, casually strolling towards the bedroom. “I’ll be the big spoon.”

“Wha— Kuzan, it’s two pm!” You protested, knowing you’d be stuck in bed cuddling him for at least a few hours. “I meant, like… creating ice cubes for me. Or taking a cold shower together.”

“Nope. It’s my nap time.”

Well, it was too hot to do something else, anyways.

#mine #my fics #aokiji x reader #kuzan x reader #aokiji smut #kuzan smut #aokiji #kuzan #one piece smut #aokiji imagine #kuzan imagine

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

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lessi as the godmother!!!! 🥹🥹🥹 no rush but please may you write a mini pt 2 where reader has given birth and less meets the baby for the first time<33

sequel to this and part of the a date to remember universe series

godmother II m.earps

"lets fucking go baby!" you yelled at the tv, clapping your hands happily as your wife saved another attempt on goal. it was mid WSL season and since you were so far along now at your doctors advice your wife had promptly banned you from leaving the house for anything not completely necessary, like appointments or your pre-natal classes.

you'd been trying to argue for the last few weeks that to you watching mary play was necessary, but she would just shut you up with a kiss and a firm shake of her head, ending any chance of an argument right there and then.

your wife had always been protective of you by nature throughout the entire time you'd known her, however given you were now pregnant she had become over protective. which meant you found yourself regularly having to bite your tongue not to tear her head off with how she fussed over you.

thats not to say you hadn't snapped.

pregnancy hormones were no joke and some days your wife found herself walking on eggshells, cautious that one wrong word or action would cause you to tip over the edge, your volatile moods becoming incredibly unpredictable.

though she knew it wasn't your fault and more often than not the moment you'd finished yelling you'd burst into tears and apologize, your wife assuring you over and over with soft and loving kisses that she wasn't mad and she understood it was out of your control.

but despite how much mary over worried, she was also your saving grace.

if it was holding up your stomach to allow your back a few brief moments of reprise from its dragging weight, rubbing your very swollen feet, massaging your back and shoulders, putting up with your mood swings, going to the shops at all hours of the day and night to satisfy every little pregnancy craving, if there was any way at all she could make your life easier in any possible way, she was there in an instant, and you adored her for it.

"get in tooney!" you yelled with a cheer, struggling to your feet and pumping your first in the air as the girl scored the equaliser in their match against liverpool, watching with a proud smile as she celebrated with the team, alessia the first one to pull her up and into a tight bear hug.

you heard a strange sound and grabbed at your stomach as a wave of pain suddenly rolled through you. "oh fuck. not now, please not now!" you begged, looking up at the ceiling with your eyes squeezed closed, in denial of what you know you had just heard.

sure enough looking down there was a large wet patch on the carpet and you groaned as another wave of pain rocked your body. sitting down and taking a deep breath you grabbed your phone, hands shaking as you unlocked it and flicked through your contacts to your mother in law.

"hi julie! um no everything is fine...but i think my waters just broke?"

"i'm here! i'm here! i'm here! no one panic!" you breathed out a sigh of relief as the door to your room smacked open and mary stumbled inside, still clad in her keepers kit, face blotchy and red as she squatted down, baby hairs clinging to her forehead which was matted in sweat.

"give me a minute babe oh my god that elevator was taking ages so i ran up like six flights of stairs. jesus!" mary puffed out as she struggled to catch her breath, bent over with her hands on her knees.

"you missed the birth mary." you stated quietly, the woman almost falling to her feet at the news, eyes as wide as saucers. "what!? why the fuck did no one call me?" your wife spat angrily, beginning to pace around at the foot of your bed.

"nah only joking. we've taught her well babe she waited for her mum to finish her game before arriving!" your face broke out into a grin, the colour returning to marys as she collapsed into the seat beside your bed, pincing the bridge of her nose.

"i swear on my life woman if you weren't pregnant i'd punch you." "excuse me darling which one of us in labor right now?"

"right! sorry my love. how are you? how far apart are the contractions? whats the pain one to ten? have you seen a doctor? is there a nurse nearby? have-"

"mary baby breathe!" you laughed, struggling up and gently grabbing her face, your thumbs stroking her jaw affectionately.

"i'm okay, just uncomfortable. its hard to explain but everything just feels really tight and sore? its still early stages, the contractions are about nine minutes apart when they timed them. they said my water broke prematurely which though rare does happen and doesn't mean theres any complications before your mind goes there." you explained as your wife placed her hands over yours, bringing them to her mouth and tenderly kissing the tips of your fingers with a nod.

"the doctors not been in yet and he won't until the contractions are closer together, but the midwives have been great. they should come back around in a few minutes actually so you can talk their ear off with your questions then. your mum just popped out to call my mum, she and my dad are getting on the first flight they can." you continued, smiling and giving your a little nod to show you were finished.

"thank god she picked up when you called. baby i told you i shouldn't have played today, what if no one was there to bring you to hospital!" mary sighed with a frustrated shake of her head, resting her chin on your intertwined hands, you almost having to lock her out of the house in order for her to leave this morning.

"then i'd have called an ambulance my love. you did play, and from what i hear you won so im glad that you did. i got here safely, you got here in time, everything worked out best as it could have. so stop being stroppy!" you smiled, gently pulling away your hands and teasingly flicking her ear before settling back into the hospital bed.

