#this man has no right to sound like he does | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

occamstfs · 3 days ago

Text

Surfin' The Years Away

Wade reluctantly follows his boyfriend into a new thrift shop. After trying on some old surf shorts he is blasted into the past. With each passing moment and stray thought he's body and mind molded into the King of this mid-century beach.

What better time for a surfer TF than Winter huh? In season for any Aussie/Southern Hemisphere readers I might have haha! At any rate, Hope you enjoy this little time travel TF, got a cowboy TF coming next ;) Best ! -Occam

Wade and Dylan don’t know how they’ve somehow overlooked the vintage shop on Main Street until now. Wade’s more than happy to make a note of it and come back later, quite eager to get out of the cold. But when Dylan pulls on his sleeve and begs they check it out, “We’ll just be in and out babe-” the driver acquiesces with a grumble and turns into the small parking lot.

Before the engine’s off, Dylan hops out of the small car and sprints inside in search of some theoretical hidden gem. Wade sees his sigh in the icy air before he knew he released it. Longing for the end of the winter he trudges carefully along the icy sidewalk behind his happy-go-lucky boyfriend.

The woman at the counter pages through some old magazine of vintage clothing while Dylan raids the racks. Wade eyes the cluttered store as he fights back a sneeze from the dusty shelves. Quite the eclectic shop, certainly not a store with a specific market in mind. What can only be leather fetish gear hangs on the walls next to some army surplus gear and in between are rack after rack of pastel skirts and oversized vintage suits.

He hears his boyfriend squeak in excitement as he pulls two things off their coat hangers. “Wade! Look~ Bell Bottoms!” He holds a pair of something more akin to boho pants up to his waist and poses, “Aren’t they just 60’s chic babe?” Queen that he is, Wade opens his mouth to question or debate when exactly they became vogue, but before he has a chance there’s a glimmer in Dylan’s eyes as he pulls out a piece for Wade to judge.

“And I found these for you babe!” Stretching the string waistband with a wink, Dylan produces a pair of surf shorts that are surely a few sizes too large for Wade, who remains ready to leave. Responding to a complaint not yet uttered Dylan raises a finger to silence him and continues, “C’mon just try ‘em on Wadey! You can tighten them all the way up, this way if you keep up on your gym plans they’ll be perfect for your beach bod!”

Wade grumbles and reaches out to grab the shorts. Though he’s loath to admit it, he’s surprised at how right they feel now that they’re in his hands. Pursing his lips he doesn’t acknowledge the strange sensation. Wade shakes his head in shock as after a moment holding them, he’s filled with an urge to strip then and there to throw them on. Blushing at the strange thought he keeps silent and allows himself be dragged towards the two shabby dressing rooms in the back of the store.

Dylan, holding his bell bottoms and a vest Wade didn’t see him pick up, does a little pose before dipping into the changing room on the left. Ready to be done and slightly on edge from his intrusive thought, Wade enters the curtained space opposite. Like any other of the millions of dressing rooms throughout the country there’s a mirror, a small mounted bench, and spot to hang up your clothes. What is less expected is the bizarre silence that overtakes him as he steps past the curtain, as if he were in a recording booth.

Holding his shorts he forcefully assumes it’s just his ears popping and he’ll be right as rain any moment now. It’s anyone’s guess as to why the sound of Dylan’s humming as he changes into his little outfit is totally muted by two hanging sheets of fabric. As far as Wade is concerned his boyfriend has simply decided to go quiet, willfully ignoring how out of character that is for a man as uncomfortable with silence as Dylan is. Faced with this strange supernatural quiet Wade feels himself begin to understand the discomfort.

The man’s two feet away, Wade should hear the shuffling of clothing if nothing else. Hackles officially raised, Wade starts to investigate, though before his hands can reach the curtain he’s struck with a migraine and thought that’s not his own blaring in his head, It is of no concern, I should change into the surf shorts. Lip quivering the shorts are already in his hands as he turns back to the mirror.

His reflection flickers as his pants fall to the ground, goosebumps soaring up his legs from the shock of losing their cozy covering. Unwilling to acknowledge whatever horror must lie in the mirror he forces his eyes shut as his body moves of its own accord to pull the baggy shorts on. When he feels them cinched and tied on his thin waist he opens his eyes, holding fast to the idea that everything is fine, must be fine.

In the mirror he finds his reflection as it always is, tacky swim shorts notwithstanding. He looks exactly as he should. Wade sighs in relief before he notices that he’s not out of the impossible jungle yet. What is different is the room in which he finds himself, the curtain now striped, a harsh bulb hangs above him, the small bench replaced by a damaged wooden stool.

Taking time to rationalize how he’s gotten these details mixed up, as is the only explanation, he sees a shimmer in the bottom of the mirror. Looking closely he sees a spark slowly panning up. When it reaches his feet he sees them slowly begin to darken, tanned by a sun they’ve rarely seen before they begin to bulge and lengthen. Seeing feet more akin to swim fins than what he knows he has he yelps and jumps away, getting tangled in the rough curtain before spilling into the vintage store’s hallway.

Dumbfounded, Wade scrambles to the floor and sees the vintage store is no more. In its place is what appears to be a cabana. Large windows show a bright beachside summer day, a far cry from the frigid world he knew it should be. Before he can pinch himself awake he flinches as some surfer bro gestures to his shorts and shouts, “Eyy Wade! Lookin’ killer brah!”

Refusing to engage with the world he’s found himself in, Wade beelines to the tall, tanned, muscular man who addressed him by name and asks as his eyes start to tear up, “D- Dylan?” The surfer’s eyes focus in and his mouth closes into a look of shock before dropping into a slack jawed, “Whuh?” and settling on a smile as he laughs and ruffles Wade’s hair, “‘S Ray dude, you know that ahahah!”

Ray? Wade rubs his eyes as he tries to remember if he knows a Ray, though really he doesn’t think he knows any surfers. Ray. With each searching thought comes a creeping sensation. The name feels right? It feels more at home, more familiar in his head, as if he’s thought of the man thousands of times. Ray. Yeah, he knows Ray, how could he not. Looking at the man standing opposite him, blushing at the tan pecs at his eye level he is struck with countless memories of watching him on the waves. Cheering on his, brah? No that can’t be-

“Should take your shirt off too Wade, show off for the ladies eh?” Ray flexes and Wade narrows his eyes, okay well that’s enough of this dude. He then slaps his forehead, what’s he thinking he just needs to call Dylan, obviously. He quickly runs back to the changed-changing room and arrives just in time to find his pants shifting into vintage shorts, quite like the pair he now wears. Swallowing his fear he reaches into the pocket for his phone, though the only thing he produces is a beaten up wallet and his car keys, now missing their fob.

Putting forth great effort to steady his breathing he checks the wallet to find a similarly damaged driver’s license unlike any he’s ever seen. Gone is the plasticine card he’s carried for years, replaced by some water stained, taped together laminated bit of paper with a signature sloppier than he’d ever use scrawled under his name. His eyes refuse to look at the date of birth as he opts to sprint back and confront Ray.

His feet pound hard on the few steps back to the cabana’s lobby, heavier than they had any right to. With each careening step they widen and lengthen racing to match the wretched paddles he saw in his reflection. Their soles roughening from what must be years of walking along dingy beachside sidewalks, perfect for sticking to a waxed board. “Okay dude, Ray, whatever your name is I’d like my phone back. I don’t think this stupid little prank is funny.”

Ray pauses mouth hanging open, its default state apparently, as he processes whatever it is that Wade must be whining about. He tilts his head and smirks a stupid smile at the clerk that Wade only just noticed, “Hear that Mabes? Wader over here thinks you had a phone in the changing room! Hah!”

She rolls her eyes before turning to address the clearly apoplectic newcomer, “Wade I don’t know what your deal is today-” she pauses to look him up and down and groans, “God! How many times do I have to tell you guys, if you’re going to come in at least throw on shoes. No one wants to see your disgusting little feet.”

Ray performs indignance at this, throwing a heavy arm around Wade’s shoulder, though he shoots higher than he should as if he were expecting his bro to be taller than he is, “Now Mabe, babe. You won’t get me defindin’ the cleanliness of my brah here, but little! I’ll have you know he’s got the best board huggers this side of San Fran!” Wade narrows his eyes in confusion as whatever is going on is clearly beyond and beneath him. Though as Ray finishes speaking, the smaller man grunts as his feet cramp.

Looking down, Wade discovers that, alongside the world around him, he too has begun to change. His feet have clearly already grown, Dylan always poked fun at his small shoe size, but now they have grown beyond measure. Wade recoils in shock as they balloon once more, toes stretching further as his soles bulge wider.

They seem so large that he wonders where he’ll be able to even get shoes that big. Eyes flickering back and forth he figures he’ll just have to order them on Ama- uh? Wade’s eyes glaze over briefly as he loses his train of thought. His head pangs with pain as the idea of online shopping starts to fade. Surely they have catalogues for extra-large shoes or something, he’ll check with Ray later, yeah. Ray’ll know.

Speaking of, Ray and Mabel have continued arguing. Wade is unaware that as he was lost in his own mind, his new surfer bro has continued to defend him, and with each complimentary phrase Wade has begun to inch taller in height. Speaking of waves conquered and tubes bodied, Wade catches the tail end of one particularly exaggerated story as his mind begins to fill in the details. Back stretching and calves slowly bulking as he clearly recalls bailing from his board. He grunts again as he surges taller, thighs slowly bulking up as his new height exposes a pale midriff, attracting eyes from both of the spatting pair.

Finding he has their attention he clears his throat and begs, “Look, I don’t care about any of this-” Ray recoils in shock, “Can I borrow either of your cellphones so I can call my boyfriend?” Their eyes widen at the brazen use of boyfriend though the friends are well aware of Wade’s proclivities, what actually causes the strange stares is his asking for a cell phone. “Brah, did you hit your head or what? You know the cabana don’t have a phone.”

Wade shakes his head, he doesn’t know that he doesn’t care, “Sure! Whatever!” he reaches out, “Can I borrow your cell phone.” Mabel and Ray eye each other once more before breaking out into laughter, “Shell phone? What are you on about dude?” Wade stares back with absolute shock and derision before his vision goes spotty and his head burns with a rolling headache. His hippocampus physically pulses as his mind and memories are rewritten.

A cell phone is foolish? A dream. A phone you could just up and carry anywhere? Science fiction. And yet he can almost picture a small black mirror in his hand. Embarrassed from their laughter and determined to not let this fact of reality be erased he continues to stare at his hand as if he’s trying to will one into existence. Unfortunately the only change that he notices is his skin bulging as his hand flexes larger, a few scars blanch from years on the beach as his hands struggle to keep up with his advancing height. One could almost hear his bones cracking as his fingers lengthen and grow calloused while his fingernails lose their polish, grow dirty, and shorten

He pounds the cabana counter and Mabel clicks her tongue, “Okay let’s cool it buddy, you wanna make a call Ray’ll take ya down the street.” She motions to the door with her head and Ray escorts him out, “Come back when you’ve worked out whatever this is on the waves huh Wade?” she pouts as she watches the pair go, taking care to stare at Ray’s defined back with a smile, then she snickers and whispers to herself as she gets back to her magazine, “been watching too much Star Trek I bet.”

Ray’s chipper as ever as he leads Wade out of the cabana, unknowingly more comfortable now that his arm rests closer to where it should after Wade sprouted a few inches. For his part, Wade finds himself distracted by the wild blue sea. Waves rise and crash into foam and he’d swear he could feel the bubbles, the surge on his skin. Like a dog staring at a treat he fights desperately with the urge to sprint across the sand to enjoy it right now.

In fact, his thicker feet begin their plodding to a surf wagon nearby with a couple boards stowed before he’s stopped by a question from Ray, “You wanna take your shirt off so you can get some sun brah? Lookin’ a little pasty there.” Wade shakes his head and tries to disregard his words, though as his mind continues to be assailed by a hunger to surf he gives up the ghost on the shirt battle and reveals his pale weak chest to the world, “s- sounds radical. I’l uhh, catch some rays. hah”

Ray starts to laugh at the pun but instead grimaces as the sight of Wade’s small pasty torso is incongruent with the reality that he knows to be true. Though with a mind accustomed to shrugging off strange ideas and problems too big to worry about he quickly throws his arm around Wade’s shoulders slowly growing wider. “Well let’s getcha to a pay phone so you can call your buddy!”

Wade rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as the pair head down the boardwalk. He can scarcely focus on the increasingly rapid changes occurring to his body and mind as he’s still distracted by the sound of crashing waves. As the Summer Californian sun beats down on him, his skin starts to darken, closer to the shade Ray recognizes as Wade. Spreading forth in patches he tans to the customary surfer brown, ushering forth from surf shorts that aren’t quite filled and up past a core that is only now getting defined.

So too does his hair suddenly start to lighten. Lengthening into something sun bleached and salt stained. His usually clean-cut look begins to giveaway as the life he knows he should have is slowly eroded, just like the ebb and flow of the waves calling out for him. Pecs beginning to form darken and shine with sweat under the beating sun as he dreamily stares at the sea. Though despite it all, despite true real memories of life in the twenty-first century slowly fading like a mirage, he still remembers his time with Dylan clear as day. To this he holds fast as he stumbles forward from his heavier upper body.

As he continues to grow into this new form, molded by the alien world of the past around him, he begins to notice other surfers and beachgoers eyeing him with familiarity and nodding with respect. After his bicep bulges larger from returning a few shakas, he bumps his shirtless body into Ray to get his attention like he's done a million times. Finally tearing his eyes away from ogling scantily clad women, Ray tilts his head as Wade asks in a tone clearly affected by the thickening neck and shifting disposition, “Hey brah, er- Ray? Am I like, a big deal?”

Ray looks dumbly at Wade as his irises change to match the deep blue of his quarry before laughing, “Hah! Such a cut-up today brah! Course everyone knows you, you’re always ripping! If anyone needs any tips or tricks they come to you.” Wade clenches at his head as years of memories and knowledge rush into his mind. Equivalent to the sensation of bailing on his board into the choppy sea, he’s drowning in visions of showing off on the waves and taking care to help anyone who so desires to join him in enjoying the spray of a set. His chest puffs with pride and puffs larger with pecs as his jaw widens and now-blue eyes roll back. He’s the king of this beach. And just like that, as soon as the words, the idea, cross his mind he’s overwhelmed and pulled under.

He awakens laid out on a bench somewhere down the way, he hears the Beach Boys playing through some static nearby and opens his eyes to see Ray’s face painted with concern, though as soon as he hears Wade speak up he returns to his usual happy-go-lucky expression. “Gnaaarly dude- feel like I just woke up for the first time~” The new surfer then coughs up some sea water which he finds as strange, he wasn’t surfing was he?

This small quibble with reality acts as one final life preserver to the life he once knew. Just odd enough for him to question his situation, his reality. For a moment he stares at his tanned, veiny hands and questions is this who he is? Trailing up arms patterned with sun-bleached blonde hair and briefly hung up on the quarter-sized nipples poking off a thick chest. He scratches his stomach, for some reason expecting to find a bit of a belly, his fingers instead bump against tight abs.

Unfortunately his last grasp at the future is haplessly wasted as he’s almost immediately distracted by Surfin’ U.S.A, “Ugh-” he chokes out in his now perpetually fried, laid-back voice, “Why’s this dad rock playing?” Ray laughs and helps the man up, “Maan Wade you’re on a trip today, first goin’ on and on about selling phones and some enter-net! You know your dad hates the Beach Boys! Ahahah” With this paltry grasp his past self is evermore washed to sea, Ray’s recollections sound just as strange to Wade as they did to him and Mabel.

Even the explicit mentions of cell phones and the internet isn’t enough to prevent the rubber band from snapping as decades of lived experience with future technology is wiped from his mind. Memories of the modern world thoroughly displaced by life sprinting across the sands and mooring the foundations of surfing as a continental sport. Just as Ray has done countless times today alone, Wade smiles dumbly in brief reflection on his life lived.

Going forward on rare occasions some fragment of his other self washes up to his mind like jetsam. Sometimes when he sees a record he can’t help but wonder if they’ll be smaller one day or he’ll reach for something in his pants out of habit when he has a question to ask, before shaking it off like a strange tic. His crew often labels him some kind of prophet as he seems almost too keenly aware of how global events will shake out.

“I swear brah, gettin’ me worried that your new guy’s slipped ya somethin’” Ray says with a wink. Wade flinches with a start, that’s right! He needs to call Dylan immediately! Putting change in a pay-phone like he’s done all his life he dials a number he knows by heart and holds his breath, begging the universe that Dylan will answer the other line as the ringing tone vibrates the receiver, and then his miracle is answered.

