#this too is part of the cuteness to me. difficult to explain you just have to see it. its for babies in the best way
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polarisjisung · 6 months ago
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ꨄ X-O, KISS ME, DON'T SAY NO
KISSES WITH ENHYPEN
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pairings: enha x fem! reader genre: fluff wc: 1k warnings: use of petnames, slightly suggestive notes: I wrote this for dream had to do it for enha too ! | LIBRARY
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HEESEUNG — desperate, flirty kisses
A simple peck doesn't exist for Heeseung. You're like his drug, once he gets a taste, he's addicted. Quick morning kisses are impossible. One peck on your forehead easily turns into a full makeout session and suddenly you're late for work. And not for a second is Heeseung worried about your impending anger, instead he'll try and convince you to call in sick, no work meant more time for kisses, right?
“Heeseung, I have places to be” You know it's no use arguing but you seem to try anyway.
You'd been in this situation countless times before, and it ended the same way each time. In your defence, Heeseung was pretty good at convincing.
“Yeah, want me to list a few?”
Something about a kiss-driven Heeseung is so exceptionally flirty. You both know that you're never getting out of this your way. “My arms, the bed, against the wall if you're into that.
Okay maybe you didn't take much convincing either.
“All of the above?”
Heeseung can't dispute that.
JAY — forehead kisses
Jay's kisses are spontaneous, but so tender and loving, like a scene cut out straight from a high school romance.
You're perched up on the sofa with your nose stuck in one of those picture-perfect romance books you love so much.
Jay can barely make out your face from the material of the hood pulled over your head.
You look cute. There's a pair of blue light glasses resting on your nose and your eyebrows are furrowed with concentration. Jay couldn't help but leave a soft peck against your forehead. He takes a couple moments to just sit beside you and stare, truly wondering how he ever got so lucky.
Next thing you know, his hand moves carefully to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb positioned just under your chin, guiding you into a slow, soft kiss.
JAKE — messy kisses
Jake kisses like a man starved.
Hands tugging at your hair, arms around your waist, loud, shallow pants filling the room. It's like he can't get enough.
He pulls back to stare at you, breathless. But only for a moment.
To Jake, catching his breath seems awfully difficult when you're staring up at him with swollen lips and a sultry gaze.
“I could kiss you forever.”
His words are more a promise than a statement, and how could you not believe him when he pulls you back in so impossibly close, letting his cold fingertips run across your skin.
Both his hands cup your cheeks, passionately. Lips moving over yours with an unsteady, fervent rhythm, and so much urgency, you swear you feel your heart beat out of your chest.
Each time you kiss is like the first, brash. But Jake always holds you so tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear the second he lets go.
When he does finally pull away, Jake exhales a soft laugh, giggling almost.
“You alright?”
You can only nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
SUNGHOON — distracted kisses
Playful fights or debates like whether orange juice is better than apple (it's not) or whether milk comes before or after the cereal always seem to arise with you and Sunghoon.
Part of it has to do with the fact that Sunghoon thinks you look so insanely fine when you're passionately arguing your point forwards.
But somewhere along the way Sunghoon stops listening to what you're saying, eyes zeroing in on your lips when he'd come to a sudden realisation. That shade of lipstick suited you, a little too well maybe.
“Hoon, are you even listening?”
He nods, he's not listening.
He wouldn't have this problem if the lipstick wasn't there. But you were still explaining in full detail, hand gestures and everything. And as much as he loved to hear you ramble, Sunghoon could not concentrate.
He was going insane— he needed to kiss you. Now.
You don't really know why you continue, seeing as Sunghoon's clearly not present, but you can't help but gasp when he pulls you in close and crashes his lips to yours.
“You're right, I wasn't listening”
JUNGWON — soft morning kisses
Soft and intimate, that's what kissing Jungwon feels like.
There’s quiet whispers of ‘I love you's’ and the sweetest compliments.
Even if you've just rolled out of bed, when your hair's a mess and your eyes can barely open all the way, Jungwon thinks you're beautiful.
“Good morning my love” he presses a kiss to the back of your head, just below your ear as he slips past you on the couch, making his way to the kitchen so he can check on breakfast.
But he can only stay away for so long, running back a few minutes later with your morning coffee and a couple kisses to keep you occupied while you wait for it to cool down.
“I love you.” he'd keep it short and sweet, holding your face in hands with so much care. By the time breakfast is ready, not a single inch of your pretty face remains unkissed and that's an achievement Jungwon is insanely proud of.
SUNOO — giggly kisses
You and Sunoo are like the epitome of PDA— cuddling, quick pecks on the cheeks, always holding hands— you have to have your hands on each other at all times. It's sickeningly sweet.
And matters only get worse when your behind closed doors, Sunoo would spend all his time with his lips glued to yours if he could.
He's obsessed with you, and your strawberry flavoured chapstick is anything but helpful. He needs kisses, no matter what it is you're doing.
“Sunoo, I'm busy.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, but he only shrugs, spinning you around on your desk chair.
“Too busy for kisses?”
When you nod, it's Sunoo's turn to roll his eyes.
“Wrong answer.”
And he crashes his lips to yours just as he had intended, illiciting a few giggles from you, laughing at his urgency.
NI-KI — kisses in the rain
Kisses never last too long with riki, quick pecks, passionate and loving but short. Long kisses, something you'd both be down to try but had never actually made the effort to. It's felt scary, awkward, maybe?
The two of you always had a more easygoing relationship, so your more affectionate gestures had always been kept to a minimum.
Until one night when your car broke down and you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere.
Rain pelted down from the sky and the wind whistled loudly, but even so, you'd be a fool not to step out of the car and watch the sunset in person.
You and Riki sat with your legs crossed, dangerously close to the cliff edge, bodies pressed against each other as an attempt to conserve heat.
There was something about that moment— maybe the soft glow of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon — or the way your eyes beamed and sparkled as each strand of your hair slowly grew wet. Something so raw.
Riki couldn't even bring himself to hesitate, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion and kissing you urgently.
One hand reached back to grip your hair, and another cradled your chin, guiding your lips further into his.
Safe to say, kissing in the rain might just be his favourite.
taglist: @chenlezip @nanawrlds @mystverse @jenobubbles @flaminghotyourmom @lotties-readings
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muqingslover · 1 month ago
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[ Back again! Did you guys miss me? I sure missed you! As a gift I offer Sylus' NSFW alphabet! I totally forgot about this after Caleb's im so sorry 😞]
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A = Aftercare
After sex with Sylus is incredibly soft. He will make sure you don't have to lift a single finger and do everything for you. He will bathe you, dress you and then put you to bed, tucked away safely in his arms.
Sylus likes to talk to you just before you fall asleep. Sometimes about random topics, sometimes about something he has planned for the next day and, for most of the time, about you; The way your hair feels when he plays with it, how cute you look when you snuggle against him and of course, how much he loves you.
B = Bondage
Personally, he prefers bounding you compared to the other way around. Sylus is extremely hands on in the bedroom; Anything that will make it difficult for him to touch you as he wishes is just not ideal.
He will also go to great lengths to make sure the restraints used are custom made to be extra comfortable regardless of how much you struggle against them and won't cause any bruising or tearing on your skin.
C = Crying:
Given the fact Sylus is familiar with BDSM he knows to expect tears during sex. That however won't stop him from making sure they're from genuine pleasure and checking to see if you need a break. Once he is confident there is nothing wrong he actually enjoys knowing you feel so good it's a little overwhelming.
D = Dominance:
Soft dom!Sylus all the way! if you think otherwise then this blog is not for you.
A lot of people mistake doms for the "hardcore alpha daddy" stereotype because of media, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Sylus is a great example of it!
Being the dominant one is not only about what happens in the bedroom; The soft requests for you to take a seat where he points you to, picking out the clothes you wear, cooking your meals, being the only one you trust yourself with after a long day at work— That's all part of the play.
He has no need to degradate, break or physically abuse his partner to show his dominance. Keeping his partner, his sub, happy and satisfied is what's most fulfilling for an actual dom.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
I don't think Sylus has had any other partner besides you, but he has done extensive research on romance and sex.
One thing worth highlighting is that the first thing he learned was how to control his strength around you. Sylus didn't want to end up grabbing you too hard or doing something worse while excited so he took a lot of time to make sure he could use just the right amount of strength like second nature.
F = Favorite position:
Mating press. Come on now, you can't deny and say this comes as surprise.
This man also loves, and I mean looooves, when you're on top of him. Cowboy is definitely a favorite of his because then he can push his entire cock inside of you and watch the way you chase after your own pleasure.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Sylus is serious, but in the incredibly romantic way. He wants the both of you to pay full attention to this special moment and won't crack jokes or anything of the sort.