"i'm not bein stroppy!" "your moody little pout says very differently." "i'm not! i just love you and our daughter very very much and i worry about you both, you know that." "i know love, but you know at your age you have to be careful about worrying so much, you'll get grey hairs." "i'm hardly two years older than you are!" "I know you're ancient, should be criogenically frozen in a football museum somewhere." "baby i pray every day she doesn't inherit your sense of humour, i don't think i could handle two of you it would drive me to insanity." "mary!"

"sit love! i'll get it." your wife remanded as the doorbell rang, rolling your eyes with a small smile as you sat back down, hearing her footsteps hurry off toward the door.

"where is she? where's my little niece? her favourite aunty is here!" "you wish you were her favourite tooney, she won't even pay you a second glance once she see's her godmother is here!" "she's one month old she won't care about either of you, and she's finally been sleeping for more than twenty minutes so shut up, the pair of you!"

you heard the girls before you saw them, hearing mary harshly shush them and a loud smack echo out where she'd clearly whacked one of them, ella whining as she entered the room.

"muuum she hit me!" the midfielder pouted in your direction as you chuckled and opened your arms, the younger girl collapsing into them as you wrapped her in a hug. "stop hitting the kids babe!" you teased your wife, alessia lifting your arm and tucking herself into your other side.

"i'm too young to have three kids." the woman mumbled, rubbing at her temples with an overdramatic sigh. "aw great now she's disowned us!" ella continued sending you a cheeky grin. "baby thats not very nice, say sorry to the girls. you know you love them!" you wound up your wife who shook her head, biting back a smile.

"i am going to check on our actual daughter." mary announced with a roll of her eyes, disappearing out of the room. "i love you babe!" you sung out after her with a smile, hearing her grumble as her footsteps faded away.

"so how are you feeling? we've missed you!" alessia asked as ella nodded eagerly, the two of them not moving from where the three of you were wrapped up together in a hug. "yeah mary runs a tight ship! told us we wasn't even allowed to facetime you until she said so." ella pouted with a huff as you ruffled her hair.

"i feel heavy, tired, fat. i haven't slept properly since she arrived, the bags under my eyes have bags, and i think this is the only jumper i currently own which doesn't have sick or some sort of bodily fluid on it." you paused to chuckle and look down at the faded red material covering your body.

"but she's also the best thing that has ever happened to me. i love her so much i would die for her in an instant, her tiny little fingers and toes and her squishy little cheeks man. she's got me and mary by the throat!" you teared up, overwhelmed by the love you felt for your daughter as both girls either side of you aweed and hugged you tighter.

"speaking of, look who just woke up." ella and alessia's heads whipped behind them with wide eyes as mary returned, gently cradling your new born daughter in her arms. "oh my god she's tiny." alessia whispered with a small squeal of excitement, marys face melting into a soft smile seeing the obvious excitement from the two girls.

"do you both want a hold?" your wife offered, eyes flickering toward you as you nodded encouragingly, knowing how much it worried her to have anyone that wasn't the two of you to do so, but you were working through it together.

"shit but how do you do that? don't they have like no bones? and their heads are soft like jelly? their skulls are like-" ella began to panic, rubbing her palms on her shorts. "language around the baby el!" you warned, shoving her shoulder as she hastily apologized.

"yes they are very fragile, but if you want to hold her i'll show you how." you smiled reassuringly, watching the cogs turn in her head. "less can go first!" she decided as you glanced to the blonde on your other side who was busy staring adoringly at the little bundle of limbs in your wifes arms.

"less?" "hm?" "do you want to have a hold?" "oh yes please."

"okay, sit back and get comfortable." you ordered softly as you stood and mary carefully handed you your daughter, pressing a kiss to your cheek and tenderly stroking your daughters hand with her thumb.

"are you okay? its fine if you need some time, they say it normally takes around five minutes to be properly comfortable with holding a newborn baby." mary checked in with the younger blonde who nodded that she was ready.

"so the most important thing is to support the head and the neck." mary started to explain, taking a seat beside alessia who nodded, following her every word. "so very carefully take her-" mary continued as you gently handed over the baby to the striker.

"breathe less." you chuckled as she exhaled shakily, almost trembling as she very gently took your daughter from you, mary shuffling closer to help her adjust.

"so you want her stomach to always be angled toward you, and her back will rest on your forearm. then you'll support her head in the crook of your elbow and your hand can rest there-" mary gently moved alessias arm as ella watched on in awe.

"-and now you're holding her less." mary smiled proudly, squeezing her shoulder and shuffling back a bit as alessia looked up at you in shock. "wow!" ella breathed out in shock. "you're a natural less." the girl complimented as alessias eyes dropped back down to the newborn cradled in her arms.

"this is so weird, like im holding a whole human right now." "yeah its a bit overwhelming at first but you're doing great less."

"hi gorgeous i'm alessia. i'm your godmum but you can just call me aunty lessi!" the blonde smiled as you sat down on marys lap, feeling her arms wrap securely around you as she pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder before resting her chin there, both of you watching on fondly as ella began to interact with your daughter who was tucked up securely in alessia's hold.

"have you accepted we've got three daughters now?" you quietly murmured to your wife with a teasing smile, pecking her lips and feeling her body vibrate under yours with a soft chuckle.

"yeah, i think i have."

#woso x reader #mary earps x reader #mary earps #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #ella toone #ella toone x reader #woso #woso imagine #engwnt #woso blurbs #woso fanfics

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