Sounding as if he’s discovered cloud 9, somewhere across the town his love, Dylan, answers, “Heyyyyy, ‘s this Wadey?” The sound of his voice fills Wade’s thicker chest with comfort, “Dyl! God it’s so nice to hear you…” He stands there for a few seconds, only then does he notice how tight his swim shorts have become from his bulking thighs and building ass. Though of course, the most prominent issue at the moment is the rising dilemma in front. He blushes and bites his lip as he tries to speak with more discretion, “You uhhh, down to come over to ours later today?”

He can almost hear the smile of the man on the other line, “Uhhh yeahh, yeah… Me ‘n my uhhh freaks are on a trip righnow. But yeaaah, think I could swing by baby” Wade can almost see the man on the other line, delighting in the feeling of his fingers twirling the phone wire in his hands, certainly too high to work out a time but Wade doesn’t mind. The promise of a future fuck and time together after is more then enough, “Righteous brah, well I’ll see you then Dyl.” His lover just giggles and the pair hang up at the same time, bonded tighter than ever despite their strange unknown journeys apart. Sighing in delight and ignoring the pulse in his pants, Wade turns to face his brah.

For the first time Wade throws his arm around Ray’s shoulder as the pair wander off towards his wagon. Ray gestures for him to try and mask his clearer than anything erection though the surfer just shrugs, “Oh sure dude, as if anyone ever misses your goose eggs you little horndog.” The pair guffaw and continue to tease eachother as they start back towards Mabel’s cabana.

Glimmer in his eyes and too eager to not speed up, Wade hits his bro on the back and challenges him on a race to their boards. His new legs carry him faster than he’s ever managed before. Settled into his new life the feeling of his feet pounding into the hot sand fills him with contentment. There’s no place he’d rather be than soaring across the beach while his crew watches.

#male tf #mental change #reality change #personality change #surfer tf #male transformation #muscle tf

195 notes · View notes

thepitlanepress · 18 hours ago

Text

NEVER TOO BUSY FOR YOU –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: i like to think im the sweetest person alive so this is written for my girl nadsies while she isnt having the greatest day ever. just a short lil fic bc im working on the smau pt2 and some other ones ;)

you dont like bothering oscar when he's at work. its a weird thing you have, one that oscar's tried getting out of your head on more than one occasion. does it stick? no.

the cramps you had been feeling for the entire day had made it almost impossible to move, so you weren't exactly able to reach your phone to tell oscar either.

that is a fact you use in a later argument. which by the way doesn't work.

so when the door to your apartment swings open and you hear your boyfriend's voice, you nearly flat out start crying. its so nice to hear a comforting sound.

"sweetheart?" oscar calls out for a second time when you don't reply, even talking feels like too much right now. you hear some shuffling around and then the soft footsteps as he walks down the hallway.

"hey, baby," he murmurs when he enters the room, coming to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. his hand comes to rest on your back rubbing slowly through the duvet. "how are you feeling?"

a noncommittal grunt escapes you and you wince in pain as another wave of cramps hit you like a train. fuck periods actually.

oscar sensing your situation quickly, he gets up and places a quick but soft kiss to your forehead before walking back out to the kitchen promising to be back soon. you stay awake for a little while but eventually the sounds of him moving around, and the soft clinking of dishes quickly puts you to sleep.

it was a comfort knowing someone else was home with you.

some time later you feel a dip in the bed beside you, two arms wrap around your waist and pull you into their warmth.

"hey you," you whisper.

"hey you," he whispers back his hand drawing circles on your skin. "are you feeling better after that nap?"

"sort of," you sigh. "mainly im-"

"hungry?" oscar guesses, you can hear the smile in his voice and you slowly sit up, cautiously testing different positions before finding one that doesn't make you feel like you've been shot.

you look over at oscar who has turned away bringing a tray of snacks over from the bedside table. it has all your favourite snacks, chocolates, your phone and a warm cup of tea.

"i called mum, while you were asleep earlier," he said almost nervously. "and asked her what type of tea to use because i was worried and wanted to help and she said to use-"

you shut him up by placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth "its perfect thank you osc," you settle back against the pillows - and him, okay mostly him. his arms are wrapped around you as you soak in the quiet afternoon, the soft sound of the show you had playing on your computer earlier the only noise in the room.

"why didn't you call me?" his voice rumbles through you.

"i didn't want to bother you while you were at work," you look down to the cup of tea in your hands and realise now that you probably won't be winning this conversation. there is no one who cared more about you than the man currently wrapped around you. he would drop anything in a second for you.

hence why you didn't call him. he cant be distracted from work. its so important to you.

but he won't take that as an answer.

"you know i always have time for you, sweetheart, i'm never too busy for you. you're my number one priority. always."

the cramps didn't seem so bad after that.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

260 notes · View notes

chrattho1 · 2 days ago

Text

bsf!chris x reader!!

“what took you so long?”

summary: chris is in love with you more or less,he never made a move on you though,always scared that might ruin your friendship. but now that you’re taken,he wants you even more. in your grey set that he loves so much,you come around for a movie night and he is painfully hard the moment he sees you walk in.

warnings: male masturbation,pet names(?) idk what else to put in,not proofread

a/n: this is a blurb for my bsf! chris au,find more of it here

“we’re not watching cars for the third movie night in a row chris!” you snatch the remote from his hands and settle down next to him on the bed.

too close for his liking. dont get him wrong being close to you only makes him happy,the way you smell,the way your hair smells and sometimes tickles his face when you move. but right now he is focused on covering his lower body with the covers,to say that he is bricked is an understatement.

“do whatever man,and can you move i feel nauseated by your perfume” he puts his head on the headboard,trying to act like he is not in excruciating pain

“woah there,whats got you all riled up?” you ask him,moving your face towards him

“nothing im just snacky,mind getting me some snacks from downstairs?” he asks with a sincere smile.

you nod thinking nothing suspicious of it,he does get hangry alot so this was nothing new,you walk out the room telling him to pick a movie before you come back

chris watches you walk out,your ass swaying in perfect sync,in that soft material that sticks to you. his thoughts not helping him one bit. he quickly puts a hand under the covers,reaching his hand down to adjust himself just a little bit before come in again. that slight friction from his hands making him bite his lips.

“okay..i got you skittles and pepsi,thank you for restocking redbull before i come,you know me so well” the comment earning you a wink from chris to which you smile,his cheeky behaviour is not-not normal to you,thats how he has always been.

you both settle on watching “how to lose a guy in 10 days” , chris lost the rock paper scissors game.

not even halfway through the movie,you notice chris moving every few seconds “motherfucker could stay still for a moment im trying watch the movie!” you scream at him clearly not having a single clue about the agony he is in right now.

“my allergies are making me itchy” chris says lowly knowing you’re too focused on the movie currently.

“im going to go to the bathroom” he finally decides he’s got to do something about it or else he might come in his pants just by looking at you for so long (he has been staring this entire time,ofcourse), you nod in response watching him go up to the bathroom in his room.

“turn the volume up will you? i wanna hear whats happening in the movie” he says standing by the doorframe of the bathroom,his oversized hoodie kinda covering the tent in his sweats.

“i can just pause it until you come back weirdo” you shrug at him with a mouth full of skittles.

“nah,i might take a little while” he smiles at your disgusted face,watching as you turn the volume up.

he closes the bathroom door behind him and lets out a huge sigh,he looks at himself in the mirror not believing what he is about to do with you sitting right outside.

he pulls his sweats down,looking down at his boxers which have a dark patch growing on them.

he cups his dick through them,biting his lips to prevent letting out any sounds.

he strokes himself a couple of times over his boxers before pulling them down,his cock desperate for touch more than ever. his tip swollen and leaking.

his thumb spreads the bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip,making him moan softly,his hand drags from there to the base of his dick,slowly starting to pump his cock in his hand.

“fuck” he curses softly,thinking about you who is in his room right now,sitting on his bed,the bed that he has imagined doing the most unimaginable things to you on.

“oh-shit” his strokes get faster,the contact of his hand with his dick making sounds,but the movie is still louder outside.

“chris!” he hears you call him outside,but he doesn’t respond,scared his voice might betray him and let out a moan.

hearing your voice only made him closer,closer to cumming,cumming on your face,cumming in you,cumming in your mouth,these are all the things he thinks about,that grey set stained with his release.

“fuck-f-fuck-oh—-fuck ma- im-gon” his voice breaking apart,his whispers so low not a chance you could hear him.

“ah—shit” with that,white ropes of cum spray all over his hoodie.

his legs trembling for a few seconds,he knew he was going to cum hard but…this is a mess.

he quickly gets rid of the hoodie,balls it up and throws it into the laundry basket that he started keeping in the bathroom after nick told him too,thanks nick-he thinks.

he was still wearing a black tee under so he wasn’t walking out shirtless,its not like you’ve never seen him shirtless but he wanted to be decent (?)

he quickly cleans himself up and walks out of the bathroom in a record of 6 mins. yes .

he quickly sat down next to,now comfortably snuggling close to you.

“what took you so long? and wheres your hoodie?” you ask him,noticing that his hoodie is not on him anymore

“had some bad food for dinner last night,and the hoodie was making me hot and itchy” he smiles at you when you reply with an “ew” not questioning his response.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @nononononshahsbba @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @kier-with-a-k @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @numberonekiddie @whore4chris @chris-hallelujah @sl4ttformattsturniolo @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrisslittleslut @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @idkwhatthisis2009 @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @herewegoagain-b @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo

221 notes · View notes

lupinqs · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

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

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

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

216 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 2 days ago

Text

looking through your eyes + thirty two

authors note: we're nearing the end, folks. buckle up!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, and smut

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

cast+ masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Baby, look.”

Roman redirects his focus from the text reply he was formulating to Dwayne to glance over at his wife who’s angling her phone screen toward him.

Naturally, he’s confused by what he’s looking at, seeing a lot of colors, several words in different fonts/sizes, and what looks like fruit.

“What is this?”

Solana smiles and leans against his arm, explaining, “this is what our girls look like right now.” Realizing how that sounds considering she’s showing him a picture of actual fruit, Solana explains, “well, this is how big they are right now. The size of two Limes.”

And, it’s only when she says that, Roman takes the time to really look at the screen. To see that it in fact reads, “At 12 weeks, your babies are about as big as two lines” accompanied by a graphic of two limes as well as other things, one of them prompting him to point and ask. “And that?”

Solana’s smile deepens. “That’s what they probably look like.” Rubbing her belly, she clarifies, “it might not be an exact match, but pretty close.” She looks over at Roman, ready to explain more when she sees it. Sees the amazement. The surprise. The emotion.

“Shit,” he finally breathes, eyes still on the phone. “They….they’re growing fast.”

Solana nods, kissing his shoulder. “According to my app, their pituitary gland is producing hormones, and their bone marrow is making white blood cells, which will help them fight off germs.” Solana’s explanation is accompanied by her showing him her phone with the information displayed.

Roman scoffs, finally looking at her and asking, “how did you get this? Is it something the doctor gave you or—”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s just a pregnancy app. I’ve tried out a couple, but I really like this one.”

“How do I get it on my phone?” He asks, Solana partially taken back by his interest, though it makes sense when she thinks about it. Her husband is a man who likes to be in the know and have information readily available to him, and an app that allows him to track the growth of their unborn children seems like a great resource for just that.

“You can download it from the app store. It’s called What to Expect.”

Roman moves to grab his phone, tapping around, a scowl growing on his face. “Where’s that damn little box?” Solana leans into him, pressing her face into his arm to hide her amusement. “Why does it keep moving and shit?”

The struggle to withhold her laughter is real. “Baby, it’s not moving. They had another iOS update, so the layout changed again.”

“Another one?” She can’t help it. A giggle escapes, as Roman’s scowl deepens. “How many fucking updates are they going to do? I already can’t find shit half the damn time. Now they’re just making it even more difficult. Fucking hate this damn phone.”

Solana moves her hand to the back of his head, massaging the base of his neck, trying to calm him down while also having to push back the desire to fall out in laughter. Roman is easily the most intelligent person she’s ever come across, but his inability to work or understand technology will never not be hilarious.

She 1000% believes that if he wasn’t who he is, he would most definitely do well, and best, with a flip phone.

“Here, babe. Let me do it for you.” Roman has zero issues handing over his phone to his wife who in a matter of minutes has not only downloaded the app, but has set up the account as if it was her profile so he can follow along, just as she’s doing. “There you go. All done.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, and she leans up to kiss his temple. Solana allows him time to play around and explore the app, while she shifts to something different but equally important.

And, it’s when she stumbles across one that she likes, she draws his attention, once again showing him her screen.

Instantly, he’s confused, and he’s not afraid to express as such.

“What is that?”

Solana looks at him, initially thinking he’s joking, which is a strange, impossible thing because her husband doesn’t joke. But, judging by the genuinely confused look on his face, he also really doesn’t know just what he’s looking at.

“It’s a crib, Roman,” she answers, providing additional information when that one word also doesn’t seem to trigger anything for him. “It’s actually a 4 in 1 with a changing table and can also be converted to a crib and a toddler bed as they get older, so we wouldn’t have to buy new—”

“I don’t want them using old shit,” Roman’s interruption, despite the almost rude wording, is more informative than anything. “We’ll buy them new things as they need em’.”

Solana frowns a bit. “But, if we can find something so we don’t have to spend unnecessary money—”

“If it’s for them, it’s not unnecessary, Sol.” She rolls her eyes, as he asks with almost uncertainty. “So a crib….it’s like….a baby bed?”

She nods, her small smile returning. “Yes.” She motions to the screen that shows the pink and one number she finds herself really liking. “The rails on it keep them from falling out or even climbing out when their gross motor skills start to kick in more.”

“When does that start?”

“It depends,” Solana answers. “Every baby is different. They typically learn how to roll over at around 4 months, and their mobility just continues to grow and improve from there.”

Roman nods, clearly taking in all of this new information. “So does that mean they’ll need to sleep in the room with us?” His question is so innocent, borderline naive, that it makes Solana giggle. “Until they learn….how to control their movements and shit.”

She shakes her head, gentle grin on her face matching her patient tone. “No, baby. They don’t need to sleep in the room with us. We’ll just get baby monitors to put up in their nursery.” Sensing he’s still hesitant, she adds, “they have ones with audio and video.”

This seems to settle him a bit when he, in true Roman fashion, picks up on a single word. “They’ll have separate rooms.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “Maybe when they’re older, but as babies, they can share the same nursery, Ro.”

It’d honestly make things easier, too, as Solana plans to breastfeed, and just the logistics of it, changing them, rocking them, and other things, will be significantly easier if they’re feet apart instead of rooms apart.

However, Roman doesn’t seem to be having it.

“I want them to have their own space.”

She sits up a bit, looking at him, borderline shocked. “As babies?” She shakes her head, rubbing her temples. “Roman, they won’t even know what a room is, let alone anything about a space.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Roman—” Solana has to stop herself. Lord knows she loves this man with everything in her, but he’s being impossible right now. Just like she also knows there can be no reasoning with him when he gets like this. “Okay, we—we can revisit this later.” Eager to get onto another similar baby subject, she asks, “how–how is this going to work?”

He looks at her. “What do you mean?”

Realizing her question was far too vague, she doesn’t waste any time clarifying. “I mean with the shopping portion. There’s a lot of things we’re going to need, and I can definitely get a lot of it online, but I’d like to be able to shop in person…and for you to go with me.”

The elaboration is helpful, Roman nodding, clearly understanding the true, unspoken concern in all of that.

In that how do they keep this pregnancy as under wraps as possible while still being able to enjoy it with little things like baby shopping.

“You just have to let me know at least a couple hours in advance if you want to go somewhere and where exactly you want to go, so I can have the stores cleared out.” Solana partially expected as such, given how he’s done the same every time they go grocery shopping together. Same with the empty doctor's office they're currently sitting in, waiting for the start of her three month check up appointment, Bautista and their security team patrolling the premises.

And, she’s not even showing yet.

But, it’s what he says next that she hasn’t really thought about. “And when you start showing, you won’t be able to go out much.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

Roman sighs, clearly trying to word it as best he can. A thoughtfulness always reserved for her. “Realistically speaking, there’s a chance, even if small, this pregnancy will reach the ears of people who don’t need to know. So, that means I have to eliminate their access to you—”

“But, I have security—”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” A gentle but firm interruption. “My family had security that night, too, and look what still happened.” Solana’s shoulders slump, her heart aching seeing the flash of pain cross his handsome face. “The only way to ensure the safety of you and the babies is to cut off any access to you.”

She's following along, understanding where he’s coming from, but it’s not exactly what she was wanting and expecting to hear. “I….I won’t be able to leave the house?”