If you're feeling nervous then he will help you calm down with low, loving praises whispered in your ear and taking everything extra slow.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
For personal reasons only I like to think he has a bit of hair on his carpet. Nothing much, just enough. He simply doesn't overthink about that.
H o w e v e r
He will get that hair waxed (yes, WAXED.) the second his partner mentions any type of dislike or something similar towards it.
I = Impact play:
This will completely depend on his partner. Sylus personally does not enjoy hitting you, but as long as the two of you sit down and you explain to him you truly want it (and will enjoy it) he is willing to indulge you.
He won't do anything extreme, but you can expect him to make you count to fifteen while he smacked your ass with a soft padded tool as punishment.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He does not masturbate often nor does he truly enjoy it.
Go here for a full explanation.
K = Kissing:
Something very specific he enjoys is the feeling of your tongue against his. His tongue is longer than the average person's so you will struggle to welcome it, but that's just what is so delicious to him.
Sylus will often plant kisses right on the middle of your chest (in between your breasts if you're a lady) and on your stomach (iykyk).
L = Location (favorite places to have sex.)
The bed, though not any bed. It has to be one with a comfortable mattress and a steady headboard.
He also likes to have sex in the shower, holding you up in his arms while your back is pinned against the cold wall.
M = Masochism:
Not a masochist in any way. Sylus does not enjoy being inflicted pain (the same way he does not like to hurt you.)
Biting him and scratching his back is fair game though!
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Threesomes, group sex, public sex ect— Anything that involves sharing you or showing you to others is an absolutely no.
Making you bleed or burning you, breath play and degradation are also completely off the table.
O = Oral
Sylus is reaaaaally into blowjobs. The way you try and fail to fit his full length inside of your mouth, how the muffled moans that leave your throat feel against his throbbing cock and the teary look on your pretty little face is just what he needs to cum in no time at all.
Naturally he will return to favor anytime you want (or whenever he decides you deserve to "unwind" after a long day.) Sylus is a slow eater. He takes his time when exploring with his tongue, his nose adding such a pleasurable pressure against your hardened clit and feeling how you grow wetter each passing minute as he preps you torturously slow.
P = Patience:
Very much into edging and it's always accompanied by tons of praises, though a few teases will be thrown into the mix from time to time.
He is not trying to ruin or deprive you from your orgasm, Sylus merely wants to watch how absolutely adorable you get when you grow desperate enough to actually beg for it. So desperate that you feel no shame in asking him for exactly what you need and who is he to deny it after you've been so good?
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Not particularly his thing, but he is always willing to eat you out in between meetings (or have you give him a treat under his desk ;) )
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
A natural risk taker in general though surprisingly traditional once he's comfortable with a routine in the bedroom. Call him a creature of habit if you will.
Not that he's boring— Far from it — He is willing to try new things if you're the one suggesting it, but he knows how to spice things up based on your preferences and moods without needing outside influence.
I think it's worth mentioning BDSM plays commonly include some sort of routine so I also based this on that fact!
S = Sleepy sex:
Morning sex is number one of his absolute favorite things. It feels intimate, as if the two of you are the only people in the whole world and, most importantly, it feels safe.
The feeling of you so pliable and soft in his arms, the raspy and quiet noises from you while he gently works you open for him, how warm you feel around his cock when he slipped inside, the feeling of your back against his broad chest— He could go on for hours about why he loves it so much.
T = Top or bottom:
Stone top! He likes the role of caretaker and the general dominance that comes with it.
U = Underwear:
He prefers when you have nothing on, but if he had to pick then he likes silk! Night slips, robes, his own fancy shirts...ect. The fabric feels nice to touch and it won't irritate your skin even if things get a bit heated.
V = Voyeurism:
Letting others watch you? Absolutely not.
Him watching you masturbate however? Whew, the thought alone has him hot and bothered.
W = Wild card: (A personal headcanon that can be considered unexpected)
I don't know if this is unexpected (probably not if you follow me), but I will put it here because of what I've seen around this fandom.
Sylus likes gentle, loving and slow sex. The "violent", aggressive type is just not who he is nor will he bring it to the bedroom. Playing rough and being aggressive are two completely different things, remember that guys!
X = X-Ray:
I ain't doing this LMFAO sorry pookies dick anatomy is not for me. yk, a dick is a dick. Just know it's BIG.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
His sex drive is not overly high or super low. Sylus is a very "go with the flow" kind of guy for these things; If he sees you're in the mood or knows it's a good day for it then he will initiate something.
Z = Zones (His sensitive spot/s)
The middle of his chest where his scar is.
HIS BACK. Literally anywhere you touch him there just goes straight to his cock. Honorable mentions of his lower back and spine!
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takes1 · 6 months ago
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i am really in love with the way you write asahi!!!! really looking forward to part 2 of tipsy playfighting with him 😊😊😊
[final part] asahi getting rough with petite!reader
hellooooo thank you so much!!! was thiiiis ��close to doing a daddy kink thing, chose not to because that's kind of polarizing. like... pineapples on pizza
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warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI
details. fem!reader / rough sex / f!rec oral / asahi is the perfect dominant / submissive!reader / aftercare king / fingering / mutual size kink / playfighting kink / rough play kink / power struggle fetish / pseudo-bdsm themes / pet names / mentions of subspace / mid-sex communication / being way too loud / daichi being a great friend / 3.5k words
links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. part one here.
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'Kind of' made you stall at the top of the stairs.
The second floor, you realized, was all bedrooms. Your legs got heavy, your heart beating like a panicked bird in a cage.
It was ironic. Your ability to handle him downstairs came naturally, but as soon as you had some privacy, it all got intimidating.
Asahi paused after turning the corner. He eased back against the wall with a breath. He glanced to the staircase one more time to make sure nobody had followed you.
"There's nothin' to help with," He laughed, rubbing the side of his stubbly face, "I just- yeah, that was a super lame excuse, actually."
You stood with your hands clasped in front of you, a polite smile, trying to flex all the shivers down. Your crush on him reached its peaks and valleys throughout your years in school together. It reached a happy medium until tonight, starkly reminding you of your old, pushed-down feelings.
He was wicked cute, and that whole performance downstairs was cut too short.
A big breath led to a bigger sigh, "I really wanted to kiss you."
"Me too," You said, with almost no time to let his words settle.
Asahi covered his automatic laugh, and you shared a wholesome moment of mutual, nervous relief.
"Well, uh-," He seethed, eyes up to the ceiling, face much warmer, "If we're being totally honest-,"
The cheers downstairs cut him off. It sounded like Kageyama might have won his match, but neither of you cared.
Asahi suggested, instead, "Should we- go somewhere more private?"
Although you nodded, you weren't sure where he had in mind until he showed you into Daichi's bedroom. You raised your brow, taking in his posters, his books, the layout, feeling a bit guilty that he wasn't in here.
"Oh, I made sure it was cool with him if we- um, talked, in here," He explained.
The supportive body language from those two made infinitely more sense, but you doubted it that ended at 'talking.' You kept your excitement under the surface, for now.
"Right."
He sat on the mattress, a little invested in the feel of the sheets, by the way his hand slid and prodded over the thread count. The ache between your legs was starting to make your whole body cold.
Daichi had those glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, and you didn't want to leave it up to Asahi to fill the silence, so you tried, "How long do y'think he's had those?"
There were at least 20, you counted. When you looked back down, he was relaxed forward, elbows rested on his knees, with his face in his hands, staring straight at you. Screw the ceiling.
He cleared his throat, his eyes flickered dismissively up, "Oh, um- forever, I'm sure."
Asahi was a terrible liar. You were glad he was honest with you in the hall, because he had zero capacity for beating around the bush. His intentions were spoken for, but now they were transparent in his clouded, almost tormented eyes. He made it seem difficult to look at you without touching you.
"You said you wanted to kiss me, right?" The decision to make it easy for him was met with a huge shift in his expression, an ease you saw, earlier, that spread as he ran his hands along your sides.
A gentle brush of his thumb across your cheek, "I did."
Kissing him was simple- it didn't feel rushed, or confusing, at all. He made it all a pleasant and invigorating experience to follow his lead.
His fingers spread through your hair, at the base of your neck. A strong but soft pull brought you into the warm embrace of his body.
He smelled good- mostly like the aged liquor he was nursing most of the night, but a bit woody, with hint of cashmere. Even his scent made you feel taken care of.
"So," You caught your breath for a second, taking in his face as you tucked some hair behind his ear, "Are you sure Daichi's fine with us- talking, all over his bed?"
The way his eyes lit up during his chuckle made you grin, validated and light.
His lips smushed against yours again. He was lifting you up by the waist, setting you on your back with proud effortlessness. You kept your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, getting your fill of his hair while you could.
Before he could completely forget to respond, he hummed a preoccupied, "Yeahh, don't worry about'm."
A hand pinned yours against the mattress.
All he needed was a little reassurance, and he was no longer the sheepish wimp you knew him to be. For a while, when those hot summer seasons coincided with the throws of your crush, it was fun to imagine what he might be like. Now, there was proof, and he didn't disappoint.
The growing pressure he placed on you kept you flat, and slowly limited your ability to move. It was getting familiar.
You tried to move your hand from under his, unlace it, just to touch him, but it proved impossible.
A small chuckle, a little mutter against his temple as he struck crude kisses down the side of your neck: "Can I have my hand back?"
The skin over his knuckles was tough, and his palms were leathery, firm, from all the lifting he did. His strength alone spoke for his dedication, but you felt pleased to know these intimate details about his body.
Your request was met with your other hand being taken hostage. It wasn't fast, but he did it so naturally that you didn't think to move away.
The look he gave you perfectly represented the edge under his words.
"You want your hands back?"
It was a tease-- a way of telling you 'I know you can't move, but I want to see you try.'
You grew warm under the weight of his subtle, playful pushing-- both between your legs and over your palms.
Robbed of your autonomy, but still finding yourself exhilarated by the reality of his size, and his capacity to use it well, the only thing left to do was play along with him. If he had a real thing for this, you wanted to know just how far it went, how worked up it could get you both.
A tiny attempt to pull your arms closer was met with his easy, slow adjustment to cross them instead, above your head. He kissed you through it, all warm and gentle and kind and safe-- but curiously engrossed in your inability to physically overcome him.
It sent a warm chill down your back- flexed, lingering in another ache between your thighs.
His lips were so soft, and sweet, and light, contrasted well against the slight burn of his stubble.
"Mm-," Asahi sighed, a soft peck to your cheek so he could collect himself, "You're givin' up already?"
The warm spill of his words across your face, plus the thrill of his little challenge, had you squirming, all knotted up and itching for him to give you more than just kisses.
"You--," You tensed at his slow, messy sucking along your jaw, "You-mm! Know I can't move..."
Maybe he was taking pity on you- maybe it was your whiny admission fueling a more licentious desire, inspiring him to let you go so he could start stripping you. You delighted in the chance it gave you to watch his reactions.
Soon, you were fully nude- and he was still fully clothed, with no foreseeable urgency to even the imbalance out.
Instead, he let a hand overlap your waist, eyes still busy scouring over you, "Are you gonna be okay?"
"Dunno," You mumbled, playing with his fingers as you shot a look to his fly, "Maybe you should check."
Your coquettish quip earned a hasty, rough, but amused kiss. You writhed against his weight again, this time with a justifiable anticipation at the sound of him pulling his cock out.
It was hot as it fell against your skin. A welcome feeling of closeness you couldn't get from much else, just being skin to skin with somebody else. It made you feel a bit like melted butter.
He pushed himself up to take his shirt off, all the while examining his length, pushing it down so that he could measure it in relation to your small torso.
"We'll have to, um..." You trailed, a shaky exhale at his burly, tanned physique, "Be.."
The word 'careful' fell apart on your tongue. Now he was measuring his fingers, next to his cock. One hand remained idle wrapped around the bulk of your thigh.
It was indeed fascinating how some body types probably shouldn't try to come together, like you were. Seemed like an evolutionary flaw.
Especially because the look in his eyes was nothing short of carnivorous. It was occasionally batted back by bouts of concern for the logistics of it all.
"I've got a few ideas," He smiled, real handsome, real sweet, down at you.
Curious, you watched all your favorite muscles of his work and relax again as he backed up off of the mattress, standing at the edge of the bed.
In a second, you had been pulled closer, then adjusted in front of him- it left you breathless at the simple ease of it all. You fixed your hair, a glossy and fixated admiration in your gaze up to him.
Awed, you told him in a shaky giggle, "I really like that..."
Asahi leaned over you; a timid and flattered sigh prickling up your skin, "Yeah?"
His rough hands pinched at your hips as he kissed a messy trail down your tummy.
Whispered, just as his knees hit the carpet, "I like it, too."
It was impossible to not get excited. He always stuck you as a guy with more patience than most.
Patient was a good word to describe the way he ate you out-- he may have liked to toss you around, but it wasn't out of carelessness, or negligence. It was an exploration of boundaries, a bit of power play, and this was played right into the dynamic. His performance wasn't perfect, or void of little, silly hiccups, but it was endearing and fun to discover together.
After he got you warmed up, he began slowly, one by one, pushing his fingers into you.
"How's that feel?"
It was a curious, but flirty question.
He already knew how much you were enjoying yourself, how you were trying to keep yourself quiet under your hand, struggling to not roll your hips into his hand. He just wanted to hear you.
A raspy sigh, a distracted nod, "So g-ood--,"
"Takin' me soo well," He grinned, sucking another messy kiss to you, "Y'want another?"
It wasn't exactly audible, but he was watching that sweet, desperate little expression on your face enough to know you did.
You could feel his smile spread- making your thighs flinch, your body curl at the intensity of getting stretched even further.
"You're so cute."
A mumbly admission, buzzing just right onto you. You were so full of him, reeling in how thick three of his fingers were, and dangerously close once he concentrated on your clit.
Soon you were gripping harder, twitching, then squeezing him--, "H-ah-!"
You started begging when nonverbal queues didn't get through.
"Asahi- asahi, please-ah," You huffed, starting to feel your climax rushing in, threatening to take hold of you, "I'm s-o close-!"
You thought he would stop, for favor of dragging this out longer, but he didn't slow down, nor did he let off of you. The only change was his grip tightening, gripping into your skin. A twitch of your thigh, trying to push on him, was met with a powerful pull to keep it far away, to the side and keep you opened up.
The pressure it brought only added to your rapture- he was actively getting off to watching, hearing, feeling you beg for a break. He loved it.
"Mmn-!" Pulling on his hair did you no favors, other than encouraging that slow, constant swirl of his big tongue around your swollen clit.
In the end, the harshness in your brow, in your clawing fingers, your shaky thighs, all softened under his steady hold. He felt so good taking you apart, then bringing you all back together.
Another messy kiss, so sweet- but so mean, shoved you over the steep edge.
He could feel you tighten, pulse around his fingers and filled you to the knuckle; a tipsy, crooked smile barely visible under his working tongue.
It took so long to come out of the throws of your orgasm that he was already back on top, filling the space above you. You quickly locked your legs around him, hands guiding his face up for a kiss.
His knack for multitasking never stopped. You were given so many gentle, attentive kisses as he put you in the center of the bed, where there was finally room for the both of you.
He wanted you on your elbows and knees. Numb, and tingly, and pliable, you let him adjust you the way he wanted; you kept your debaucherous smile to yourself.
You needed every second of that foreplay to take him- he was the biggest you had ever been with. Thankfully, he also happened to be the sweetest.
"Ooh my god," Your trembling was quelled by the weight of his body.
His groan was low, stuttery, at your tight pussy clenching hard all around him.
He caught his breath, a pretty moan in the back of his throat, "Shit."
His praises were loosely strung together, punctuated in little kisses to the back of your head as he placed his elbows on the mattress, at your sides. If he had been watching, he probably wouldn't have lasted very long.
It was getting rough, quickly, but you found his kind attention more than enough to keep you relaxed.
"Mm-!" You muffled a cry, fisting the sheets while he chuckled at how cute all your little sounds were, hungry for more.
In one fluid motion, he had your arms pinned; one was tucked under you, the other was extended far out in front of you. The responsive gasp was more of your body, reacting on its own, but it was an invigorating thing to consider. He was such a timid guy, so every dirty thing he said or did still took you by surprise.
It was just like how you finished your match earlier, with one big difference.
"Mmnh-aAh! Augh-ah-Mm!"
Your surprised, whiny sounds spilled free against the sheets. His cock filled every bit of you- it felt so good your breath was getting shorter, harder to catch.
You couldn't see it, but he drank that messiness up, a furrowed concentration in his brow to keep giving it to you as hard as you needed.
"You like that?" His voice was right in your neck again, buzzed.
It melted your resistance away- you couldn't even squirm, couldn't tell him yes. You were so full, so close already, that when he stalled deep and cruel, to let you think, your euphoria was barely interrupted. You cried, tearless, drooling a little on Daichi's sheets.