Roman pauses. “You will, just….on an as needed basis.”

Solana grows quiet, sitting on Roman’s words. They make sense, given who he is, what them welcoming children into this world will mean for them. Mean for him. Though she can’t deny a part of her is saddened at the fact that she won’t be able to treat this pregnancy like any other expectant mother would.

That she can’t be out shopping, bump displayed freely, without having to worry about who sees it. Dragging Roman from store to store as she tries to find matching outfits for their girls. Having him help her pick out furniture, while they consult with the sales associates for what is best. The normal things.

And Roman sees this, sees the sort of grief she’s experiencing at realizing some of that, maybe none of that, will be possible.

That at some point, she’ll be practically homebound.

“I know….” He trails off, Solana hating the regret that crosses his handsome face. “I know it’s not what you imagined or probably want, and I’m sorry it’s because of me, but—”

She shakes her head, completely shifting gears, unwilling to have him feel anything remotely close to bad. “I wouldn’t want this if I couldn't do it with you.” An easy thing to share, even if it seems to startle her husband. Solana sees the surprise, feels the way he’s almost moved by such a thing. “Ro….” Solana reaches across, taking his hand and settling it on her stomach, her hand atop of his. “There’s no one else I’d want to do this with, but you. If I couldn’t have you as the father of my children, I wouldn’t want children. It’s…..it’s you or nothing, Roman.” She smiles, eyes watering. “And if that means some of the traditional things I don’t get to do or have, then that’s just what it is.”

Because at the end of the day, the most important thing is doing whatever it takes to welcome two healthy babies into this world. Some things might be missed, yes, but she’s certain it’ll all be worth it the moment Lina and Leya arrive.

Leaning up, she kisses his bearded jaw, murmuring, “I love you.”

He repeats it back at the same moment the nurse comes out and calls her name. Solana takes Roman’s hand as they walk to the back, going through the same order of things as her last few appointments. Questions. Urine sample. Bloodwork. It’s all routine at this point, the most exciting part being when Dr. Sharmell walks in. She asks her usual questions, and Solana provides her honest answers.

Sometimes Roman chimes in with a question usually regarding what to expect at this point in her pregnancy, so he knows what to expect. It’s all so attentive and moving, how much he cares and how invested he is.

“Time for your favorite part,” Dr. Sharmell jokes as she moves the transducer over Solana’s stomach, searching only briefly. “Here’s Baby A.” The rhythmic beating is soothing and relieving, a big smile on Solana’s face as she looks over at the screen, immensely settled by the sound of her baby’s heartbeat. “Heartbeat just as strong as last time.”

Roman rubs his thumb over Solana’s knuckles as the doctor travels the transducer around a little bit longer this time around. “Baby B once again giving me a hard time.” She shakes her head, Solana holding in her smile at the thought that crosses her mind. A silly one, in some ways.

Lina.

Lina comes to mind. Glimpses of her spitfire and wild child spirit from her and Roman’s shared dreams, and how making her identification during a routine ultrasound difficult seems just so aligned with her personality.

“There you are,” Dr. Sharmell makes an ‘aha’ sound, the baby’s steady heartbeat once again filling the room. “And there’s Baby B.”

Solana’s eyes water as she stares at the screen, seeing her children, her babies. “They’re getting so big.”

“They are,” the doctor smiles, observing. “I see you’re still not showing yet, but I’d gather it’s only a matter of a few weeks until you’ll see a bump.”

Solana giggles, squeezing Roman’s hand, completely uncaring of what the emergence of a bump might mean for safety measures. Having a baby bump makes this pregnancy just that much more real.

Physical proof of the lives growing inside of her.

“Everything looks good?” Her husband asks, ever the concerned and wanting to stay on top of everything.

Dr. Sharmell nods. “Everything looks great. Babies are growing as expected at the three month mark. Stats look great,” she answers, going to wipe the gel off Solana’s stomach. “In fact, you don’t have to be on pelvic rest anymore.” The announcement takes both husband and wife by surprise, as the OB-GYN continues to explain, “your ultrasound has come back clear during your last three visits with no bleeding since the initial incident. I could have cleared you last week, but I just wanted to make absolute certain.”

Roman and Solana share a look, the former asking, almost skeptically, “are you sure?”

“Positive,” she reassures. She directs her statement to Solana. “You can resume all normal activity. Exercise, regular movement, sexual activity, the usual.” Dr. Sharmell moves to grab her tablet, tapping around and gasping. “Oh my goodness. I almost forgot. So sorry. Your NIPT test results came back, and it was also clear from any signs of chromosomal disorders for the babies.” A small smile grows on her face as she looks between the parents. “And there were no Y chromosomes detected in either fetus, which means—”

“Girls,” Solana finishes, eyes watering all over again. “We’re having twin girls.”

—---------

The sounds of the clips being unloaded is muffled by the earmuffs on her ears, the recoil force something Solana is able to withstand much better than the first time she fired, and it’s an improvement noticed by Afia.

“Nice,” Afia compliments, taking note of the continued improvement in Solana’s aim. She waits for the younger woman to remove her earmuffs before applauding, “you’re a quick learner.”

Solana smiles, appreciative. “Thank you.” She looks back over at the target, seeing holes all around the dummy’s abdomen and shoulder, the areas Afia has taught her to always aim for. “You’re a great teacher.”

Afia grins, dipping her head and winking. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

In the few weeks they’ve trained and hung out together at the shooting range, Solana has learned a lot about the woman who is technically her sister-in-law. Starting with the fact that Afia is actually a retired master assassin, a member of an elite group of female assassins in her home country of Nigeria.

Learned how from a young child, like Roman, Afia was taught one thing and one thing only.

Kill or be killed.

That she was molded and shaped into the nonpareil killer that she is. That she was.

Because the Nigerian woman also shared how she walked away from it all, turned her back on her sisters, was disowned by her “family” the day she decided to choose love instead of violence.

How instead of choosing to kill Matteo, her intended target and assignment, she ended up falling in love with the man. A love that has withstood a tremendous amount of trials and tribulations but has remained strong and resulted in three beautiful children.

Solana admires her in so many ways and truly appreciates all the help and insight she’s provided.

It’s helped her in ways she’s not quite sure how to explain.

Afia looks Solana over, acknowledging, “you’re small and have a kind aura about you, Solana, but make no mistake, there’s definitely one hell of a fighter in there, too.”

Words that Solana takes to heart, that maybe just months ago, she wouldn’t agree with. She wouldn’t agree that anything about or in her comes remotely close to a fighter. But, the truth of the matter is that Solana has always been a fighter. A survivor. Overcome more adversity than anyone could ever realize.

Been burned by the fire but survived nonetheless.

She is fire.

It’s been a long journey, largely aided to and due to her husband, due to Roman doing something as simple as making her learn how to train, how to fight, something she’s learned to love and will miss throughout this pregnancy, but something she still holds with her.

That fight.

“Kinda hard to not at least try to catch up when surrounded by so many strong people,” Solana says with a small smile as the two women to start removing their bulletproof vests, clearly ready for a lunch break.

Afia chuckles softly, soft eyes focused ahead, as Bautista quietly escorts them to the cafeteria. “You’ve always been strong, Solana. It just maybe took you a little longer to realize it. That’s the case with a lot of women who’ve been told what they can and can’t do, who they are, and what they are and are not.” She casts the shorter woman a meaningful gaze, “but the truth is that there is no stronger being on this planet than a woman. Do you know why?” Solana shakes her head as the two women reach the door that Bautista holds open for them. Afia chuckles and steps forward, answering clearly and with zero hesitation. “Because just as easily as we can create life—” Something dark and intentful flashes in her pretty eyes, the lingering remnants of the killer that will always lie within. “We can take it, too.”

At one point in Solana’s life, not even a year ago, such a statement would unnerve her. Maybe even scare her a bit, but there’s something about the transformative journey she’s been on all these months that has her in such a different place.

The fact that she has not only one, but two lives, growing inside of her. Two daughters. All of that has her in such a different place with a different mindset than she had just some months ago when talking with her husband about her fear of how badly she hurt Wesley. Her fear of if she unintentionally would end up killing him.

Of killing in general.

Then, Solana told Roman she didn't think she could live with herself if she ever did such a thing.

Now, she no longer feels the way.

She would prefer to never be in that situation, to never have to make that call, but the truth of the matter is that if she had to, if she had to kill to protect, she would.

For herself.

For Roman.

For her daughters.

Because not only has she made a vow that no man would ever hurt her again, she’s made the same for her girls.

For her family.

She’ll do whatever it takes to protect them, to protect their lives.

Even if it means taking someone else’s.

Afia and Solana continue to engage in discussion about topics regarding life and training when that damn nausea returns, prompting Solana to place down the last bit of her sandwich as she covers her mouth.

Afia is forever perceptive and notices as such, asking, “are you alright?”

Solana nods, mustering up a small smile and trying to play it off. “Yes. The food is just.....probably not agreeing with me.”

It feels like a good answer, a good excuse. And, it is, if not for Afia being who she is.

The other woman chuckles quietly, asking in a low voice that’s not necessarily required given Roman had the entire shooting range cleared just for the two women to train. Something he’s done since their first lesson and will continue to do.

Afia’s gaze is assessing. “How far along are you?”

Solana, to the best of her abilities, tries to hide the complete shock that shoots through her body at Afia’s cavalier question. But, it’s difficult, to say the least. “Wh–what?”

“Solana…..” Afia leans across the table, placing her hand on top of Solana’s. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but we’re technically family, if our stubborn husbands would set aside their pride and talk things out, that is.” Another bombshell as Solana is unsure if Afia is referring to Matteo and Roman as cousins or the half-brothers that they really are. “And, I know this is a rare thing in this world, something that’s almost non-existent, but I promise that you can trust me. You have my word. On my childrens' life.”

Such a strong, powerful statement that Solana doesn't take lightly. That she believes. Because if there’s one thing she’s learned about the woman sitting across from her, it’s that Afia does not play about her family. Especially her children.

She’d never include them in something like that if she didn’t mean it.

It’s why Solana finds herself asking in a quiet voice, “how—how did you know?”

“I’m a mother myself, Solana. I’ve been there before with the morning sickness, the light headedness, the headaches.” Solana continues to sit stunned as Afia lists off some of the symptoms the wife of the Tribal Chief thought she’d hidden well enough when they hit her during her trainings. “The pregnancy glow.”

At that, Solana’s eyes light up. “I–I have that?”

Afia nods with a warm smile. “You do.”

There’s something about that, about that acknowledgement from another woman, another mother, that means the world to Solana.

“I’m—I’m three months,” she finally answers, confirming what Afia clearly already knows. “It’s–it’s twins.”

It’s always been discussed that the pregnancy should be kept private and will continue to be kept as such, but Solana knows that if she talks with Roman, explains how Afia knowing transpired, that he won’t be upset.

The same way she wasn’t upset when he told her how he told Ava and Dwayne about the pregnancy.

Family.

Ava. Dwayne. Afia.

They’re family, and Solana can only count the days until she can share her big news with the rest of her family.

“Twins?” Afia gasps, face filled with awe. “What a blessing.” Curiosity brimming, she inquires, “do you know the genders yet or…..”

“Girls,” Solana answers, hand over her belly, overcome with pride. “They’re both girls.”

“Solana….” Afia’s laughter is light and so joyful. “Congratulations. You are going to be an amazing mother.”

A compliment Solana could never tire of hearing. Reassurance she needs in some ways. “Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she wipes at her eyes, sharing, “it’s….it’s nice to finally be able to have someone to talk to about this, about….being pregnant.”

Afia laughs. More heartily this time. “Well, I am an open book for any questions you may have.” She smirks, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I do have some experience with this, you know.”

And Solana is instantly filled with such happiness, such relief in some ways, because having only her doctor and Roman talk to about her pregnancy is fine, but not enough in some ways. Because her doctor can only help from a medical standpoint, and Roman’s knowledge is obviously limited.

So, Afia, another woman, another mother, being available to offer insight is invaluable.

In more than one way.

“Afia….” Solana is the one to sit forward, gaze focused on the woman opposite her. “You know Matteo and Roman are brothers….don’t you?”

She has to. Her wording basically confirmed as such.

“I do,” she answers. Nothing more.

It’s not needed though.

“Then….then I need your help with something else, too.” Because this family has already been so broken, so shattered, so unhealed. It’s time to change that. Solana is determined to make a better, cohesive, healed future for her girls and this next generation of children.

“I’m listening.”

Solana takes a deep breath, pushing aside any amount of self-doubt. “I want to help Roman and Matteo actually be brothers.” She explains, offering with just as much determination, “our children will be cousins, and I want them to have a relationship. I want them to be close, but I don’t know if that can happen if Matteo and Roman don’t form some kind of relationship.”

Form a brotherhood.

Afia nods, clearly taking in all of the information, Solana a bit unsure if she should have waited. If maybe she came on too strong, that doubt trying to creep its way back in. And then, Afia smiles, simply asking,

“Where should we start?”

—------------

Roman wasn’t expecting to see his wife again until later in the evening. They both had busy days, her with her training with Afia and work, as well as him with work. So, he’s more than surprised when she shows up at his office looking every bit as fine as she is in a sexy, little red piece. It’s far too easy for him to bark for everyone to get the fuck out of his office so that he’s left alone with said wife.

But, as the room is quickly cleared, he can’t help but wonder what brings her to see him. She’s always a sight for sore eyes, but he can’t shake the feeling there’s something behind this surprise visit.

Her smile is bashful, something similar to shyness, a bit of a thing she’ll probably always have around her husband. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes move over her, a mixture of studying and admiring. Her body has always been divine, but the slight changes he’s noticed because of her pregnancy have only elevated her to a delectable category. “You alright?”

She nods. “Yeah, I just….I wanted to see you.”

Roman’s eyes flitter to something curious. “Baby, we just saw each other this morning.”

She shrugs with one shoulder and chews down on her bottom lip. “I know, but….” Solana looks around, focusing mostly on the door, almost expecting someone to walk in. To interrupt. Even though she has a feeling anyone with a brain knows not to interrupt the Tribal Chief when she’s around.

When his wife is present.

“Solana?”

Him calling her name pulls her from wandering thoughts. Solana redirects her focus back to him, trying her best to think on how to word it. In the car, on the way here, it seemed a lot more straightforward, but now standing here in front of him, it’s anything but.

“I…..” Solana breaks away from him, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it in one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. She feels his gaze never leave her as she hops up on his desk, ankles crossed. An intentional gesture. “Do—do you have a meeting soon?”

Curiosity gleams in his warm brown eyes as he walks over to her, a simple two steps with his long legs. “Define soon.” When she doesn’t answer, he skips right to the chase. “Solana, why are you really here?”

It’s not asked rudely, just something conceived from dire intrigue.

Solana leans forward, palming the edge of his desk for support. “You know I was…..I was cleared this morning,” she reminds. An unnecessary thing given Roman was right there next to her at her appointment this morning and heard that same things that she did. “I’m…..I’m not on pelvic rest anymore…..” Her voice slides into something quiet and unsure, similar to the way she’s looking at her husband. A husband whose face is filled with knowing and realization.

“Solana….” A pained, almost rough iteration of her name as he moves closer and lifts her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Why are you here?”

There’s something about how it’s asked, the heaviness and almost need in said question, the way Solana knows that Roman knows exactly why she’s here.

And she tells him just as much.

Just, in her own way.

Solana closes her knees together to force her husband a few steps back, and when he does so, she proceeds to lay back on his desk just enough to give her the room she needs. Sliding her dress up higher, dangerously high, it’s when she slowly spreads her legs once more and Roman’s eyes flint downward that she sees it.

Sees the way his jaw clenches, his eyes gloss over with an undeniable and unmistakable amount of lust.

“Fuck, Sol…..”

Her mouth slips into something similar to a smile. “Exactly.” She leans up just enough to reach for him, to pull her between her open legs that reveal her exposed cunt and the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear. Solana glides her hands up his chest, cupping his face, as she murmurs, “I want you…..”

Roman’s eyes shut, his voice strained. “Here?” He moves his hands to her hips, tugging her forward. “I would have come home….”

“We can do it again when you get home.” It comes out before she even really realizes what she’s saying, a shocking thing that takes them both back. Solana’s cheeks heat up as she clarifies, “if—if you want.”

“You know I always want that with you,” he assures, kissing the corner of her mouth. He looks at her, lust briefly replaced with all the seriousness. “Are you sure?”

It’s a question that doesn’t even require any sort of contemplation. “Yes.”