"You wanna talk to me, sweetie?"
The kindness in his voice right now should've been illegal. You breath was getting shaky, your vision long since useless.
"T-ell me-mm, how it feels," He muttered, still egging you on, a kiss to the tip of your ear.
His voice fell away from you, your heart pounding in your ears- you were just swimming in delectation. His warmth, his sure delivery of careful pleasure, his gravelly, well-meaning taunts. It was starting to take you far away, for the first time.
You noticed, but didn't react to his retracting hands, nor the readjustment of his weight off of you.
He was deeply troubled that you hadn't responded to him.
If Asahi had been any more experienced or confident, he would've known the clear signs of subspace-- but considering his experience ended at some casual sex, and the absence of conversation, and not understanding of either of your limits, he thought he fucked up, bad.
You were just different. That made him nervous.
Concern laced his voice quick, a sobering sound.
"Hey?" There were a couple taps to your cheek, and when you got your focus back, he was bending to try to get a good look at your face.
You gave a weak smile, "Mm?"
"You okay?"
A big stretch, an otherwise silly invitation for him to put his hands back on top of yours, "Mmmmhm..."
The way you sat back a little, pushing yourself gently onto his cock, made him take a second. A quick moment to suck in a restrained breath. Then a reserved, relieved chuckle.
"Are you- sure?" Was his last attempt. Now he was noticing the shakiness from your legs, your irregular breathing.
He put a tiny peck to your temple, fingers carefully running over your side.
You gave a close-mouthed whine and winced away at the ticklish sensation, "God-- Just fuck me please,"
When he was watching where to put his hands, he noticed your wiggly fingers, and grinned- happy to take you up on the offer, again.
He met your light pushing with stronger, steady strokes that kept you gasping- whiny, with pleasure.
Your endurance was absolute garbage, when it came to his unconventional way of treating you. Neither of you were expecting it to click so well- not as just-friends, for years, with on-and-off separate partners and countless, ill-timed crushes on each other.
It was amusing to think of how different this would make your 'friendship' now. How could you tell the team you were dating, after they watched what was essentially half of your foreplay downstairs?
This orgasm washed over you in shorter, smaller waves than the first- but it took so long to fully crest that it felt a thousand years longer.
You weren't particularly loud, this time, but now that he was paying so much attention to you, he spoke you through it with unparalleled timing.
"Good, fuck- that's good," He sighed, huffy, in your ear.
His hand quickly clasped over your mouth before you could make a sound.
Though you felt so perfect, the little scare you gave him warded off any chance he had at cumming, too. It'd have to wait for some other time. The satisfaction from getting you to this point was more than enough payoff for him.
"Good girl."
You had never felt so disconnected from your own body before. It was like you felt your climax about two rooms down the hall- and all it left you with was some invisible, heavy blanket all across your limbs.
For all that was worth, it was pretty cool.
His quiet shushing, all in your ear, was the evidence you needed that you hadn't been entirely present. You weren't sure when he started and when he stopped.
"You're okay- you're okay," He cooed, thumb gently brushing your warm cheek.
He held you incredibly still, listening, watching, for you, before pulling out.
You felt like a heavy bag of sand.
In fact, after he had shifted slowly off you and leaned closer, the way you slumped down was akin to one. Maybe more of a bag of concrete mix, instead.
It was staggering to believe your sweet, silly, nervous Asahi took it out of you, like that.
"You okay?" He was ultra-gentle, now, sliding featherlight touches over your back.
It was just enough to keep you awake.
"(Y/n)?"
You didn't realize you needed to respond. A slow, laborious sigh. You opened your eyes and were surprised to see him, once again, leaning over you to watch your face.
"Yeah..."
It didn't convince him- he looked like he was going to call an ambulance.
"I'm- tired," You went to push yourself up.
The intense quivering in your arms stopped you. Having to push back against him for so long was exhausting, and now you were completely spent. You wondered if it had anything to do with the little fight earlier, too.
He shook his head when he noticed you try to move on your own again, "Nono, I got you."
For the millionth time tonight, his ability to pick you up, from whatever position he found himself in, left you in a delighted daze. He set you so that you at least had a pillow under your head.
"You need some water? Let me go get some for you real quick."
You did feel pretty dried up. Like a dead, frail flower.
A tiny nod, and he was rushing to put on enough clothes, zipping out the door in search of water. You fell asleep in the short time he was gone, too sleepy to pull the covers over you or to roll to your side.
"Mmh..."
It had only been a minute or so.
But you felt a thousand years old, getting woken up from an ancient slumber, when a soft throw blanket was covering you- a big, gentle hand over top of it, rubbing your shoulder to rouse you.
Asahi settled to your side, watched closely as you drank, and pressed more kisses to the side of your head. He reached over you to set the bottle on the bedside table.
"Thank you," You leaned into him, then decided to give him a little edge of the blanket, too, and rested your head on his chest, "I'm okay."
"Good."
He was warm. You squeezed an arm over him.
"How are we gonna tell everyone?" You mumbled, against his tummy.
"I-... don't think we need to."
Confused at what he meant by that, you stopped trying to burrow into him, and propped up a little to look him in the face.
"Uh-," He tilted his head from side to side, a little warmth on his tan features, "We weren't...exactly...quiet."
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☆VIP☆
@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco
taglist. thanks for supporting!
@samisfunky @fimisstuff @vlads-dracula3
@toria175 @kornlol @coffeeaddictedmay @feiwelinchen
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my masterlist. more haikyuu.
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sapphicstrawcore · 19 days ago
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ᰔ Arcane Modern au: 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜
—Sevika, pt2
Loser sevika!au part 2 coming soon! Maybe I’ll even… write… a fic…? And not only Headcanons…? Who knows…?
I feel like this one’s a bit longer than the first one, but maybe I’m just hallucinating. Anyway, enjoy 🫶🏻
pt one, pt two
masterlist ᰔ
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She hates vapes. Sticks to hard-ass, stinky no-filter cigarettes like she’s 60 and been through three divorces. Marlboro Reds. Maybe unfiltered Lucky Strikes. She’d rather die than hit a pink grape vape. She’s like “put that USB shit away from me”.
If you tell her it’s bad for her health and she can die she just says “yeah but at least I’m not dying like a clown”.
She doesn’t have a bag. She refuses to have a bag. Her idea of “organization” is shoving everything into her pockets like a raccoon. Her wallet’s half unzipped. Her phone screen’s cracked from her keys scratching it. When you offer her a pouch once she’s heavily offended and doesn’t take it.
But when you go out together ?? You’re her vessel. “Hold this for a sec,” she says, dropping her entire life into your bag without waiting for an answer.
“You still got my ID in there, babe?” Like yeah, -unfortunately-, your bag with HER stuff inside is your responsibility.
What is yours is hers and what is hers is yours in your relationship, so she always reaches into your bag like it’s hers. Doesn’t even ask. Just digs around with those big scarred fingers like “Where’s my gum?” and pulls out the most random thing you forgot you even had in there, like a cute miffy keychain or a hello kitty plushie. Not what she was looking for.
She’s so bad at texting she looks like she’s abt to break up with you at every message. She’s dry as hell— All her texts are either one-word responses, her max is five or just “k.” But she does show up 30 minutes later with food, painkillers, and your favorite candy.
She doesn’t understand why you get anxious over her texts until you text her like she does one day and she freaks out bc she doesn’t why you stopped yapping every 30 seconds with emojis and capital letters.
She DOES have social media, instagram mostly cause she realized it had its benefits: stalking you. Shamelessly. I mean “stalking” is a too dramatic word for her. You’re her partner and your acc is public, come on.
What she doesn’t tell you is that she actually made her acc before you even got together.
Actually even before you became friends in the first place. She wanted to know you before—
Her acc is private and she doesn’t want to do anything with it at first but she ends up with a few blurred and strangely aesthetic pics and when she change her pfp with her side profile she’s confused by the girls asking to follow her acc.
She’s not trying to be a red flag—she just kinda is, passively, by default. She thinks she’s just existing normally but you have to tell her sometimes smth like “okay, be normal, you’re scaring people rn.”
Like she’s just standing at a gas station at 2AM waiting for you, arms crossed, cigarette in mouth, looking like she’s about to kill someone but in her head she’s just vibing! You try to explain it to her and she’s like “The fuck? I was just waiting for you. Literally just breathing.”
She’s not emotionally unavailable on purpose—she just didn’t grow up around people who put their feelings into words so it’s difficult but she tries.
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That’s all for todayyyy I don’t really know how to feel about this one, maybe it’s bc I spent too much time writing it, so I feel confused abt if it’s a good one or not, but anyway, I did it and it’s not so bad so it’s fine
⋆. 𐙚 ˚
since you asked me to tag you in the next one, @lonerslug 🫶🏻
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heich0e · 3 months ago
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you pretend you can't see your house keys in your tiny little purse, taking your sweet time rifling through the handful of personal items you carry around with you as though thoroughly searching for them.
in front of you, sakura stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders lifted up a little bit closer his ears than is natural. he's looking around your neighbourhood outside your apartment door—up the road, down the road, and then back again—his lips pursed slightly like he's thinking hard about something. or like he's trying hard not to think about something.
fuck, he's so cute.
"ah!" you slip your pointer finger through the key ring you've had your hand on for the better part of a minute. you fish them out, and your keys and various chains and charms jingle as they swing from your finger. "here they are."
sakura looks over at you, his mismatched eyes a little wider than a moment ago. he looks away after only a brief moment of eye-contact, inching away slowly. "'kay. well... night, then."
"don't you wanna come in?"
sakura looks like he's about to experience some kind of cardiac incident.
"come in?" he asks, and his voice is more strained than it was before. almost like he's angry, or frustrated, but you suspect that's not the case. he's just startled is all—and as cute as ever. "wh-why would i come in?"
"well, do you want the truth or do you want me to lie?" you ask him, and your tone is sincere. he looks perplexed by your proposition.
"the truth obviously—why would I want you to lie?"
"well, the truth is i'm asking you if you want to fuck me," you explain, your tone still conversational. sakura nearly jumps out of his skin. "but i figured if i told you that the answer was to fu—"
sakura rushes forward, stepping into your space and placing a hand over your mouth. he's surprisingly gentle about it.
"would you stop saying that?" he asks you, his pitch high and tone exasperated.
you can't say much at all with his hand over your mouth like this, but you wonder if he can tell you're smiling under the cover of his palm. wonder if your eyes give you away, and if that's why he's having such a difficult time meeting them.
"if i take my hand away you're not gonna say... that again, right?"
you nod obediently.
sakura sighs, letting the warmth of his hand slip slowly away from your lips. he immediately rakes his hands through his hair, and the strands stand up in a way that makes him look even more frazzled than he already did.
"i can't believe you said that," he mutters, mostly to himself you think.
"why?" you ask. "i meant it."
his attention snaps back to you, panic in his eyes—like he's worried you're on the bring of saying something untoward again.
"you... y-you can't just say it like that!" his voice is a frantic whisper now, and he looks furtively up and down the hallway of your apartment like he's worried about being overheard. "we're in public."
"that's why i asked you if you wanted to come in," you shrug, batting your lashes demurely. "you're the one who made me explain why."
sakura is too sweet for his own good. you know this about him, even though the two of you are only superficially acquainted. the fact he'd walked you all the way home from the bar, in spite of the two of you not being particularly close, is another testament to this truth.
down the hall, the lock of one of your neighbours doors clicks and sakura's head whips around towards the sound. he looks back at you frantically. he nudges you in the direction of your front door, his expression conflicted. "fine, fine. just... let's talk inside."
inside your apartment things are no less tense. sakura has himself pressed back against the door, as though refusing to step even an inch further into your home than absolutely necessary. his cheeks are flushed bright pink, and he seems a little mortified about the whole ordeal.
you're trying very hard not to giggle.
"do you do this a lot?" he asks you, and he sounds thoroughly exhausted.
"proposition people?" you ask him, setting your purse down on the narrow table against the wall in your genkan. "not frequently, but not never, either."
"i meant put people on the spot like that," he hisses.
"i didn't mean to put you on the spot," you reply, bending down to unbuckle your heels. "i just wanted to know if you wanted to have sex with me."
"i don't do this," sakura snaps, his cheeks a furious shade of red now.
you peek up at him, still bent down towards the floor. "have sex?"
if humanly possible, you think sakura's cheeks would light up your genkan with a neon glow. he sputters indignantly, "i have sex!"
you lift a brow, toeing off your unbuckled shoes.
sakura pouts slightly, ruffling his hair. "i mean... i've had sex, or whatever."
you don't doubt he's telling the truth. though he doesn't seem a lothario by any stretch of the imagination, you don't doubt that there's no shortage of women just like yourself who are hoping to catch sakura's eye.
"i just don't... this isn't how... i don't just get right into bed with the girl i like for no good reason."
you pause.
he freezes.
your grin is unsuppresible now.
"sakura-san," you purr, stepping up towards him slowly. the height difference between you has changed now that your shoes are off, but you don't mind it. sakura has nowhere to run (though you suspect he wishes he did, if the look on his face is anything to go by) since he's still firmly pressed against your door. "do you like me?"
he looks like he wants to disappear. "i didn't—that's not what i—"
"you don't like me?" you ask him, standing toe to toe with him now, your head tilted slightly. he's visibly at war with himself, internally. his eyes don't know where to look now that you're this close.
"i didn't say that," his voice cracks halfway through the words. he immediately covers his face with his hands. he hides from you for a moment and then lets out a long, low groan. "this is so fucking embarrassing."
you disagree. it's extremely charming, but you spare him that remark because (strangely) you don't think that will make him feel any better at the moment.
sakura's fingers split, and a flash of his gold iris peeks out from between his knuckles. "this is all your fault."
"my fault?" you ask him, playing coy. "how so?"
"you... you can't just ask random guys if they wanna... y'know."
"fuck me?"
"c'mon!" sakura throws his hands up in exasperation, and you have to press a hand over your mouth to hide your laughter. he looks at you, still annoyed but somehow deflated, like he's wordlessly asking you to put him out of his misery. you reach out, toying with the zipper on sakura's jacket idly, mostly just as an excuse to stay so close.
"but you're not just 'some random guy'," you murmur softly, peeking up at him through your lashes. sakura's cheeks are still pink, but his gaze has considerably softened. you're fairly certain he's holding his breath. "so can you really blame me for asking the guy i like if he wants to come in?"
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keirareidss · 1 month ago
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puzzles and pomegranates - s.r
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♡ summary: you and Spencer do a puzzle together while getting to know each other pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: none :) pure fluff wc: 1.5k
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It wasn't your first date. Not technically. You'd had one or two, both having been interrupted by work calling and now, tonight, it felt like it just might work out.
You were sitting on the floor of your apartment, Spencer across from you on the other side of the coffee table, a puzzle dumped out onto it. You had invited him over on Friday and now it was Saturday night and you were calling this your official first date. It may not be conventional but you were both really enjoying it so far. You'd poured wine and got snacks for the two of you and were quietly puzzling with soft piano music on in the background, Spencer's choice.
"So, am I your first girlfriend?" You asked and he glanced up for a moment.
"Yeah. Am I your first."
"There have been one or two before you. Don't let that dissuade you, though, you're my favorite so far."
"So far?" He chuckles a bit and you laugh as well.
"You're putting emphasis on the wrong part of that statement." You joked.
"Alright I have a question." He said. You'd been doing this for the past ten minutes, trading questions back and forth, learning more about the person across from you.
"Shoot." You said, clicking an edge piece into place. You both shared the same tactic when going into puzzles. You start by finding all the edge pieces and taking them out, keeping the others in the box. You assemble the edge entirely and then fill in the center. That's at least one thing you have in common.
"What's your favorite color?" He asks and you let out a sharp laugh.
"That's your big question?" You giggled.
"It's a deep question for some people. Sometimes people have an important meaning for their favorite color."
"Do you?"
"No but some people do." He muttered, a blush growing on his cheeks. "Historically it's been difficult to explain why we have favorite colors. Research has shown that people often associate colors with feelings, and it's easy to prove that people like certain colors."
"Really?" You asked and Spencer's eyes lit up a bit, a sign he was about to fall into a long ramble and you couldn't wait.
"Yeah! There's a theory that people like or dislike a given color to the degree that they like or dislike all of the objects and entities that they associate with that color. For example, people often like blue hues because it reminds them of clear skies and clean water. On the other hand, people tend to shy away from brown hues because they remind us of feces or rotting food."
"Huh. So what's your favorite color?"
"I asked you first." He smiled.
"Alright. Green."
"Really?"
"Yep. And I promise you, there is no science behind it." You said and he scoffed.
"Please. There's science behind everything."
"Fine, what's yours?"
"Purple."
"Give me the science genius, c'mon." You urged when he didn't elaborate and he chuckled.
"I'm not sure actually. I know that purple is usually associated with creativity and intuitiveness."