The ‘s’ has barely left her mouth when Roman smashes his lips over hers with a hunger that’s equally yoked. Solans moves her arms around her neck, pulling him closer, savoring the feel of his full lips on hers, the intimate, intricate dance of yearning and longing. Roman slides his tongue into her mouth, evoking a yawn as she tightens her thighs around his waist.

Roman groans and drops his mouth to her neck, Solana’s lips parting, her hands to the back of his neck as he sucks on her sensitive mouth and moves his hand over her breast, palming them. She moans and arches her back, oh so sensitive to his touch, a combination of it being far too long since they could be together in this way as well as the changes her body has started to undergo due to her pregnancy.

Solana moves her hands up to slide his suit jacket off, something Roman assists her with as he tosses it off in the distance, uncaring of how it falls onto the floor. He moves to kiss her again, Solana smiling into said kiss only to gasp when Roman nudges his hand in between her legs.

“You get so wet for me, baby…..” His tongue darts out and over his bottom lip, watching how the pleasure from just a simple touch has her head lolled back. “Lay back a bit for me, sweetheart.”

Solana doesn’t have to be told twice. Excitement fills her as she follows his request. Roman moves his hands to her hips, tugging her a bit forward on his desk as she rests on her elbows. Looking down at him, Solana watches his eyes gloss over with that returned lust, that hunger that always seems to fill him whenever they’re intimate.

“You have such a pretty pussy….” It’s the way he licks his lips and moves to his knees that has Solana’s nails scraping against the wood of his desk.

And, he hasn’t even touched her yet.

“Keep your legs open for me.” A soft, sultry command that doesn’t need issuance, Solana already adjusting her body and scooting down the desk. But, Roman quickly switches gears, deciding on something different.

“Fuck it.” Is the last thing Solana hears before her husband has his face buried into that sacred, dripping apex of her thighs.

“Roman,” she shouts, immediately biting down on her bottom lip to try to keep herself quiet, a difficult task as Roman sucks on her clit with all the urgency and need in the world. “Oh my…..” Her head falls back, her fingers moving to the top of his head. Solana moans as Roman adjusts her legs, one over each shoulder, heels falling off, her calves squeezing against his back.

His thick warm tongue working that magic over her most sensitive bud has her struggling to remain quiet, to not alert anyone outside of the safe space of his office just what carnal activities are transpiring.

He pulls away, and Solana just about loses it, “I wanna hear you, sweet girl. Stop being so quiet.”

Solana would love to look down at him, meet the dazed, lustful gaze that must fill his eyes, but head thrown back, chest heaving up and down from the sensations of it all make it hard to do so. The same way it’s damn near an arduous task to muster up a verbal reply. “It’s….your office….they’ll—shit—they’ll hear.”

Roman growls lowly and tugs her closer, Solana shooting up off the desk when he thrusts his tongue back inside her. “Ro!”

“Good,” he sounds, face immersed back into her pussy that has his beard soaked, her essence dripping and making a mess all over a $50,000 desk. “Let them.” He’s never been so unbothered. “Let them hear you’re mine.”

Solana whimpers and writhes as he continues to eat her out within an inch of her life, bringing her to kingdom come and back as she comes all over his face and into his mouth, the Tribal Chief lapping up every ounce of it like it’s his last supper. And Solana has truly gone too long without being intimate with her husband, because it’s almost naive on her part for her to think one is enough.

No. Roman has a minimum of two to three. Two to three times he has to make her come with his mouth, some assistance from his fingers but mostly that talented tongue of his. On several occasions, he’s made it clear, in several graphic ways, just how much he enjoys this. Enjoys going down on her, so much so that Solana has learned trying to push him away as she comes down from her orgasm only makes him pull her closer, as he starts his journey to bringing her to heaven all over again.

It’s too much and yet exactly what she’s been wanting. Been needing.

And it’s with that same need, she grabs him by the back of his head and presses their lips together, tasting herself on those same, talented, full lips when he’s finally and fully satiated.

Solana’s hands can’t move fast enough to reach for the belt, but she’s no match for the speed in which Roman has his pants undone and her perched on the edge of the desk, ready and waiting.

And the minute his thick mushroom head pushes into her, Solana grips his shoulders, the wince on her face more than enough to cause him to stop.

“You alright?” His voice drips with concern, Solana able to feel him pull back just enough, prompting her to shake her head.

“I’m fine,” she assures, holding him, pulling him closer. “It’s just….it’s been a while.” Too long. “Please—please don’t stop.” Because that’s absolutely not what she needs. She needs him, and she needs him now.

Roman still looks a bit reluctant, Solana silencing his doubts by pressing her lips against his and maneuvering her hand in between their bodies to reposition him. “Please….”

Roman obliges, Solana’s hand dropping and moving to grip his shirt as he carefully inches himself into her. She bites down on his shoulder, uncaring of the lipstick stain now on his shirt. “Oh my God…..”

It’s a bit of a burning sensation, somewhat painful, something similar to their first time, but it’s expected. Solana expected there to be some difficulty taking all of him again after such a long period of time. Doesn’t make her want him any less though. Want this any less.

He kisses her temple, asking. “You okay?”

A soft smile and sincere answer. “I’m okay.” Because it’ll never not move her with how attentive and caring he always is, even outside of their sex life, but it somehow seems more prominent in this aspect of their relationship.

Solana can absolutely tell and feel when he’s completely inside of her, an overwhelming sensation that’s been missed even more than she realized. She squeezes his shoulders, whining almost, “move….”

Again, always wanting to assess her comfort, Roman looks down at her, studying her face. Needing that reassurance, and the minute he receives it, Solana is already gasping, feeling him pull out just enough to slide back into her, the tip of his long, thick dick pressing that spot inside of her.

“Yes,” she moans, the pleasure easily and quickly overpowering any amount of discomfort. “Ro….”

His thrusts intensify by the seconds that pass, the slick feeling of her pussy, hugging and tugging his dick with all the need. “Like that, baby?”

“Yes.” She cries, overwhelmed in the best sort of way. “Just—just like that, oh—”

Solana moans when Roman moves his hand under her ass, lifting her up just enough to switch and change up the angle. God, he feels so good.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Roman’s voice is heavy and deep with need, his mouth traveling the perimeter of his face. “Missed being inside this pussy.”

Solana feels numb, feels so many, too many things to say anything. Can only continue to lock her ankles above Roman’s ass as he fucks into her, his hips thrusting against and into her, driving her delirious in some ways.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Sol.” Roman tips her forward once more, eager and needing to dig into her, to continue to feel her come undone around him. “Good ass pussy gripping my shit like this.”

“You’re so deep.” It’s impossible how much he fills her, the fullness that consumes her, the pleasure that he brings her. “Mmm feels amazing, papi.”

“Fuck, Sol,” Roman curses, squeezing her ass, pumping into her harder, deeper. “If you weren’t already pregnant….”

Solana smiles as he buries his face into her neck, his mouth ghosting over the collarbone of her fully healed tattoo. The tattoo for him. A reminder of her love and devotion to him.

It’s that devotion that fills her and drives her to make him look at her, her hands cupping his face, “mine.”

His eyes shut, his forehead pressed against hers, vowing, “yours.” She clenches around him, both nearly coming in that same moment. “Always yours.”

Solana gasps, intakes sharply as he claims her mouth in a kiss that’s broken by her moan, loud and heavy. “I love you,” she whimpers, nails digging into his clothed shoulders. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, baby,” he murmurs, never once stopping his delicious thrusts, his determination to bring her over the edge, to take her to that wonderful place only he knows the way to is unwavering. And with each thrust, with each reminder of his love and devotion for her, Solana’s caring for who, if anyone, overhears dwindles.

She doesn’t care.

This is her husband.

The father of her children.

The Tribal Chief, and she, his wife.

His a faletua.

The Wife of The Tribal Chief.

She can do whatever she damn well pleases.

And she does, as she comes, still uncaring of anyone hearing her moans, of how vocal she is at how good her husband makes her feel. The way she savors in the way he once again buries himself into her neck, groping her big breast as he too reaches his climax, emptying his seed all into her. Solana clutches her legs around him, wanting all of it. Everything he has, she wants.

In all the ways.

She holds onto him, enjoying the feel of his big, strong body leaning, resting into hers. She kisses his temple, again reaffirming her love for him.

And after a few minutes of silence, he speaks, voice low with lingering need. “You need to come visit me every day.”

She giggles, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just might.” He’s still buried inside of her, growing soft, but she swears she feels his dick jerk at her reply. “My….drive has been…..high.”

Because, it has. Because while Solana has completely understood the need for pelvic rest and would do so for the rest of her pregnancy to keep her babies safe and healthy if necessary, the lifting of said restriction is something she’s also very much looked forward to the past few weeks. Especially as her sex drive has spiked ten levels. Another pregnancy symptom.

One she’s elated to no longer have to suppress.

The implication with her pronunciation of the word drive makes Roman look up, his gaze filled with desire and baseline level of excitement. “I can take care of that.”

She smiles, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips, whispering, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, closing the gap between them, leaning over her body, laying her back on the desk. Solana giggles against his mouth, already feeling—in more ways than one—where this is headed.

Would be headed.

“....I keep trying to tell you, Roman don’t care if I go—OH MY GOD!”

Solanna’s scream of horror is just about what and what with Jimmy’s as he quickly scrambles to shut the door. Solana tries to hide her face into her husband’s chest, her husband who barks at his cousin to “get the fuck out!”

Embarrassment fills her as the two of them move to separate, Roman looking every bit as irritated—or enraged—as he feels. Solana’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with continued horror, the sound of Jimmy outside the door a soundtrack to this quite unexpected scene.

“Alicia! Get the bleach! And the Lysol! And the CDC! I need one of them yellow suits they had in Monster’s Inc!

—----------

Roman was in a decent mood after starting the day off with Solana’s OB-GYN appointment and was in an even better mood when his wife surprised him with a visit. A visit that resulted in them being intimate intimate again after far too long. But, that better mood was immediately squashed the moment his dumbass cousin interrupted them, the same cousin who sits at the same conference table as himself, Dwayne, Matteo, and the Wise Man, still going on and on about what happened a good two hours ago.

“Don’t make no damn sense,” Jimmy scowls, randomly spraying Lysol around him, setting the personal sized can on the table. “Ya’ll couldn’t go somewhere else?”

Roman’s expression is every bit as bored as his tone. “It’s my office, Jimmy.” He lifts his eyes, voice even as he reminds. “I’ll fuck my wife all over that space if I want to.”

It’s then that Matteo gives a look of understanding. “Is that what you’re so upset about?” He asks Jimmy, scoffing and sharing. “I’ve done the same with my wife plenty of times in my office. It’s normal.”

“And, I don’t have a wife, but Lord knows I’ve done some things in my office as well.” Dwayne smirks, leaning back into his chair.

Jimmy makes a face, mocking the two men. “This ain’t about ya’ll!” He dismisses them, pointing to himself. “This is about me. I am a victim!”

Matteo looks toward his brother and asks in Italian. “Is he always like this?”

Roman rolls his shoulders, answering in the same language. “Unfortunately.”

“I mean, that’s why they make bedrooms. Ya’ll could have done that shit at ya’ll damn house,” Jimmy continues to object, shaking his head, nose turned up. “It was like walking in on my little sister or something.”

Roman rolls his eyes, suddenly curious. “You really think we’ve only had sex in our bedroom at our house?”

At one point, the answer was yes. When they first started being intimate, Solana still growing into her comfortability with sex, yes. It was limited to the bedroom, as that was her comfort level. But now? Especially in the days and weeks following her return from treatment? Roman has easily made his wife come on every available space in that damn house.

A realization that has Jimmy just about ready to throw up. “You mean I been contaminated?” His eyes are wide and filled with horror as he lifts the can of Lysol, spraying much more than necessary, evoking a fit of heavy, violent coughs from the asthmatic Wise Man. “I’m suing!”

Dwayne and Matteo share a chuckle at the ever dramatic Jimmy, while Roman decides it’s time to switch gears.

It’s time to get to business.

He sits forward, asking in an unmistakably irritated voice. “Where are your brothers and dad, Jimmy?”

It’s a shift in tone and energy that makes all the men sit up straight, even Jimmy, who answers, “I don’t know, man. They knew to be here.”

“But, they’re not,” Roman finishes. He glances at the expensive watch on his wrist, frustration growing exponentially seeing they’re almost 15 minutes late.

Unacceptable.

“Wise Man.”

Paul stands up almost immediately. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Call—” Roman’s directive is interrupted by the arrival of the missing parties themselves. In walks in Rikishi, followed by his sons, Solo and Jey.

All wear unreadable expressions with the exception of Jey who looks annoyed, and that only pisses Roman off more.

To show up late to a meeting called by the Tribal Chief is one thing. To show up late and deepen that disrespect by looking irritated is a whole other level of contempt.

Roman rolls his shoulders and tries to settle himself by focusing on the objective of said meeting.

Even if that same objective is most likely going to exacerbate an already tense situation.

Once everyone is settled, Wise Man naturally steps into the role of mediator.

“Gentlemen, thank you for your attendance today,” he starts out, Roman partially listening, mostly focused on how Jey is focused on the wall of windows across the room rather than the discussion that’s about to change everything. Like, he doesn't care.

It’s infuriating.

“Your Tribal Chief has called this meeting today for a very important reason given the….less than unfortunate events that have transpired over the past few weeks and months.” Unfortunate is one way to put it. “Now, please understand, your Tribal Chief has thought long and hard on how to proceed and respond to these events in a way that is fair and just, but still—”

“You’re all out.”

Roman’s interruption is short, blunt, and concise. A simple sentence with a hefty weight behind it.

Rikishi is the first to respond. He sits forward, removing his glasses. “Excuse me?”

Solo and Jey exchange confused expressions.

“You’re all hereby removed from my cabinet and relieved of any current, higher up Bloodline duties,” Roman continues his explanation, also sitting forward, studying the non-verbals of each man. “Solo, you’re also removed from Solana’s security detail. You and Jey will be joining the trainers and training new recruits. Rikishi, your primary task will be whatever the Elders assign you with. Just know it won’t be coming from me.”

“Is this a joke?” It’s the first thing to come out of Jey’s mouth as he looks over at Jimmy who’s also just as confused. An expected thing given this was a decision made between Roman, Dwayne, and even Matteo, given how closely connected he’s come to Bloodline business. Especially as he was privy to Jey’s latest and last outburst. “You gotta be fucking with me?”

Roman’s voice is even and challenging. “Do I look like I’m joking?” A rhetorical question to a stupid ass question.

“Roman, this is madness,” Rikishi objects, his voice also even as he looks between his two fellow ousted sons. “How can you—”

“You all have disrespected me, disrespected my reign, my leadership in one way or another.” He’s tempted to add in ‘my wife’, but ultimately goes against it, already knowing they’ll try to say this is personal. Even if, in some ways, it is. “I don’t stand for that shit from anyone.” Not even family. “I’ve killed for less.”

And, they all know this.

“Fucking training?” Jey sneers, slamming his fist on the table. “You demoting me to a goddamn trainer?”

Roman growls, reminding, “you’re lucky demoting you is all I’m doing.” The Tribal Chief doesn’t hesitate to remind his hot headed cousin of the straw that broke the camel’s back. “That shit you pulled at the party was fucking unacceptable, Jey. Acting a fucking fool on neutral territory in the presence of Escobar and his men? You should have fucking known better.”

Jey responds by jumping up out of his seat, chair falling back onto the floor. “This some bullshit, Roman, and you know it!”

Jimmy also stands up, moving over to try to calm down his brother as Dwayne breaks his silence. “Your temper makes you a liability, Jey. We can’t have that.”

“You either learn to control it, or it’ll control you,” Matteo advises, studying the way Solo remains surprisingly calm in the face of upsetting news. It’s….interesting, to say the least.

Jey growls, “man, you stay the fuck out of this! You ain’t even fucking family!”

“That’s enough, Jey,” Jimmy tries to advise, even though Jey is clearly past the point of conversing. “Roman, this ain’t…..this ain’t a forever thing, right?”

Roman feels all eyes on him as he answers without hesitation. “We’ll see.”

It’s only then Solo gives some indication of his true feelings. Rage. Slowly, he stands, and as he does so, Matteo sits forward, as if ready and waiting. But, Rikishi places a hand on his son’s shoulder. The two share a look before the Elder responds, “is this really what you want to do, Uce?”

No. Truth be told, it’s not really what Roman wants to do, because while he’s always butted heads with Jey at various points over the years, like he’d told Solana that one time, he knows—or knew—the twins always had/have his back. And vice versa. Knew they’d die for him the same way he’d die for them.

But, things have changed. Feelings have changed. Whatever lied dormant all these years has resurfaced, and Roman has no idea if, and when, it’ll settle.