"Well, I'd say you're pretty creative. That was a good question, Spence." You said. You'd finished the edge of the puzzle by now and you dumped the puzzle pieces out onto the table.
"Your turn." He hummed.
"Hmm... any hidden talents?"
"I have a lot of talents. Perks of an eidetic memory." He grins cockily and you playfully roll your eyes.
"Okay, let me rephrase. Any talents the team don't know about?"
"I'm good at knitting. Only Garcia knows about that one. And you too now I guess." He shrugs.
"Really? What have you knitted?"
"I made a scarf for a doctor who convention I went to." He says proudly. It was so cute how proud he was of all his nerdy little fixations, and your lips quirked upwards unconsciously.
"Sounds fun."
"It would have been fun if we weren't called into work almost immediately." He frowns at the memory. "My costume looked awesome too." He was almost pouting and you smiled.
"I'm sure you looked adorable." You reached over the table to boop his nose, which he scrunched right after.
"What about you?"
"My secret talent is knowing every single one of your tells."
"That's not a talent." He says, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Do you know anyone else that can do that?" You grinned, leaning over the table towards him.
"Well... no." His lips pressed together in that awkward look that always made you smile. "What are my tells?"
"When you're reading and you read something that confused you, you do a little head tilt, and your eyebrows furrow, and you get a little crease right here." You said reaching forward, tapping between his brows. He blushes looking down at the puzzle.
"Okay. Next question."
"I believe it's your turn." You said, taking a sip of your wine.
"What's your favorite type of cloud?"
"What?" You laugh in surprise.
"Mine are cumuliform heaps." He says like this is a normal topic.
"Spencer, I'm gonna be honest, I don't know anything about clouds." He looks up from the puzzle.
"Nothing?" He asks, his head tilting slightly.
"Not a thing."
"Oh... I don't think we can be together anymore." He says with a straight face and there's a split second where you think he's serious and then his face breaks out into a grin and his cheeks start flushing red. You smile as well, flicking his arm.
"You jerk! I thought you were serious." You said as he giggled.
"Don't worry. I'll teach you everything I know about clouds."
"Good. I expect nothing less."
"Well, for starters, cumuliform clouds form through upwards air movement due to atmospheric instability, resulting in buoyant air rising and creating these distinctive cloud shapes. They're characterized by their puffy, billowy appearance with flat bases and vertical development." He explains and you can proudly say you learned something new tonight.
"What's the name of the big, dark, thunder clouds?"
"Nimbostratus? That one is a multilevel, nearly uniform, and often dark-grey cloud that usually produces continuous rain, but no lightning or thunder. That's your favorite?"
"Mhm. I love rain clouds. I love the rain too. Perfect reading weather."
"Me too! It's my favorite type of weather." Spencer says excitedly.
"My turn, my turn, um... okay, here's an easy one. Favorite holiday."
"Easy. Halloween." You laugh at the speed of his answer.
"Really? I would have never guessed." You said, eyeing his pumpkin and bat themed mismatched socks. It's June. Spencer blushes and looks down.
"They're comfy. And Halloween is awesome. I scare Derek every year. It's hilarious." He smiles at the memory.
"That actually makes a lot of sense. You give off the vibe of someone who loves Halloween."
"What does that mean?" He asks, his nose scrunching endearingly.
"Nothing, nothing. Mine's Christmas."
"Basic." He coughs under his breath teasingly and you smile at his playfulness.
"It's popular for a reason. I have good memories associated with it. My family all getting together, having one big meal, a gift exchange, playing in the snow with my cousins. The season just always makes me feel nostalgic. I buy the same candle every year, a gingerbread one, and burn it throughout all of December because it reminds me of making gingerbread cookies with my mom."
"That's sweet." Spencer said and you hummed.
"Your turn." You said, clicking in another piece. You were about halfway done with your 100 piece puzzle. Spencer had done probably 80% of the work while you enjoyed the view in front of you. Wine-drunk Spencer, flushed cheeks and golden glow coming in front the window and casting over him. He looked ethereal.
"What's your favorite fruit?" He asked, interrupting your train of thought.
"Pomegranates." You answered, not having to think much.
"Really?"
"Mhm. They're kinda… poetic, in a way. To enjoy them you have to break them open, rip out every little juicy part of its center, tediously picking out all the seeds, for such a small acquisition. You're truly destroying it for a small bit of happiness."
"That is... really poetic." He said quietly.
"I told you."
"Kinda dark." He joked and you smiled at him.
"You're gonna have to deal with it, Spence. It's a package deal."
"I think I can handle it. Where do I sign?" He tells another joke, sparking a bout of giggles from you. You could tell the wine was making him feel more loose and calm without worrying about having to put on a front. You were glad that he had someone he could be himself with. You were even more glad that that someone was you.
You settled onto the ground more, pulling a blanket over your lap. You got cozy, preparing for a night of getting to know the man in front of you, excited to learn everything you could. You couldn't wait to ask him a million questions about him that he was sure no one else had ever asked him.
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a/n: guys I actually did research for this fic, isn't that crazy? I read an article on the science behind people's favorite colors and it was actually really interesting. do you think Spencer would be proud of me? :)
Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @redorquid
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maxlarens · 1 year ago
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Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)
CL: slip up and i call you baby
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pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader
summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)
fc: faceless
word count: 5.1k
warnings: mild sexual references
a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)
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(yn’s messages)
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(instagram)
@ynusername just posted…
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liked by @chloegarelli, @charlesleclerc and others
ynusername italy we are in u!!!
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Amalfi Coast, Italy
You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.
There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.
For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.
It’s difficult to put into words.
So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.
Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.
Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.
You should know that by now.
Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.
He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.
It sucks. You hate him, you think.
Or you want to.
On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.
“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”
You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”
Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”
“I do not,” you answer too quickly.
Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.
“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”
Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”
“So.”
He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.
“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.
“Hi,” he replies.
He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.
“Are you heading back?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.
Ugh.
“I’ll come with you?”
“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”
You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.
“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.
He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”
You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.
You don’t see him watching you leave.
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Amalfi Coast, Italy
Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.
You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.
You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.
You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.
When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.
You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.
You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.
“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.
You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.
“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.
At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”
Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.
It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.
You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.
You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.
When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.
“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.
“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.
He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.
“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.
Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.
He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.
Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”
You nod, “Mmm.”
You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.
“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.
You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.
Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.
Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.
Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”
You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.
“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”
You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
You know he means it. It’s not that.
“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.
He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.
Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”
He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.
You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”
You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.
You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”
He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”
You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”
“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”
You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.
“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.
He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”
“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”
“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”
“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”
Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”
You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.
Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”
You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”
“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.
You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”
Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.
The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”
“Why?”
You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”
“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”
You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”
He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”
You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.
He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”
“Alright,” you say, “Good.”
As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.
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Amalfi Coast, Italy
You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.
For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.
It’s nice. He’s nice.
But you knew that already.
Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.
On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.
You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.
“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”
“You guess?”
He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”
You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”
He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.
“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.
He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”
“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.
“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.
You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.
The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.
You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.
Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.
He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”
“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.
You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.
He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”
You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”
“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.
You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”
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🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE
taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)
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frflyavenue · 3 months ago
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Ateez Imagines: Subtle Acts of Affection
Pairing: Boyfriend!Ateez x Fem!Reader
Warnings: None, pure fluff
Author’s Note: Feel free to leave any asks or requests for future posts! Fluffy posts every Tuesday.
Park Seonghwa
Seonghwa loves everything you do.
He admires you so much, from the way you look to everything you’ve accomplished, big and small.
He’s always so proud of you, and he wants you to know it.
So, Seonghwa has gotten into the habit of praising you whenever he gets the chance.
You finished a particularly difficult project?
“See? I knew you could do it. Let’s get you in bed now, hm? You’ve worked hard.”
You cooked for him with a new recipe?
“This is delicious baby, wow. You’re incredible, you know?”
You got home after a tough day at work?
“Hey honey… I know, today was tough. Why don’t we get you cleaned up so we can go watch a movie and eat some dinner, hm? You deserve it, love.”
Hell, he even praises you when you get out of bed in the morning.
“Hey sleepyhead… aw, you look absolutely adorable. Come cuddle up with me for a little while, hm? You’re too precious…”
He just loves you so much :(
Kim Hongjoong
Hongjoong has so much respect for you it’s not even funny.
So, naturally, he always wants to give you the comfort and respect you deserve.
You often find him adjusting your clothes, be it unfolding a flipped up part of your skirt or untangling a strap of your dress.
Also tends to check your outfits before leaving the house, but he goes about it in the least possessive way possible.