And what he ultimately wants to avoid is the other alternative. The one that he and Jey utilized years prior.

Tribal Combat.

Something Roman was victorious in at that time, but not something he wants to have for a second round. Because the stakes are higher this round, much higher. Because while Roman was simply allowed to defeat his cousin and call it resolved the first time. The second time, he won’t be as lucky.

This time, with everything that’s happened, Jey’s public display of disrespect, Roman can’t just defeat Jey in combat.

He’d have to kill him.

It would be to the death.

And while Roman isn’t sure he could ever admit this aloud to anyone, not even Solana, it doesn’t negate the fact that deep down, he’s not sure if he could do it.

He doesn't know if he could kill Jey, and not because of lack of ability but lack of want.

He doesn’t want to kill Jey.

So, that’s why this route is the route he must take, and it’s why he answers calmly, “yes.”

And, it’s with that, his decision is made. Final and without appeal options. Roman motions for the Wise Man to see the now three disgraced men out of his office, his flushed face advisor moving to point and usher the four men out.

Jimmy leaves with his brothers and father.

It’s only when he’s alone with his cousin and half brother, Roman sees Dwayne nod, advising, “you made the right decision, brotha’.”

“You made the only decision,” Matteo agrees.

Roman looks away, silent and questioning.

Because while the satisfaction of knowing one problem has been handled should settle the Tribal Chief, the nagging feeling that another entirely different one has just been created is something he can’t push away.

—-----------

It’s a battle of senses. Roman’s sense of smell fights with his auditory system as he steps foot into the home. He smells the delicious aroma of whatever his beautiful wife has prepared for them this evening, and he also hears the music that’s playing through the speaker system throughout the home.

A small smile falls on his face as he walks gingerly toward the room where the music seems the loudest and the scent of dinner—and more—lures him.

Roman proceeds gingerly when he’s in the vicinity of seeing her, but her not seeing him. The smile is conjoined with a warm feeling that only she evokes as he realizes not only is she singing along—he loves to hear her sing—but she’s playfully dancing around the kitchen as well.

Roman maintains his safe distance to secure his ability to observe. To see the big smile on her beautiful face as she moves around the kitchen, one of those god-awful shirts Jimmy has made for him every Christmas on her frame that Solana stumbled across and has commandeered for herself ever since. And with her is Dulce, tail wagging, jumping up on her hind legs every so often as she “dances” with her mom.

But, it’s the way she occasionally brings her hand to her stomach, lovingly, protectively, that moves Roman the most. The way her eyes briefly close, clearly taking in this moment of pure bliss and long-deserved happiness.

A similar feeling for him as well.

This. This is what he needs. Her. Her light. Her love. The balm she is for him on even his hardest days, and today is definitely up there on the list of difficult times.

You got a fast car

Is it fast enough so we could fly away?

Still gotta make a decision

Leave tonight, or live and die this way

A brief thought crosses Roman’s mind, an idea that prompts him to step away and head for his office. Hitting the light, he moves over to the bookcase set where his Canon sits. Years of experience allows him to switch the lenses and adjust the settings in a matter of minutes, allowing him to return without alerting his wife of his presence.

He starts with photos, snapping and capturing this moment in still shots. But then, the desire to bottle all of it—audio and video included, fills him, prompting him to switch to the record option. Roman watches her through the viewfinder, admiration abundant.

So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights laid out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder

And I, I had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Solana spins around and laughs at the sight of Dulce also spinning around, but it’s also in that moment she becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone.

Solana shouts in a mixture of surprise and fear, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Roman!” It’s the initial shock of seeing he’s present followed by the awareness that he’s also recording. “No. Ro, I look terrible!” She tries to hide her face, prompting him to remind her of what he’ll gladly spend the rest of his life doing.

“You look beautiful.” His compliment grants him her dropping her hands just enough to give away the fact that she’s hiding a smile. “You always do.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, just nervously darts her eyes up and down, asking, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Roman stops the video and lowers the camera to walk over to her. Solana leans up and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him, as he murmurs, "missed you today.”

Because, he has. Any moment not spent with her and instead spent dealing with bullshit just intensifies that ache and borderline empty feeling he has whenever she’s not around.

Her smile is wry and playful. “You just saw me this afternoon.”

Roman absolutely picks up on the fact that she’s teasing him from his response to seeing her this afternoon, prompting him to remind her, “I did more than just see you, baby.”

“Roman!” She squeals when his hand drops to her bountiful ass, giving a squeeze. “Stop it.”

He’ll do no such thing, but he will allow her to bring him over to the stove. One hand holding his, Solana uses the other to stir around whatever is in the pot. She then grabs another smaller spoon, scooping up some and lifting it to his mouth. “Try this.”

He does so, easily. It only takes a second for the taste to set in. “It’s delicious,” he compliments. “But, everything you make is good as fuck, Sol. You know this.”

Her cheeks redden, as she explains, “it’s a new recipe I was trying. Got it from Afia. It’s Nigerian. Something called Gizdodo,” she says the name with uncertainty, sheepishly admitting, “I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“Solana, I love everything you make.” He loves everything about her, including and especially her excellent culinary skills. “Except that damn soup.”

Solana rolls her eyes, taking the spoon to toss it in the sink. “Roman, don’t start with that.”

“It’s not that it’s not good,” he defends. “It’s good as hell. There’s just nothing to it, and I’m hungry an hour later.”

Solana rolls her eyes and moves over to him, hands on his chest. “Ro, you’re hungry an hour later even when I don’t fix you soup.”

“Yeah, but I’m hungrier when it’s soup.”

Shaking her head, she goes to take the camera from him, pointing out of the kitchen. “Go change, so we can eat. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Roman answers by kissing her temple and lightly slapping her ass, prompting her to giggle as she playfully pushes him away. Dulce barks from the floor, clearly wanting his attention as well. Chuckling, he kneels down and pets her. “Hey girl,” he gives her a brief belly rub before sending her to resume her stalking of Solana by the stove.

15 minutes later, he’s out of his work clothes, dressed in sweats and a short sleeved shirt, finding his wife still by the stove. He realizes she has the same song as before playing clearly on repeat.

Roman moves behind her, arms around her waist as she leans back into him, explaining softly, “my mother loved this song.” A quiet admission as he kisses her temple in a comforting gesture. “She—she used to play the original all the time while she cooked, and I used to dance with her, and in those moments, everything was fine. It was just….just me and her, and we were happy…..I was happy.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just allows her to speak and share freely. He knows she's been working with Gail on processing her confusing feelings towards her mom and would never do anything to make her feel invalidated. Hate. Grief. Love.

It's all valid.

Her eyes shut, and she sighs heavily. “We’re not going to be like them, Ro.” Solana turns her head to look up at him. “We’re not going to be like our parents.”

It’s one of the easiest things he could agree to, and some of it, he can’t deny, is due to the conversations he’s had with Lita about the very same thing. “No. We’re not.”

She smiles, but it’s small, weighed down with memories of the past. He can relate entirely. “They’re gonna have a childhood.” She turns around again, so her head remains tilted back into his strong chest. Roman’s hand snakes down to her belly, protective placement. “A happy one…”

He’s in agreement. 1000%, but there’s something about her sentiment, a combination of all the conversations they’ve had the past few weeks that has him sharing something he’s gone from briefly contemplating to seriously considering.

“Sol….” She looks back up at him, expression expectant. Roman lifts his hand to her cheek, index and thumb gently tipping her chin. “Let’s move.”

Naturally, she’s confused, her smile almost reluctant. “W…what?”

“Not out of state,” he clarifies. Though, if possible, he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that either. Away from all these damn people. “A new house.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “A new house?”

The shock in her voice makes him chuckle. He nods. “Yes, baby. A new house.” The hand on her stomach moves around in a small circle. “Let’s build something. You tell me what you want in it, and I’ll have it made.” Solana continues to look astounded, Roman adding in a small voice. “A nice backyard for them….”

Solana turns around, forcing his hands down and to her hips. “You’re….you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he answers. Roman lifts his hand to the small of her back, further explaining as he looks around. “This place is mine, and it’s been mine for years. It’s yours too, but it’s got more me than you, and I want it to be us.” He moves to cup her face, asking gently, “does that make sense?”

Because this house has been solely Roman's for so long, holds so many memories and experiences that no longer represent the future he wants. This was his bachelor home.

And, that's not what he wants anymore.

He wants a family home.

He wants to give his wife the home she wants and his daughters the kind of home that they deserve.

“It does.” Solana slides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck, her lips curving into a wide smile. “We can really build our own house?”

He chuckles. “We can do anything you want, Solana.”

She giggles, scoffing in disbelief. “Then….” She bounces a little against him, a clear sign of excitement. “Then let’s build a house.” Roman smiles as she moves to hug him, gasping and asking, “wait, I can design my own kitchen?”

“I’m certainly not going to do it,” he answers, chuckling when she slaps his arm. He watches how delight fills her eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she muses, sharing with continued elation. “I can have a kosher kitchen!”

“I have no idea what that means, but sure.”

Solana rolls her eyes and hugs him again, murmuring into his chest, “thank you.” And before he can remind her once again that she never has to thank him for anything he does for her, she peers up at him with those mischievous eyes. “Gotta start preparing for our six kids, huh?”

She’s quick to move away, giggling and opening cabinets to pull out plates. “Don’t start with that shit again, Solana.” Her laughter continues, a stark contrast to the serious expression on his face. He’s almost certain that one sentence alone has spiked his blood pressure. But, it pales in comparison to what his numbers must be when he catches onto something. “Did you just say six?”

—---------

His breathing is heavy, her fingers gliding up and across the sheen of sweat across his back. Roman continues to pulse inside of her, coming down from yet another shattering orgasm, every drop of his cum depleted inside of her addictive pussy.

Solana kisses his temple, evoking a contented sigh. Carefully, Roman lowers one of her legs from off his shoulder and removes himself from her, plopping down on the bed beside her. Seconds later, she’s moving on top of him, laying against him.

“Ya know…..” Solana pants, clearly trying to catch her breath. “For someone who claims he doesn’t want a lot of kids, you sure do love doing the thing with me that can give us all those kids.”

He scoffs, explaining, “you’re already pregnant. I don’t need to be careful.”

Curious, Solana inquires, “and when I’m not pregnant anymore?”

Roman shrugs, continuing to glide his fingers up and down her arm. “Then, we’ll be careful.”

A scowl falls on her face, Solana unwilling to hide her displeasure or her stance. “I’m not getting on birth control. I don’t want to.” And she knows he won’t make her either. Will respect that decision and her. “So we start using protection–

Roman is immediately shutting that shit down. “I’m not using condoms.”

Solana smiles knowingly, burying her face into his chest.

No condoms.

No birth control.

She’s certain she’ll end up pregnant again in a matter of months after the twins are born.

Roman will just have to deal with the “consequences” of them being so sexually active without any barriers to protect them from pregnancy.

He’ll be fine.

She snuggles even closer to him, dwelling in the comfort that always comes with being pressed against his body. He always makes her feel so safe when they’re cuddled together, but there’s something about this time that deters that. A feeling that nudges at her, prevents her from doing so, from getting comfortable, because it feels so obvious.

It’s why she sits up and looks down at her husband, asking, “what’s wrong?”

Solana is expecting him to deflect. She knows he’s been trying hard, working hard in therapy, to be more open with her, but it’s still a struggle. So, it partially surprises her when he answers, “I need to talk to you about something.”

And right away, she knows she’s not going to like whatever he’s about to share. “O—okay.”

Roman’s hesitation is visible and palpable. “I know….I know you want this pregnancy to be as normal as possible, and I want that too. I want to be able to give you that—”

“And you can,” she cuts in, anxiety rising with the way her chest is starting to feel a little tight. She thought they already discussed this. “You have.”

His eyes briefly dart to the side of the room. “Years ago, when there was….a protocol when the wife of the Tribal Chief was pregnant. She....she would spend the pregnancy….away.”

Yeah…..Solana knew she wasn’t going to like this conversation.

At all.

She sits up completely. “Roman, what are you saying?” His silence is damning. “Are—are you sending me away?”

“No.” A relieving answer preceded by a stressful follow-up. “Not…not unless I have t—Solana.” He stops mid-explanation as she kicks the sheets off and moves to get out of the bed. “Sol—”

“No,” she cuts him off, voice icy and slicing. Solana looks over at him, face filled with confusion and distress. “I can’t—I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”

Roman also sits up, running his hand over his face. He knew this wouldn’t be something she would enjoy hearing, but it’s something she needs to hear regardless. “Baby—”

He tries to reach for her, only for Solana to jerk away from him as she rises out of the bed. He ultimately decides to let her leave, closing his eyes when she slams the door to the bathroom.

“Fuck….”

Again, it’s not that he expected Solana to be thrilled about this, especially as they’d discussed just this morning just how excited she was about all of this. About experiencing this pregnancy with him, and he can’t deny that those confused feelings he was experiencing about said pregnancy at the beginning have started to gradually shift to something likened with excitement.

That there was a sense of joy that filled him hearing confirmation that Solana is in fact pregnant with twin girls. Just like their dreams.

Dreams that have slowly been becoming a reality, but there’s also a darkness to his reality. One that places Solana in a tremendous amount of danger once news of her pregnancy starts to reach the wrong ears.

And while there is some hint of decreasing that danger by “leaking” the fact that she’s carrying girls and not a boy, so not an heir, that’s something Roman could never be okay with. Nor does it take away the danger of her pregnancy being “public,” because her pregnancy, no matter how they could try to spin it, just puts an even bigger target on her head.

And, it’s that target that he finds him struggling with. It’s been there since the day she became his wife, but the fact that it’s even bigger, or will be, is unsettling to him. It’s why he’s found himself thinking of ways to minimize that risk, and the biggest, possibly best way, would be to have Solana spend the rest of the pregnancy in hiding of sorts.

He’d maybe even consider letting her go to Mexico. Let her be around with family. But clearly, she’s not okay with any of that.

At all.

And, it’s not as if he’s thrilled about it either, because while he’s still working through feelings about being a dad, there’s a small part of him that feels a sense of grief at possibly not being able to experience that with her. Her first pregnancy. Their first pregnancy.

But, that grief is largely outweighed by his desire to protect her. Protect them.

He’ll do anything to keep his family safe.

Anything.

The sound of the shower running alerts Roman to the fact that Solana won’t be coming back to bed anytime soon, which is why he finds himself kicking the covers back, finding and sliding on his boxers and stepping over to the bathroom.

He’s not surprised to find the knob unlocked, already knowing she just wanted space in the moment, not to not be around him at all.

It’s why he quietly closes the door behind him and walks over to the shower, seeing the backside silhouette of her nude frame standing under the running water. Roman removes his boxers and is careful, meticulous in the way he opens the shower door to join her without actually disturbing her.

Naturally, he moves to stand beside her, his arms around her, gently turning her around to face him.

“Shit.” Roman knew he upset her, expected as such. He just didn’t know how much he upset her, because the water droplets swimming down her face, trickling from her bangs can’t hide the fact that she’s clearly crying.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he’s immediately apologizing, kissing her forehead, eyes shutting. “Please don’t cry.” Because she’s the only person on this earth that he actually cares about upsetting. It’s the last thing he ever wants to do.

The sound of her sniffling is a punch to his gut, but not as painful as what fills him hearing her soft, quiet, desperate response. “Please don’t send me away.” He looks down, meeting her teary, scared eyes. She shakes her head. “I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”

Sentiments she’s expressed before, especially after her nightmare a few weeks back, but something she obviously feels the need to reiterate.

“I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but—but not that.” She swallows, her voice shifting into something more determined, fierce almost. “I am with you. Always. No matter what.” She moves her hands up to his face, whispering, “to the end, Ro.” Head tilted, lips pressed together, she asks in a quiet voice. “Okay?”

Roman nods. He won’t risk further upsetting her. She can’t afford it. Not…not in her condition.

He leans down to kiss her before reaching for the wash cloth laid across the shelf and motioning for her to turn around so he can wash her. An act of love and affection that she reciprocates for him before they both find their way back to bed, Solana sleeping peacefully atop him.

But, it’s short lived sleep for Roman who eventually escapes the sanctuary of their bed and trades it for the seat outside on their balcony.

Something....something is off.

He can't put his hand on on it, but he feels it. The situation with Jey, Rikishi, and Solo could be it, probably is a large part of it, why Roman can't shake this uneasy feeling.

It could be Cosa Nostra related, because things have been quiet on that end. Perhaps too quiet. But, Dwayne and Matteo continue to reiterate that the few men they trust back in Italy continue to keep them in the loop, and nothing has raised alarm.

Matteo has even been ever transparent regarding the reports he sends back to the Administration regarding Roman's activity. All truthful. Nothing damning.

But, all of that is what makes it so difficult for the Tribal Chief, because a tangible issue is a solvable issue. An invisible one is nothing but a possibility that may be nothing.

Or may be something.

And Roman knows he would have to have something to justify sending Solana away. She would need a clear answer, an explanation as to why he's doing the very thing she begged him not to do. And telling her it's because he has a hunch that something is off simply won't cut it.

Roman sits there for a good half hour, thinking, overthinking, and something beyond that even. He goes over it all, from the moment he first met his wife to the moment just a few hours ago where he agreed to her request. He evaluates it all, not from Roman, the man in love with his wife, but from The Tribal Chief, the protector.

The warrior and fighter who recognizes the one and ultimate goal in this situation.

Protection.

Because he lost his family once before.

He won’t lose them again.

Eventually, Roman walks back into the room. He moves over to the side of the bed where Solana is on her side, sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the decision her husband has come to.

He crouches down beside her, watching her, studying her face before his attention drifts downward. To her stomach.

Wordlessly, he reaches a hand to place it atop the thin sheet, settling it atop her belly, those damn feelings intensifying all over again.

“I don’t know a lot about any of this.” Something he’s gradually coming to grips with with every day that passes where he learns something new about the two tiny human beings growing inside of his wife. Roma’s eyes fill with something that can only be likened to dedication. “But….one thing I do know how to do is how to keep you safe.” His voice is low, whispered, drenched with vulnerability that would never leave the sanctuary of this space. “And, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and her safe.” His eyes fill with a sense of dread, regret, and immense determination. “Even if she ends up hating me for it.”

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #roman reigns x black!oc #arisnotebook

134 notes · View notes

seokminfilm · 2 days ago

Text

into it | joshua hong

🪄 pairing, joshua hong x reader

🪄 warnings, non-idol au, model joshua x personal assistant reader, fluff, enemies to lovers, reader has some creative ways of insulting joshua, flirty joshua, joshua doesn't take reader seriously, romantic tension goes INSANE, open ending (??)

🪄 summary, everyone knows you hate joshua hong with a passion. do you really hate him though? or are you just in denial because he's just your type?

🪄 author's note, do you guys ever have that one-sided beef with a person that you really don't even know WHY you have that beef? that's me w joshua ngl 😭 ANYWAYS this was requested by my pookie @yudaies (knowing i would lose it if she asked me to....which she did anyways)!! hope you enjoy you evil woman 🤍 ALSO TWO PSAS: 1) i'm going to start writing my shorter fics in lowercase just to minimize the stress i have with capitalization errors! longer/full-story fics will be properly capitalized, but the shorter, quicker fics i do will be in all lowercase!! 2) please take the poll regarding the length of fics you all wanna see from me so i can know what to do in the future! thank you lots lyrnation!!

🪄 now playing, you right, doja cat, the weeknd & into it, chase atlantic

the flash of cameras was still kind of new to you, and you stood in the back of the room, surveying the action from afar. photographers surrounded joshua like he was some sort of new bacteria discovery, and he stood with a simple expression, a sultry look in his doe-like brown eyes as he gave a small smile to the cameras surrounding him.

being stuck as joshua hong's personal assistant seemed like a dream to every disillusioned teenage girl, but you knew the harsh reality of it. you weren't looking for the spotlight, but joshua still had a way of stealing it from you, even if you were doing simple things like ordering him coffee or picking up his tailored suits.

it was common knowledge to all of your coworkers that you had some undiscovered vendetta against the man. when your friends sang his praises, you had to add water to the fire, raining on their parade.

to the outside world, joshua hong was a visual of composed grace. he has this sickening 'gentleman' agenda he was pushing for himself, and the cute, sweet gaze in his wide brown eyes made your skin pulse with annoyance.

in fact, you were almost 100% convinced the man was ai-generated, given a perfect smile and smooth voice to match his "unreal" visuals (of course they were unreal─he probably was unreal, for god's sakes).

the photo op came to an end after 30 minutes of trailing behind him for interviews and outfit fittings, and you could breathe a sigh of relief, grateful you wouldn't have to see him say thank you with that stupid, rich-sounding, hot l.a. accent, and─

"is my schedule done for the day?" the voice you were just fuming over is heard from behind you, and you turn around, a sour smile on your face as joshua smiles sweetly at you. curse his stupid pretty crescent eyes and his stupid adorable scrunched nose.

"you have one more fitting for the upcoming photoshoot tomorrow morning, and then you're done for the day," you say blankly, thanking the staff member who returned joshua's personal belongings to you.

"are you okay? you seem like you're in a sour mood─although, you always seem like that," joshua teases lightly, chuckling to himself as he stuffs his phone in his dress pants' pocket.

"of course i'm always in a sour mood, mr. hong. you do realize that i hate seeing the flashing cameras all the time." you lie straight through your teeth, and joshua nods with faux sympathy, a smirk behind his eyes.

"of course, i can understand that. i just can't help but wonder if you're annoyed by the flashes or my "glittering smile"." joshua echoes the compliment a newscaster gave him moments earlier, and you grumble to yourself, tempted to flip joshua off.

"let's just go. your nice clean rolls royce is waiting for you." you step out of the way dramatically, and joshua bows to you, obviously towering over you as he struts out of the double doors. his white heels click against the sidewalk, and you grit your teeth, sliding beside him into the back row of the car as you sigh.

the weather is nice, complimenting the busy day you've had. joshua takes his phone from his pocket, taking pictures of the cloud-free sky from behind the window, probably going to be posted to his instagram.

"hey, can you take these pictures for me? i think i'm going to upload them to my instagram," joshua hands you his phone, and you roll your eyes, having guessed his words just seconds earlier.

sighing, you hold his phone up, preparing to snap the picture. joshua puts his model face on quickly, face falling into a suave expression as his eyes sparkle with the sun's rays from outside.

the small, attractive smirk on his face is one that makes your uneasy stomach churn for reasons you want to ignore, and you hand him his phone back, turning away to hide your peering eyes.

"these are really good! why aren't you a photographer?" joshua asks lightly, and you shrug, answering the question against your will.

"photographing doesn't pay as well as babysitting a model for five days a week." you smile dryly, and joshua chuckles, voice melodic as he nods.

"you're not babysitting me. if anything, i'm babysitting you. especially with that bad attitude," joshua has a dramatic scowl on his face, that he loses in seconds when he chuckles at your strained reaction.

"i'm just joking with you, lighten up." he gives you a light bump with his shoulder, flawless skin clear and illuminated by the light as you sigh.

"you know, that outfit you're wearing is really nice on you. i don't think I've seen you wear it before." joshua's compliment shatters your whole "hating joshua hong" agenda, and your cheeks heat up against your will, to which you temporarily give up, sighing as you glance over at him.

his eyes are already on your figure, and the gentle smile he's giving you makes you want to lunge at him and rearrange his face so that he doesn't look so majestic. not that you thought that he looked majestic or anything. he was just an average guy.

"thanks." you reply, although it sounds more like a question than a harsh appreciation. joshua nods, crossing his legs as he politely adjusts his styled hair. his gold studs glitter in the sunshine, and the cologne he must have put on before the event lingers, clouding your mind more than you'd like.

"you don't look too bad yourself. the styling...really wasn't a bad choice this time." the compliment you give back sounds so forced it's laughable, but joshua ignores this or doesn't catch on (you believe it's the former).

"thank you. i think the harsh critiquing you gave the staff last time really paid off," joshua adds, looking over to you with that stupid sweet look in his eyes. trying not to shudder, you just shrug, playing it off the best you can.

"it's what i'm supposed to do." you shrug again, letting out a quiet sigh as you lapse into silence. something is lingering in the air, and you do your best to deny what it is.

"you know, even if you do your best to pretend you hate me, i know you don't," joshua says after a moment of silence, and you freeze, eyes blown wide as your cheeks flare a dark red again.

"and how do you know, joshua?" you use his first name, stepping up to the bait joshua may have thrown for you. he leans back in his seat, legs leisurely crossed as he smirks to himself, eyes closed.

"be honest with yourself. do you really hate me that much?" the question, however simple it is, shuts you up quickly, leaving you a quiet, melting mess as joshua smiles to himself, returning his attention to the window.

in that moment, you decide that you might not hate joshua. you may just dislike him.

or, better yet (and to be honest), you don't hate him at all.

103 notes · View notes

artaxlivs · 2 days ago

Text

Which came first? The chicken or the scrambled eggs?

Rated E: Smut below the line, link to the Ao3 is here.

"Boy, you know I love you, right?" Uncle Wayne says gruffly over his favorite Garfield mug.

Oh jeez.

Eddie wracks his brain trying to figure out what Wayne's figured out this time. The drug deals? He'd thought they were both silently agreeing that they knew but wouldn't speak of those. The Upside Down? Nah, Eddie covered that pretty well, gave the same bullshit story the Feds did. Maybe something mundane like Eddie not doing his dishes?

That's an age-old argument right there.

Damn it.

"I know you do, old man," Eddie sighs, finally just deciding to take whatever it is on the chin. "Say what you wanna say."

There's a brief pause while Uncle Wayne must gather his thoughts - and the irrational swoop of Eddie's stomach over that is gonna give him nightmares because his abandonment issues are wide and deep - then Wayne clears his throat and says, "Whoever it is that you been leaving in your bedroom to sneak out after I fall asleep every morning...you can just invite him out for breakfast with us."

Eddie chokes on his own coffee. Well, sort of coffee - it's a lot of sugar and milk with a splash of coffee.

Not her. Him. They've never talked about it but Eddie knows Wayne has always had his suspicions. But he wasn't ready to have this conversation before the sun was even all the way up.

Before Eddie can finish coughing down his throatful of coffee, though, Wayne is shouting, "Eddie's boyfriend - you can come out and have some eggs if you want!"

A loud thump and the sound of someone obviously scrambling up from a bed comes from Eddie's room. "Yes, sir." A muffled voice calls back.

Staring down the short hallway in horror, Eddie has a minor freak out. Okay - major freak out. But silently and quickly because...ohhhh this tangled web he’s woven for himself....

"Jesus Christ, Wayne." Eddie shakes his head before dropping it on the formica tabletop. He doesn't have to look up to know that Wayne is smiling that little smile that he gets when he proves that he's still smarter than Eddie is sneaky.

Wayne pulls open the fridge and gets the eggs back out, adding three more to the mixing bowl to whisk up.

Eddie still doesn't lift his head when Steve comes out of the bedroom because he just cannot bear to meet Steve's eyes. He eventually does look up, though, when he hears Wayne swear under his breath and nearly drop the frying pan.

"Ain't you the Harrington boy?" Wayne asks, looking a little dazed, obviously not expecting Steve Harrington to be standing barefoot, wearing one of Eddie's band T-shirts and a pair of his own sweats, in their tiny trailer kitchen, hastily shaping his hair into order as he reaches his hand out to shake.

"Yes, sir. And, um, I'd appreciate it if you kept that between us," Steve suddenly looks smaller, "for now, at least. I'm not sure what my dad...um, well." He worries his bottom lip and crosses his arms over his chest protectively, tucking his hands tight against his body. "I just - I don't think he'd approve. My - my dad."

Approve of what? Slumming it in a trailer park with a petty drug dealer? Because contrary to what Wayne thinks, Steve is not Eddie's boyfriend. They sleep together but not together. It's just for the nightmares. Sleeping alone sucks.

Wayne is nodding, though, the crease between his eyebrows the only thing giving away that he's upset about what he's hearing. Eddie's really not sure what he's thinking but he doesn't ask because maybe - just maybe - if no one asks anything specific, they can get out of this breakfast without Eddie being outed or any of them being embarrassed.

Because, contrary to Wayne’s assumption, Steve does not know that Eddie is gay. Or that the all night spooning they've been doing for weeks now is not as platonic for Eddie as it is for Steve. Eddie's not crossing any boundaries or anything creepy or anything, he's just...pining. It's fine. He'll get over it.

If they get through this breakfast without Eddie being outed, at least.

Steve, of course, offers to help but Wayne turns him down, nudges him toward the coffee pot to pour himself a mug instead. Which he does. Scoffing incredulously, Eddie gets up and swipes the mug from him, pouring it’s contents into Wayne's almost empty mug before setting it in the sink and taking out a clean plastic cup with a faded Charlie Brown & Linus on it.

"Sit." He tells Steve and reaches into the fridge for the orange juice he knows Steve prefers. He ignores the arched eyebrow Wayne aims at him. Mind your business, old man.

Breakfast is just scrambled eggs and toast. It's quick and not too heavy so Wayne can go to sleep after. It's always been the one meal they're guaranteed to have together. Even when most teenagers were sleeping in until ten am or noon, Eddie has always gotten up around 6:30 because Wayne's shift ends at six and he comes straight home and takes a shower, then they have breakfast together.

"So...Mr. Munson-" Steve starts after he swallows a drink of his juice and settles into one of the cracked vinyl chairs.

"Just Wayne, kid," Wayne insists gruffly, setting the pan of eggs down on a pot holder on the table.

"Oh - sorry," Steve says, letting his eyes fall away. It's weird, seeing him cowed by Wayne. Steve doesn't normally do that with adults. He's a charmer. He charms them all. Mrs. Wheeler would force Nancy to marry Steve if she could and Mrs. Henderson thinks that Steve is the second coming.

"Don't gotta be sorry...Steve. Just - call me Wayne." He comes back with a plate of toast. The butter and jam are already on the table. Eddie loads up his plate knowing Steve will do the polite thing and take less than him.

Clearing his throat, Steve nods, "Yes sir - W-Wayne." He stumbles over the first name but then keeps going - "I was just wondering...about the hats? And the mugs?" He looks around like he's taking them all in for the first time.

With a little smile, Wayne looks from the rows of hats and mugs to Steve and then back again. "Those are all Eddie." He doesn't elaborate but Steve's already nodding with a warm smile.

"I had a feeling." Steve nods again, slathering jam on a slice of toast. "Let me guess - this is him taking the joke way too far?"

The sound that comes out of Wayne can really only be called a chortle. There's nothing else that fits. Eddie is so glad his mouth was empty because it's like nothing he's ever heard from Wayne and he would have choked on his food. As it is, he makes a little offended squawk that they both ignore.

"Yup. You know him well I see." Wayne nods at Eddie but looks at Steve. "He got me this Garfield mug and a matching hat for his first Christmas here and I didn't want to disappoint him so I went a little overboard about how much I loved them. Wore the hat and used the mug religiously." He lifts the Garfield mug up for a sip and lifts an eyebrow at Eddie.

Steve knocks his knee against Eddie's under the table and when Eddie looks over at him, he’s smiling a fond smile at Eddie. He ducks his head to hide what he knows is a blush on his cheeks, letting Wayne and Steve steer the conversation where they want for the rest of the meal.

It’s not until they’re washing up and Wayne’s waved goodnight to them both, that Eddie speaks again. He bumps his hip into Steve’s as Steve finishes washing and rinsing the plastic cup and hands it over for Eddie to dry. “Sorry about that.”

Sliding the egg pan into the soapy water, Steve dries his hands off on a towel, leaving the pan to soak and turns to Eddie, hip propped against the counter. ‘For what?” Steve asks, confusion evident on his face.

He flounders for a moment, trying to find a way to steer Steve away from the flashing neon arrow pointing to Eddie that screams “GAY” without giving himself away if Steve hasn’t gotten that idea. “Um, just Wayne and your dad and - you know, all of this.” He waves his hand around in a general all encompassing circle to include the trailer, his life and Eddie himself.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Eddie is pretty sure Steve asks but it’s so unexpected that his brain almost comes to a screeching halt.

“W-what?”

“I asked,” Steve says, removing the scant foot of space between them by sliding along the edge of the counter, “if you wanted to kiss me?”

Eddie swallows, a lifetime of fear balled up in his throat. It has long since threatened to choke him but this time he pushes through it. Because dammit - he’s jumped into a lake and swam after 3 other teenagers he barely knew, he’s tromped through an alternate dimension, he’s played Metallica in hell and outran a horde of demon bats. He’s faced a fucking Lich with nothing but handmade weapons. He can do this. He can.

“Yes,” it’s barely a whisper and made through trembling lips but Steve hears it because he smiles, warm and soft and the next thing Eddie knows, their lips are pressed together and yes, yes, yes. Steve’s lips are just as warm and soft as his smile and just a little demanding as he pushes past Eddie’s and slips his tongue into Eddie’s mouth.