“Baby, that outfit is so cute! But do you think you could save it for a day we are just going to hang out with the members or something? There’s going to be a lot of people out there tonight and I don’t want any creeps trying anything.”
Looking at the little pout on his face, how could you disagree?
The type to cover your legs with a jacket if he notices you feeling uncomfortable with the length of your skirt.
Teasingly raises an eyebrow at how many buttons you have undone of your top, but doesn’t say anything if he isn’t actually concerned (he’s not complaining, lol)
Overall just such a gentleman for his princess.
Kang Yeosang
In public, Yeosang always tends to feel a bit lost.
With so many people around, there’s always so much commotion, and while he isn’t the type to get particularly anxious, he doesn’t like how chaotic his surroundings are.
Of course, he knows you feel the same way.
So whenever it’s possible, Yeosang has made it a habit to play with your hands under the table or behind your backs.
Traces circles on your palms, the backs of your hands, and over your knuckles.
Squeezes your hand three times to tell you he loves you.
Toys with your rings, if you’re wearing any.
You’re his favorite person.
Loves to get lost in his own little world with you amidst the chaos of his celebrity life.
Jeong Yunho
There’s nothing in this world that Jeong Yunho loves more than your smile.
Seriously, he would go to great lengths just to make you laugh, let alone just smile at him.
It’s breathtaking to him in a way he doesn’t dare try to explain.
So, whenever he sees you particularly stressed, with eyebrows furrowed and a permanent frown;
Or whenever he sees you a little bit overwhelmed from the chaos of his members or the celebrity world;
He finds a way to lightly poke your side.
The action is so simple, yet just enough to remind you that he’s there and still his usual, playful self.
Always smiles back twice as bright when the action elicits a smile from you, so happy to see his baby in a better mood because of him.
Willing to dodge your punches from being tickled however many times he has to if it means he gets to see you smile for the rest of his life
;-;
Song Mingi
Mingi has always been a gentleman.
You love him for it, always finding yourself bashful at his sweet gestures and innocent ways of helping you out.
One thing in particular that you love is when he places his hand on the small of your back in public.
Sometimes to guide you, sometimes just to rub his thumb back and forth over your back to remind you he’s there.
But almost always, his hand is there.
In reality, Mingi is proud of you.
Seriously.
He flaunts you at every opportunity, boring his members with sentimental rambles and the same stories about you over and over.
He wishes the whole world could see how much he loves you.
So what you thought was just a gentlemanly gesture
Is really his way of telling the world that you’re his.
And his way of telling you that he loves you, and he wont ever let go.
Choi San
Aw, this man… :(
He’s so whipped for you.
He does everything in his power to take care of you, because he really does just love you so much.
Not a day goes by that he doesn’t remind you how much he loves you.
Wants nothing more than for you to rely on him.
But equally as much as you need him, he needs you.
You’re his safe place.
Loves moments where he can just forget about all of his worries and bury himself into your chest while you hold him tight.
Because you’re his person.
You make him feel so safe.
So, whenever the two of you are out and about, whether just out with the members, on a date, or in public for some sort of event
If he finds himself getting overwhelmed, he leans over and rests his head on your shoulder.
It’s such a simple gesture, but it reminds both him and you that no matter where you are, you are always safe in the company of each other.
Please play with his hair and tell him everything is going to be okay, he’s just a baby :(
Jung Wooyoung
Believe it or not, I think Wooyoung is such a gentle romantic.
He definitely needs a partner he feels free to joke around with at any moment, of course
And the two of you do that frequently, always teasing or tackling each other
But when it comes to the moments between just the two of you, he’s so, so gentle with you.
You’re his princess, his beautiful girl that he has the responsibility of taking care of.
So whenever you find him lovingly admiring at your face, he reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
He does it seemingly all the time, but it never fails to make you blush.
It’s just so tender and quietly passionate, and you can’t help but lean into it.
If the two of you are alone, he’ll go the extra mile and cup your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over the soft skin.
If you’re lucky, you might even get a little kiss from him.
Choi Jongho
Jongho is the type to prioritize acts of service over anything else.
He would rather die than admit it, but he loves to help you, seriously.
Like, if you asked him to lick your shoes clean, he would
If nothing else just to see that pretty smile on your face and your sweet little “thank you” you give whenever he does anything for you.
One of his favorite things to do is help adorn you in jewelry before you go out.
“Oh, that necklace would look beautiful on you, let me see.”
And he would take the necklace from you with almost too-gentle hands and clasp it behind your neck for you.
Makes sure to brush his fingertips subtly over the sensitive skin there for good measure.
Also loves to take showers with you so he can wash your hair.
Hums while he does it, though you can’t tell if he does it to serenade you or if he’s doing it purely because he’s happy to be with you.
Doesn’t forget to lotion your skin once you get out.
You captured his heart in ways nobody else ever could
So of course he’s going to worship you like the goddess he knows you are.
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agaypanic · 3 months ago
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I would love if you could do a Chase Davenport x reader where the team is on a mission and part of it involves keeping the reader safe in a room somewhere and the whole time that Chase is trying to lead the mission the reader is flirting with him and making him all flustered bc she thinks it’s cute when the very serious smartest man in the world stumbles over his words
The President's Daughter (Chase Davenport X Reader)
Masterlist
Request Something!
Summary: The Lab Rats have a new mission: keep the president’s daughter safe until the people threatening her life have been taken care of. But Chase’s job gets a bit more difficult when you keep trying to flirt with him.
A/N: au where the president is actually a pretty chill guy and not a literal monster. Kinda spoiled/party girl reader. Kind of a white chicks vibe but instead of impersonating you, the lab rats kinda have to follow you around like bodyguards/babysitters. Feel like i kinda strayed from the request but idk, i was feeling a certain vibe when writing this and that vibe is bodyguard!chase x rich girl!reader. Characters are legal age. A lil nsfw but nothing really explicit
***
As soon as Donald had gotten the call, the Lab Rats were suited up and packing their gear, ready for the jet coming to the bionic island to pick them up. Apparently, they were dealing with a matter of national security. Although the issue was probably very serious, they were excited to have a mission with such importance and status.
But when the mission was explained more in-depth, a part of them wanted to turn the jet around.
“Babysitting?” Chase asked with an incredulous tone, flipping through the file that he and all his teammates were given. It was mainly a profile of the president’s daughter, who had recently been getting threats from an unknown group. Sure, Chase knew she didn’t deserve those threats. But he was still a bit bitter about the fact that he was assigned to watch you instead of finding the mystery perpetrators.
“You’re doing surveillance, Chase.” Davenport corrected. “You guys need to keep a close eye on this girl and make sure that nothing happens to her until we find out who’s been sending the threats.”
Chase scoffed. “Glorified babysitting, then.” He closed the manila folder and tossed it on the small table in front of him. 
“Oh, come on, Chase. It can’t be that bad.” Bree said, still looking at the girl’s profile. However, she was more focused on the pictures than the words. “Ooh! That top’s cute. I wonder if we’re the same size…”
“The top’s not the only cute thing.” Leo pointed out, looking over Bree’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, Chase, but I consider being around a total babe a good thing.”
Adam laughed. “Chase wouldn’t know anything about that. He’s too nerdy. ‘Oh, hi, I’m Chase. I can’t talk to girls, I’mtoo busy… doing… nerd stuff.’” Adam’s half-hearted impression of his brother got some eye-rolls and light laughs from the group. “Even if he tried, she wouldn’t go for him. She’d rather be with a real man.” The eldest Davenport smirked while flexing his arms. Chase scowled.
“Not that it matters, but she would totally choose me over you.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you guys are supposed to watch her, not flirt with her,” Davenport interjected, settling the argument. 
But just because the Lab Rats couldn’t flirt with you didn’t mean that you couldn’t flirt with any of them. The second you were introduced, you had your sights on Chase. He was so assertive, or at least he tried to be. His siblings didn’t seem to like listening to him much, but that didn’t stop him from putting on an authoritative persona.
“Chase Davenport.” He had said while firmly shaking your hand. “Mission leader. We’ll do our best to keep you safe and comfortable, Miss L/n.”
You grinned, inching closer to the man as you scanned him over. Decent build, handsome face, looks good in spandex, all good qualities to look for in a man.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable, Mr. Davenport.”
Chase let out a laugh of surprise, but tried to seem polite. He could already sense that this was going to be a long mission.
***
And a long mission it was indeed. Three weeks and there were no leads, suspects, or anything else that could put an end to the threatening messages you were receiving. And if it was having any sort of negative effect on you, which it seriously should, you certainly didn’t show it. You were too busy going out shopping with friends and going to clubs. All the things you were advised not to do.