Steve Harrington tastes like orange juice and possibilities. And before Eddie can decide what to do with that, Steve is dragging him down the hallway and back into his messy, unmade too small bed. He’s pressing Eddie down on his back and leaning over him to kiss him again. He’s rolling his hips against Eddie’s, brushing their hard cocks together in a way that makes Eddie’s toes curl.

And it feels like every night they laid here together, whispering into each other’s shoulders, every night they spent cocooned in safety, every brush of skin on skin was foreplay, was flirting, was courting - that all of it was a lead up to this moment where they could slip easily from friendship to something more.

Eager and keyed up, Eddie pushes Steve’s sweats down to his thighs, follows by shoving his own down as well. Copying Steve’s movement when he yanks off his shirt and then they’re skin to skin, dicks rubbing against each other as they both grind and chase their pleasure together. Steve shifts, putting his thigh between Eddie’s and cupping his ass to pull him forward and there it is, they’re slotted together just right.

Eddie feels a little zing of pleasure up his back as he ruts against Steve. They haven’t stopped kissing long enough for Eddie to even moan Steve’s name but it’s fine, it’s great, he’s so close already, just a bit more, he’s almost there. He thrusts up and Steve squeezes his ass again, pushing their bodies together. His hand slips around, dipping between Eddie’s cheeks, sliding one finger down his cleft until it presses against his hole where, sure, he has touched, but no one else has. Steve slipping just the tip of one finger into Eddie is enough to send him tumbling over the edge with a muffled shout.

Eddie’s still twitching through the aftershocks when Steve moves his hand back to Eddie’s hip, Steve holds him still so he can thrust into the sticky mess that Eddie’s made between them. “That was, fuck, so hot,” Steve swears before he clamps his mouth of Eddie’s again, pulling a whine from him just before Steve comes with his own shout swallowed up by Eddie’s mouth.

Slowly, their breathing returns to normal, the sweat cools on their skin and Steve languidly traces one finger through the mess as it starts to stick to Eddie’s treasure trail. Finally, when Eddie can think clearly again, he asks, “So I guess this means you’re not worried that Wayne thinks you’re my boyfriend?”

“Worried?” Steve grins up at him from where he’s resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I think we should make him dinner before he goes to work as a thank you.” He rolls up, propping a hand on either side of Eddie’s chest to look down at him with a fond smile, “I mean, how long would we have lain next to each other in the dark waiting for the other one to make the first move?”

Going up on his elbows brings Eddie’s lips close enough to Steve for a kiss but he doesn't yet, he just stares up at him for a moment, then, with complete honesty, he tells Steve, “I’d have lain next to you for forever if I had to.”

Check it out on Ao3

#the existential dread of being gay and not know if they are #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #pining together #who doesn't start out their gay awakening with frottage?#ficlet

133 notes · View notes

ice-man-goes-bwoah · 2 days ago

Text

No easy job||Peter Sutherland x fem!reader

Summary— Peter swore up and down he’d never join the secret service but here he is as the body guard of the presidents daughter who loves to keep Peter on his toes .

Word count—644

Peter Sutherland prided himself on being calm under pressure. It was practically a job requirement. Whether it was racing against the clock to prevent a terrorist attack or navigating the bureaucratic chaos of Washington, D.C., he always kept a cool head.

Until now.

“Do you always ignore every rule ever written, or am I just lucky?” Peter asked, his voice taut as he followed Y/N into the crowd of gala attendees.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Rules are more like guidelines. You’ll get used to it.”

Peter exhaled sharply, gripping the earpiece in his hand before shoving it back into his ear. “I’m not supposed to get used to you wandering off without telling me.”

“I’m not wandering off. I’m mingling. Big difference,” she replied, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. The glint of the chandelier above reflected in her glass as she tilted it toward him in mock cheers. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Someone spills a drink on me?”

Peter scanned the room, his sharp eyes catching a suspicious figure lingering near the exit. The man adjusted his jacket, and Peter’s stomach tightened. He was already running through the possibilities—exit routes, potential threats, fallback plans. “The worst that could happen is someone targets you because your father is the president, and I’m left explaining why I let you stroll into danger like it’s a weekend hobby.”

She paused, turning to face him fully. Her expression softened just a fraction, though there was still a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “Peter, relax. I’ve done this a hundred times. No one’s going to target me in the middle of a charity gala. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Peter shot back, stepping closer. The faint buzz of conversation and laughter around them felt miles away. “You don’t get to be fine. You get to be safe. That’s the deal.”

Her smirk returned, this time tinged with challenge. “You’re kind of intense, you know that? Has anyone ever told you to loosen up?”

“Has anyone ever told you that ignoring protocol is a terrible idea?”

“Constantly.” She raised her glass again, but her fingers tightened around the stem. “Didn’t stick.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked on hers. She had that maddening ability to act like nothing could touch her, like the world wasn’t full of people willing to exploit her trust and bravery. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was terrifying.

“You think I don’t see it?” he said finally, his voice softer but no less firm. “The way you brush everything off like it doesn’t matter? But it does, Y/N. You might think you’re invincible, but—”

“—I’m not,” she interrupted, her tone unusually serious. Her eyes flicked down, then back to his. “I know that, Peter. But I also can’t live my life hiding behind Secret Service agents every second of the day. It’s not who I am.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. Something about her recklessness struck too close to home—someone else he’d failed to protect, someone else who didn’t listen. He couldn’t let that happen again. “I’m not asking you to hide. I’m asking you to let me do my job without feeling like I need a defibrillator on standby every time you step into a room.”

Her lips twitched, the smirk threatening to return. “Are you saying I stress you out?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

She laughed, and the sound pulled a reluctant smile from him before it faded. “Good. Keeps you on your toes,” she said with a wink, and before he could reply, she slipped into the crowd again, disappearing like a shadow.

Peter groaned, pulling his earpiece into place. He scanned the room quickly, noting that the suspicious man near the exit had shifted positions again, and his unease grew. Protecting Y/N was going to be the death of him—he was sure of it.

#peter sutherland x y/n #peter sutherland #Peter Sutherland x reader #Peter Sutherland x you #Peter Sutherland image #the night agent x reader #the night agent #Peter Sutherland fluff #Peter Sutherland one shot

83 notes · View notes

moxiepower2 · 2 days ago

Text

Nevermore theory based on RnF’s latest post!

I think the eyeball in the center is both a reference to both the Old Man with the pale blue eye from “The Tell-Tale” Heart AND Ligeia’s eyes from “Ligeia”

(1/3) First of all: Ligeia’s Eyes

The coloring of the eyes doesn’t quite fit with the art in the post (Ligeia’s has black eyes) BUT I find it hard to ignore the star and dream imagery used when it’s VERY present in “Ligeia”.

The narrator (the husband) studies astrology and is DEEPLY in love with the darkly beautiful and intelligent Ligeia. She is described almost like a vampire with long raven hair, ivory skin, and a wild appearance. He is especially fascinated by her unusual large black eyes which he compares to the “twin stars of Leda” and describes them as “luminous orbs” (this last part also reminds me of the “orbs” from the 1st episode btw).

Ligeia later dies of illness, telling the narrator of her deeply love and reciting a poem about the unfairness of mortality on her deathbed. In his grief, the narrator becomes addicted to opium and later remarries Lady Rowena whom he doesn’t love. He ignores her, preferring to find comfort in “opium dreams” during which he has vivid visions of Ligeia.

Two months into his new marriage Lady Rowena also falls ill and is rendered into a state of half-slumber. Rowena also often has fits and starts crying out in her sleep leading the narrator to believe that some “phantasmagoric influence” is haunting Rowena in their bedchamber.

The narrator’s sanity/accuracy is honestly questionable before the “haunting”. He has a bad memory and doesn’t even remember MEETING LIGEIA OR HER LAST NAME?? The narration given is honestly pretty dreamlike itself as it’s hard tell what’s real or not between the husband’s opium addiction, bad memory, and debatable sanity.

At the end of the story, Lady Rowena dies and according to the narrator, her dead body turns into Ligeia. The corpse awakens the next day as newly risen and alive Ligeia who has seemingly defeated death.

“Here then, at least," I shrieked aloud, "can I never --can I never be mistaken --these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes --of my lost love --of the lady --of the LADY LIGEIA."

(What a very sane human being as per usual in Pow stories. Also, this went on a bit long sorry)

(2/3) The Old Man

Hang in there with me, this part is much much quicker to explain!

So, Tell-Tale Heart. I think this is a Poe story everyone pretty much knows. Guy is seemingly driven to madness out of fear of his old neighbor’s pale blue eye. He secretly watches the Old Man while he’s sleeping and later murders him and stuffs the body parts under his floor. When the police later arrive at the house, our narrator believes he hears the sounds of the Old Man’s heart and confessed his guilt.

Some imagery: Not much star imagery but definitely some of dreams/sleep. Much like Ligeia, the narration is definitely dreamlike. The Narrator is unreliable/insane so it’s hard to tell what observations he makes are actually real. The Old Man and the Narrator struggle with nightmares. A good chunk of this story is spent with narrator as he watches the Old Man sleep every night for a week.

Also, the eye in RnF’s post is a SINGLE PALE BLUE EYE. (Yeah, this last one is definitely surface-level evidence but I don’t think it’s without merit)

That’s pretty much it.

(3/3) How does this all connect?

The main reason I think that this new art piece connects to Ligeia AND The Tell-Tale heart is largely due to THESE GUYS

That’s right, Deans Merry and Mourn.

The Tell-Tale Heart

Awhile back I made a post theorizing that Annabel is connected to The Tell-Tale Heart due to the heart imagery surrounding her character (such as her spectre design). In the reblogs, me and @muzetrigger discussed more detailed theories (off-topic but @muzetrigger made a VERY convincing argument that Annabel Lee might play the role of the Narrator)

One of the topics that came up was the possibility of the Deans representing the character of the Old Man. @blacknedsoul-blog made a post a while back “I Think the Deans Are Fucking Lovecraftian Gods” (highly recommend) which pointed out that the Deans’ white/black heterochromia could be a reference to the Old Man’s cataract-ridden eye. Upon a closer look, it’s even possible that their white eyes are actually a very very pale blue.

I would also like to add on to this theory by pointing out that much like the Old Man’s Eye drove the Narrator to murder and madness (though unwittingly), the Deans are driving the students to those very same things by forcing a bunch of already traumatized people to participate in a death game.

Ligeia

Earlier in this post, I mentioned that the husband from Ligeia compared her eyes to “the twin stars of Leda”

These TWIN stars, Castor and Pollux named after a pair of TWINS from greek mythology are widely known as the “Heavenly TWINS” and form part of the constellation Gemini. Hmmmm….

A few more similarities to Ligeia:

The Deans also have the ability to get in people’s heads and MESS WITH THEIR MEMORIES. In Ligeia, the Husband is completely consumed with thoughts/visions of Ligeia for most of his waking and sleeping hours. He is seemingly unable to focus on anything else and this continues even when his new wife Lady Rowena is dying. As mentioned before, the Husband also has a memory problems and can’t remember meeting Ligeia or even her full name, just that he loved her. This is not unlike the memory loss of all the students at Nevermore Academy, particularly Lenore & Annabel Lee.

By the way, have a mentioned how interesting this panel from the Bell Arc is? It’s very suspicious the we glimpses of the eldritch forms of the Deans and their Pale Blue Eyes right before Annabel Lee experiences a flashback of hearing the news of Lenore’s death. Not to mention they are physically lowering Annabel INTO THE MEMORY. Its almost like the Deans are the ones took the memories in first place and are just “returning” them or part of their job is being responsible for guiding students to their memories. HMMMM……

Not to mention they spend most of their time in DREAMLAND, a special dimension where you can relive past memories and even reach those whom you unable to speak with. Like say… a certain French man who’s UNCONSCIOUS in a brick wall.

Also, I seem to recall there’s definitely some night sky related imagery with these two. Especially when we are getting glimpses of their spectrey/eldritchy side.

Lastly, let’s go back to the Deans’s heterochromia. They both each have one BLACK EYE and together that makes a pair.

Also, I might be reading into this WAY too much but, take a good close look at the black eyes. In each, you’ll notice there’s a small white pupil. Kind of like a a single bright star in the black night sky. Two twin stars.

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #annabel lee nevermore #merry nevermore #mourn nevermore #deans Nevermore #nevermore theory #I may be a little insane #long post #sorry if there’s typos I was half-asleep towards the end

78 notes · View notes

growthhyp · 2 days ago

Note

Are there any white briefs in the garage sale? I've been needing a pair of new underwear.

The White Briefs

You approach the garage sale with a hopeful glint in your eye. You've been searching for the perfect pair of white briefs to replace your holey, overstretched ones. You've had enough of the baggy waistbands and the constant wedgies. So when you spot the muscular man, you just have to ask, "Are there any white briefs in the garage sale? I've been needing a pair of new underwear." The muscular man looks you over with a knowing smile and says, "Of course, I have a ton of those." His smirk suggests that he might have more than just briefs to offer.

He leads you to a table, piled high with an assortment of white briefs. Some have matching designs, others are a wild cacophony of patterns. "Does this have my size though?" you inquire, feeling a bit self-conscious about your flabby belly. He looks you up and down, then nods confidently. "Well, to check it out, why don’t you try it on one by one in my dressing room?" His smirk widens, hinting at something more than just a simple shopping trip.

You take the briefs in your hand, feeling their softness. The muscular man's then said, "These will be perfect for you." You enter the makeshift dressing room, which is just a curtain draped over a clothes rack. It smells faintly of fabric softener and something else – something that makes your heart race a little faster. You don't know why, but you trust him. You trust the way he says 'perfect' as if you were hypnotized ny him.

You peel off your old underwear and pants, exposing your pale, soft body to the cool garage air. Your cock can be seen there refelcted in the mirror, flaccid and seemingly innocent at 4 inches. But you know it's not the size that matters – it's the growth. You've heard the whispers, the jokes, but you've seen the looks of amazement when it stretches to 7 inches. It's always been your secret weapon, your little miracle. You smile to yourself, feeling a bit cocky.

The first brief you pull on is tight. Too tight. "Auuurgh," you groan, tugging at the elastic. The fabric digs into your gut, making you feel like a sausage in a casing. But the muscular man said these would be perfect, so you bear with it. You start to sweat, droplets rolling down your body like rain on a hot day. Each brief you try is the same. The tightness is unbearable, but you're determined to find the one that fits.

With each grunt and tug, something strange begins to happen. Your body starts to feel… different. Your belly, once a soft pillow of comfort, begins to shrink. The fat that you've carried around for so long seems to be melting away. You don't notice the transformation, too focused on the struggle of fitting into these confining pieces of fabric. The pleasure is intense, but your mind translates it into the mere discomfort of trying on new underwear.

You sweat profusely, the fabric sticking to your skin as you pull on each brief. You're on a mission to find the perfect pair, unaware that they are reshaping you into something new. Each grunt and groan is accompanied by a little more of your fat disappearing revealing your bones. The mirror in the dressing room shows you a reflection of a lanky, skinny man, yet your mind insists that you've always looked this way.

The muscular man's voice outside the curtain sounds concerned, "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," you reply, your voice strained. "Just trying to find the right fit."

"Take your time," he calls back, his voice echoing in the garage.

You don't know why, but his words fill you with a strange comfort. You've always envied his confidence, his self-assuredness. Now, you're beginning to feel it too. Your cock, once your secret weapon, has grown to an impressive 12 inches, standing tall and proud. Yet, your mind doesn't acknowledge the transformation, you just thought it is your big cock that makes the brief so tight, but still you continued to try on the white briefs.

You breathe heavily, still thinking it's all normal. You reach for the next pair of white briefs. "GRRRRRRR" you grunt, slipping them over your hips. The pleasure is more intense this time. "Wow, this time it fits my cock," you murmur, your voice filled with wonder. "And yes, my waist fits just ri… AUUURGGHHH." You don't realize that your muscles are growing.

With a deep "ARGGHHH," you feel your chest swell. The mirror reflects a balloon-like expansion of your pectorals, your ribs stretching the fabric. The white lines of new muscles etch into your skin, a roadmap of power appearing before your very eyes. Yet, all you can think of is the snug fit of the underwear. "These are really something," you pant, your voice a mix of amazement and exertion.

The muscular man's shadow flits outside the dressing room. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, your voice a grunt of effort. "They're… they're just really… tight."

"Good," he says, his tone hinting at a knowing smile. "They're supposed to be."

You breathed more heavily, “AH…AH….UH!” a deeper groan escaped your mouth, you continued to try on the white briefs. Your biceps bulged, the veins popping and your triceps grew taut, your forearms thickened into tree trunks.

"GRRRRR" you growl, the sound vibrating through the walls of the small dressing room. You feel the power in your legs, like the roots of an ancient tree reaching deep into the earth. The briefs, once too tight, now struggle to contain the pillars of your new form. Your hamstrings stretch and pulse with each movement. "AHHHHH," you exhale, as if you're just trying to get a better look at the tag. But the truth is, your legs are now a sculpture of power, a testament to what you never knew you could become.

You wiggle into another pair, the fabric whispering against your skin as your calves tighten into diamond shapes. The seams of the briefs strain against the newfound size of your legs, threatening to tear. The floorboards protest under your weight. "MMPHHH…HMPHPH…" your voice is now a symphony of effort, each sound a bass note resonating in the garage.

The muscular man's shadow lingers, his footsteps heavy outside the dressing room. "Everything okay?" His voice is a drumroll to the crescendo of your transformation.

"Just… just… need… the… perfect… fit," you grunt between clenched teeth. Each word is a battle cry as you wrestle with the fabric, your body redefining itself with every inch of elastic that yields.

You slip into another pair, the sound of fabric tearing a whisper against the cacophony of your transformation. "AHHH AHHHA AHHHH," you roar, the briefs tightening around your waist as your back expands. Your spine rearranges itself, each vertebrae popping into place like a jigsaw puzzle. The mirror shows a reflection that seems almost alien, yet your mind insists it's always been this way.

The muscular man leans against the outside of the curtain, watching the tapestry of your change unfold. His eyes are filled with a mix of fascination and satisfaction. "How do they feel?" he asks, his voice a rumble of thunder.

"T-tight," you reply, your voice a grunt of effort. "But… good. Like they're… fitting."

You try on the last pair of briefs, feeling a final surge of power. "HNGGGGHHH," you groan, the fabric stretching over your now massive glutes. The mirror reflects a god of the gym, not the fat man who walked in. Yet, all you see is the same muscular guy you've always been.

You flex your biceps, a smirk playing on your lips. "Alright, these look good on me, hehe," you murmur to yourself, oblivious to the cacophony of your transformation. Your shirt is a distant memory, shredded on the floor, forgotten amidst the symphony of grunts and groans. You step out of the dressing room, feeling the confidence of a peacock.

The muscular man's eyes widen, his smirk now a full-blown grin. "You found your size, I see," he says, his voice a purr of satisfaction.

You nod, "yeah, they're just right," you reply, your voice deeper, more assured than before.

The muscular man's eyes twinkle with amusement. "So, what's it going to be?" he asks, his voice a cocktail of tease and challenge.

You step up to him, the confidence of a lion in every step. "I'll take all of 'em," you say, slapping the briefs against your palm. "How much?"

The muscular man's smirk widens, his eyes gleaming. He knows. He's seen the magic of the briefs before. "Fifty bucks for the whole lot," he says, his voice like velvet.

You hand over the crumpled bills, your heart pounding in your new, broad chest. "Here you go," you say, your voice now a deep rumble.

The muscular man's smirk turns into a full-blown smile as he takes the money. "Enjoy," he says, his eyes lingering on your transformed body.

You nod and strut out of the garage, feeling the fabric hug your new form. Each step feels like you're walking on air. You're no longer the same person who walked in, but you don't know it. To you, this is just a normal day of buying underwear.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #personality change #jock tf #male transformation #ai generated #nerd to jock #hypnotised

83 notes · View notes

drownedthemall · 11 hours ago

Text

sweetness of her laughter

part 1 - predicament

caracalla x noble!reader x geta

a/n - fyi, i am not a writer, but i have been lovinggggg fics about these two, so i felt i needed to write something about them

this is only the introduction, so it's probably boring,,, but i hope you stick around and enjoy it <3

2.8k words

tease - basically, your kingdom is getting ‘conquered’, well that’s what you assume, but in reality they’re there for someone else.

who may that be, and for what reason..?

It’s the early morning. The sun has barely risen. You're striding through the outskirts of the forest with your stede, noticing the dew upon the grass and leaves. A chill breeze blows past you. The royal huntsman accompanied you. He had sworn to your father to keep you safe ever since you were a child. If not for him sticking up for you, you wouldn’t have been able to even participate in such an activity. You know, not a very ‘lady-like’ thing to do as everyone keeps reminding you. Despite the annoyance of him always being by your side, you’re grateful for his presence. He’s taught you a lot. This pondering quickly gets cut short when you start hearing loud thumping in the distance. As if there's a stampede of some kind. Your head snaps toward the huntsman, both of your faces scrunched in confusion.

Your Kingdom wasn’t big, not at all. Nor did you have a huge army of soldiers trained from the moment they were born. But, your Kingdom is very respected because it's known for extravagant celebrations and events, where people gather to chat away and escape their worries. The Kingdom hosts beautiful and elegant parties for everyone to attend. Due to this, your Kingdom is relatively neutral and on good terms with all the nations and empires surrounding it, so why conquer it? What’s the benefit? Well, the twins don’t need much of a reason for anything that they do, right?

The sound of the stampede only gets louder. It’s not unusual to hear such noises when people are arriving from all different parts of the world to attend the Kindgdom's festivities. However, there wasn’t anything planned during this time of the year. You and the huntsman stand still. You speak up, in a hushed tone, “You can’t be serious, do you really think they’d..?”

The man holds his breath, “I haven’t heard any news from the patrolling soldiers of the borders… We’d hear news of this, right?”

“..Yeah, the news that they’re all dead”, you say in a panicked voice, already rushing to conclusions. You look in the direction of the sounds.

The man guides his horse to your side, “Princess, please don’t panic, if this is happening…” He stops, then continues, “They’d only be ruining their reputation further for meddling in another nation's land like this..”, he tries to keep up his calm demeanour but his voice betrays him.

You shoot him a disapproving glance, “I need to go back.” you huff, as you adjust the reigns in your hands.

“Princess!” he stammers as he does the same, “I need to keep you safe, let me get you to someplace else.” he spews out.

You ignore him, urging your horse to move and eventually transitioning into a gallop. The sound of your own horse's hooves soon blends in with the rest. You’d thought the huntsman would follow suit, but as you look behind you, he’s gone. Your face scrunches in disappointment. 'What a coward’, you think. Your horse strides along the field and edge of the forest, sometimes dipping into the tree-filled land to avoid being noticed. But then abruptly, the stampede stops, and all the branches and leaves being run through by your horse become too loud to bear. ‘Why’d they stop?’, you think to yourself as your heart rate picks up, and cold sweat drips down your temples. There’s only one answer to that. As you slow your pace, you start to strategically manoeuvre through the trees where the view of the palace can be seen. As the brush becomes clearer, you halt. About 500 soldiers stand guard in front of the palace. Technically, not enough men to take the whole entirety of the Kingdom down, but 500 men that are trained under the Roman Empire? Now, that could lead to a different outcome. General Acacius, by the looks of it, is nearing the palace with a smaller group of praetorians behind him. Your breath hitches, what were you to do? What can you do? All these thoughts rage through your mind, all of them barely making sense. You try to swallow but fail because of how dry your mouth is. With you barely breathing or thinking properly, you plan to enter the palace from a place where you won’t be seen. You know of an entrance that is used by servants. It was so that they wouldn't stick out amongst the nobles when the events took place. That is where you were headed towards.

---

The villages and houses scattered around are untouched by the foreign soldiers. The people are unnerved but are biting their tongues. None of the soldiers have stepped foot on their personal land, which sends a message that they’re here for something or someone else. Or that’s what they hope, the people want to avoid bloodshed and are fond of this new ‘diplomatic’ way of dealing with things. Unlike the Romans, they don’t relish in gladiator fights or such brutality in general.

The guards of the Kingdom surround the throne room, inside and out. The thumps of horses' hooves can be heard in the distance. The King pulls at his face, pacing all around the throne room. It’s all in disarray. All of the immediate royal family is gathered there. Your father, mother, and two sisters, except you. His wife tries to ease his nerves, “It’s going to be okay, I’m sure she’s safe”, she places a hand on his shoulder.

“SAFE!? Who cares if she’s safe? The issue is that she’s not here. They’ll assume we’re hiding her, and then we’re ALL dead!”, he snaps, slapping her hand away. She looks hurt by his words and stays silent.

“Why’s she matter anyway, she never partakes in any of these things..? I mean like, what is the reason for them coming here”, the eldest daughter speaks up, Celsa, she was the one to inherit the title of Queen soon. She embodied one, born to be one, destined, no one could deny that. Due to this, many, many suitors have tried to court and wed her. But to no avail, she wants to find the right one.

He takes a breath… “I didn’t think they’d take such offence.” he states blankly. The sound of horses halts just as he says this.

“What?”, the two women say in unison, disbelief clouds their faces. The littlest daughter clings to her mother’s gown, seeking any semblance of comfort. She’s briefly ignored as her mother huffs, “What did you do.”, not asking but demanding an answer.

“What else was i supposed to do?? The two shitheads are looking for Empress’!! The fact they’re BOTH ruling is already unconventional and then they dare to state that ONE Empress would also suffice!”, he loses it, catching his breath, “They’re inviting all kinds of nobility to attend! I may not be perfect, but I'm not subjecting my daughters to such a cruel life to bear.”, he fumbles with his words, clearly regretting his decision as each one leaves his mouth. He pulls at his greying hair, hoping this ends smoothly.

“Why didnt you mention this to me..?” the Queen announces, “I should be aware of such drastic decisions.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re a woman, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t belong meddling in politics”, he mutters, “You’re the reason she’s so defiant” he says referring to you.

His wife was about to retort, but Celsa intervened, “You kept this from me?”, she pouts, “Do you know how many worthless princes have offered to be mine and THE Emperors of Rome are seeking out an Empress and you don’t even dare to ask of my opinion?” her voice becomes louder as her anger pools.

Silence fills the room. All four of them stand in different parts of the room. Tension thick in the air. A new set of footsteps can be heard just outside the palace walls. They all look between each other. The father makes eye contact with Celsa. She awaits for her answer.

---

You had found your way into the palace grounds, weaving through tight secret corridors and halls, trying to reach where your family may be residing in. You heard a ruckus coming from the throne room, that’s where you decided to head, with a place to hide in mind already. The throne room had a balcony-like structure, usually used to announce any important news to the King. You will seek closure there. As you get closer, you can barely make out any of the words being said in that room, with the sound of your heart draining out the voices. It feels like your heart will jump right out of your body.

You shuffle into the balcony, making yourself small, bow in hand. As you position yourself and get comfortable, all you hear from your father is, “The emperors didn’t request for your attendance, Celsa”, he states in a monotone voice, breaking eye contact with your eldest sister. Before you or Celsa could properly register the meaning of his sentence, guards push through the door, announcing the General's arrival. They all straighten out their posture and gather together as they await him to enter the room.

Heavy footsteps of the man can be heard as he nears the King. The King offers him a small smile as a form of greeting, “What brings you here, Acacius, especially at this time of day?” disregarding his title completely. The General takes note of this, “To take that of what your Kingdom owes the Emperors.” he stands with his arms locked in front of him. It's almost as if he's sizing up your father, preparing to eat him whole like a python.

You pull at your bow, the arrow already equipped. You try and keep your breathing steady, focusing on the task at hand.

Your father pulls a face of confusion, “What do you mean, General, I wasn’t aware that I owed them anything.” he states with furrowed brows, “May you remind me?”

As Acacius was about to respond, you took aim. However, you failed to notice the presence of a praetorian behind you. He grabs ahold of you by enveloping your neck in his arms. This forces you to lose aim, and you shoot elsewhere. Everyone's eyes followed the thump. Unfortunately, the curtain had become the victim of your weapon instead. Everyone's eyes shifted from the curtain to the source of who was responsible.

You struggle in his hold, the praetorian shouts “SHE WAS TRYING TO SHOOT YOU, GENERAL!”, trudging in his hold, you retort, “I WAS NOT, BLASPHEMY”. Your family stares at you with their mouths agape. You couldn’t have made the situation any worse.

Acacius is just as surprised, if not for the lack of better judgment, you'd even say he was amused. “Bring her down here” he commands. As the soldier does this Acacius turns to the nobles, “That is who you owe.”, he answers with a smug smirk present in his face.

The father loses all composure and retorts, “This whole ordeal was a request, not a demand, why come to such lengths for my daughter..?”, he huffs defeated. The General raises an eyebrow, “I’m sure you’re aware of how the Emperors are. They don’t take lightly to denial. It only does the opposite.”

Your father denied their request for you to possibly be an Empress. What else could a woman want, right? Is what the Emperors thought, the fact they were denied what they deemed was a gift from the gods ticked the Emperors off, they wouldn’t have cared or paid much attention to you otherwise.

“You know, I was planning to come to some sort of agreement, but I truly cannot overlook what your lovely daughter has just done a moment ago.”, he states “One may call it an attack against the Roman Empire, don’t you think?”

The King looks shocked, “What!? I wouldn’t go that far, I truly had no idea she was planning on doing this. She was gone all morning - i promise, General. I wouldn’t dare do such a thing to you or the Roman Empire, may it never fall and continue to prosper, my daughter will be honoured to have the chance of serving them, yes, indeed, she will!!” he mutters on, barely comprehensible, clearly in a panic, wanting to keep his Kingdoms neutrality intact.

Acacius is entertained, he may have a dislike of bloodshed as of recently, but he really does enjoy instilling fear into good for nothing royals. If he can’t take it out on the Emperors, why not do it on the behalf of them?

Soon, you are brought to stand beside General Acacius. The praetorian holds onto your forearms that are behind your back, trying to keep you still. Eventually, you decided to stop struggling, it wasn’t going to get you anywhere other than your own deathbed. The General's deep, smooth voice pulls your attention, “I hear you were gone all morning, where were you, Princess?” he asks while turning his attention to you.

You almost scoff, if your arms weren’t restrained you’d be using them to bring attention to what you’re wearing. You’re dressed in your hunting gear. It was still a dress, but it was made to be more convenient and comfortable. This was your mother’s decision, ‘if you’re going to do such manly things you mustn’t be confused for one!!’ her voice rings in your head as you’re reminded of the conversation.

“I was out hunting, or at least that was the plan”, you say the last part quieter. Acacius noticed the double meaning, seeing as you were literally aiming to shoot him as if he were your prey. He doesn’t mention it. However, his silence alludes to the thought.

You soon come to realise this, “Woah, not in that way, truly, General.” You state quickly, looking anywhere but his eyes.

He chuckles lightly, and his laugh seems to almost soothe you, “Well, I would suggest your daughter packs her belongings”, he says as he faces the father. Those words form a pit in your stomach as the reality of the situation sets in.

He nods and the mother quickly orders one of the servants to do so. The father then starts, “So, we’re all good, General?” he says hesitantly.

Acacius ponders, “..Well, a little compensation wouldn’t hurt, seeing as i was about to get-” he stops his sentence and points his head in the direction of the arrow.

The King nods an exceeding amount, “Yes, yes, of course, whatever you may ask for, you shall receive, General!”, he answers all jittery.

The general nods, satisfied with the outcome.

On the right side of the King, Celsa can be seen fidgeting with her dress. As they await for the servant, she shouts, “Take me instead!” Everyone stares at her outburst.

She continues “I’m the eldest! Soon to be Queen, I’m the most suited to be Empress, please let my sister be! She’s not fit to rule.”, she announces desperately.

You ignore her snide remark, and then you blink in confusion. What? This whole show of power was for marriage?? If you had known sooner, you really would've laughed. However, the escalation of the situation doesn't bring a smile to your face. Your father hushes her, embarrassed by her mumbling. A couple of servants come rushing in with your belongings ready. This is a sign that it’s time to leave.

Acacius decides to answer your sister first, “If you’re soon to rule, then who else will take your place? We cherish our relations with your beautiful Kindgdom, we wouldn’t want it to fall, and we have no desire to join the two.” He states clearly, offering a proper answer and a semblance of sympathy for her.

He lets the tension of the room remain by staying silent for a few seconds longer. He then bids the King and Queen farewell as he commands the praetorian to lead you outside. You're pushed through the halls of a place you once called home. You didn’t even get a chance to say your own goodbyes. All you were able to do was exchange painful glances.

___

They had a carriage ready for you. How did you not notice it earlier? The journey wasn’t very enjoyable. You felt alone and was anxious to know what awaited you. You were always accompanied by a soldier or sometimes even the General. You thought he was going to treat you harshly because of the attempted... Yeah. But, surprisingly, he was showing you compassion, making sure you were feeling alright. Which seemed nice at first, but then you came to the realisation that he was feeling sorry for you. ‘The emperors really are that bad, aren’t they?’, you thought. The sense of dread basically boiling over.

#caracalla #geta #caracalla x reader #geta x reader #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #female reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #general acacius #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

65 notes · View notes