For some reason, Chase was the only one who could see the problem with this. Then again, he was usually the only one to take his job seriously.
“You need to relax!” You giggled, nearly shouting over the club beats in poor Chase’s supersonic ear. He had been protesting your actions all day, but it seemed to only encourage you. “Come dance with us!”
“No thanks.” He sneered, looking past you to see his siblings scattered in the crowd. He couldn’t believe how irresponsible they were being. “You all may have forgotten, but you’re supposed to be supervised at all times.”
You huffed, pouting at the man staring down at you. But an idea sprung to mind and you soon smirked, deciding to gulp down the rest of your drink before responding. 
“You can keep a better eye on me on the dance floor.”
Chase took a deep breath, unsure of how to respond. He had a job to do, he was supposed to be the responsible one.
But he would be lying if he said that the way you were looking up at him right now didn’t make the crotch of his pants feel a bit tighter. 
You soon decided that you didn’t want to wait for an answer. In an act of tipsy bravery, you intertwined your fingers with Chase’s and pulled him away from the table where he stationed himself. With every step, Chase yelled at himself that this was a bad idea. He should pull back, drag you all the way home, and lock you in your room so you couldn’t get into any more trouble. Letting you convince him to let you go out tonight was the dumbest decision he’s made in a while.
But then you started swaying your hips, pulling Chase’s front to your back and guiding his hands to your hips. This shouldn’t be happening, but deep down, Chase doesn’t want it to stop.
“Is this okay?” You asked loudly over the music, looking over your shoulder at him. You leaned close to his face, blinking seductively. “Mr. Davenport?”
“Yeah.” Chase choked out, gripping your hips to guide your movements. You grinned, turning forward to continue dancing.
After that night, Chase became even more vigilant about your safety and whereabouts. But you both knew it was no longer just because of his mission.
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totalswag · 1 year ago
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Hi you! I was thinking about actress!y/n is in a ceremony and Drew is filming of obx s4, they're both so busy in their film industry, that they miss each other terribly that they kept contacting in messages and calls,
(especially him, who is very proud of her, who would like to be by her side even if she tells him to keep working on the set of obx, that she wouldn't want to disturb him. Like they both put up with each other so much they love each other)
that they haven't had time to talk to each other much, they want to meet up face to face again for once, so she decides to visit him as a little surprise to see him again in Charleston
surprise visit on set — DREW STARKEY
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authors note thank for the request lovie! i have a few requests that i will work on or currently working on. all the love you guys have been showing me lately is absolutely amazing, i couldn't thank you lovies anymore. halfway to 1k too!!!
summary surprising drew on set after months of not seeing each other.
warnings cuteness thats all
masterlist
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Being in a relationship where you both act and are continuously busy filming is difficult, but there is always time and space to see one other when you take a break from filming.
Drew and you began dating in 2021, after he completed season two of his show, Outer Banks. You met through mutual friends at a gathering and hit it off right away.
Outer Banks season four is presently in production, which means Drew is in Charleston filming. It's been about two months since you last saw each other, and you miss each other a lot.
You were on the red carpet on the premiere of your new movie. As you went through the crowd, cameras flashed and captured every moment. In the back of your head, you couldn't stop thinking about Drew and how much you miss him.
A young woman called your name where interviews stood infront of cameras waiting for you and your cast mates to interact. You smile with a kind wave, walking over.
“Miss, Y/N, "I must say you look absolutely stunning tonight in this dress you're wearing," she says, praising you from top to bottom.
"Thank you so much; it means a lot to me, and I'm glad I chose to wear this dress tonight," you giggle, smoothing your hands over your sides.
The interviewer asks you a few questions on both the film and your character. You were grateful to be asked these questions because you had worked so hard on set.
"Before we part ways, noticed your boyfriend, Drew Starkey, is filming season four for Outer Banks. How is that going, do you know?" She asks politely.
"We haven't seen each other in a while, but we text every day," you place the front strands behind your ear, "he said everything is going well on set and he can't wait for fans to see," you explain, smiling before saying goodbye.
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You just hopped on a plane to Charleston to surprise Drew. You secretly organized this trip because you miss Drew and want to spend time with him. You can't wait to be in his arms again.
With all of your free time, you decided to pay Drew a visit and meet the rest of the cast, whom you consider friends as well.
When the plane landed, you walked down the stairs to find Maddie, Madison, and Carlacia waiting for you beside the car, holding two posters designed specifically for you. You took out your phone and started recording them as you came closer.
"Finally back with my hot bitches," you exclaim, extending your arms for a group hug.
"How long has it been since we saw you last?" Madison asks, "I don't know, but it's been too long," and then grabs your suitcase and places it in the trunk with your other belongings.
Everyone knows about you coming except for Drew. The look on his face will be priceless and unforgettable. Knowing you, you might cry.
A few hours go by, you left early with the girls to set since they are filming their scenes first. You were able to hid in Drew's trailer on the couch in the corner where he won't see you when he enters.
Drew's reaction was clearly visible on your phone. Hearing his voice get closer filled your tummy with butterflies. Taking a deep breath as you heard the doorknob turn.
"What time do you want me to get back on set again?" You hear him say this while the door is still open and you have no view of him.
"Okay, that sounds good; I'm going to take a quick nap," he says before entering his trailer.
His figure enters the trailer and turns right, with his back to you. When he turns around, all he sees is the love of his life in the corner, wearing the most beautiful smile that makes him fall harder each time. He can't believe you're standing in front of him now.
"Please tell me I'm dreaming right now and you're a vision," Drew blurts out, placing both hands over his head to digest what's going on in his mind.
"Don't think I'm a vision baby," you giggle, getting off the couch, "so are you gonna give me a kiss or stand there handsome?" You make amusing gestures. 
"Oh I'ma kiss you alright," he quickly responds, taking you in his arms, lifting you up with his arms; you wrap your legs around his waist.
You two remain like this for a full minute, taking up the sensation of being together. You place kisses all over Drew's face, making him giggle.
"I've missed you so much; seeing you now and seeing your beautiful face in person makes me so happy. Drew expresses himself meaningfully: "I fucking love you so much baby."
The tears come down your face, Drew's quickly to wipe them.
"I can't explain the emotions I'm feeling right now, but to sum it up, being in your arms again, hearing your voice, touching you, makes me want to not leave you."
Drew helped you get to your feet and led you to the couch. You inform him you have a surprise trip planned; he assumed you wouldn't see each other until next month. Drew gave you an update on how filming has gone, etc.
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The past four days has been wonderful. You went onto set, met up with the crew and cast, beach, shopping, drinking, went out to dinner, etc.
Talked about the movie premiere and how your movie turned out after you watched it.
It's a lovely night in Charleston. The sun had just set, which was breathtaking from the view at dinner. Drew and you were strolling out of a restaurant holding hands, laughing at each other's jokes.
"Oh my gosh is that Y/N and Drew?" A faint voice from across the street causes you both to turn your heads at the same time, filled with curiosity.
"I suppose I am dreaming right now. I love you two so much and you've helped me so much, I can't thank you enough," the young girl confesses, struggling to fight back tears, "my name is Skylar."
Your heart warmed at Skylar's sweet comments. You and Drew instantly drew her into a group hug. Skylar wept with happiness. 
"Thank you for your love and support. We're both glad we could support you through your difficult periods in life, and we hope you'll keep fighting. Would you want a picture? Drew speaks with genuine sincerity, holding her hand and maintaining her composure.
After talking for a time, you took a few photos with Skyalr before going your separate ways. More fans have approached you two since your arrival. It's always good to meet supporters.
"How about we grab ourselves snacks from the gas station for a movie night and cuddle all night then possibly have a little fun" Drew implies with a hint a flirtatious about the having fun part.
You let a yelp when he squeezed your sides, leaning back against his body.
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea to me" you shrug, smiling.
Drew sighs and wraps his arms around your neck, "I'm glad you took the time to come here. I missed you so much and am finally able to be with you. I'm extremely proud of all of your hard work and your new movie. "I love you, baby."
"I love you more my sweet boy, best thing that's ever happen to me."
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my taglist!
✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.
@winterrrnight @chenslucy @rosezza @solanathascientst @diqldrunks @runningfrom2am
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myswanderlust · 5 months ago
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jayce and viktor in modern day au: x reader
based on the fantastic art by @ primaveraart19 on twitter:
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separate jayce and viktor x kindavirgin! reader
| first meeting + first time |
! MDNI slight 18+ content !
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jayce: the studious golden goy
cute nerdy boy you would see in your engineering class that would never look up from note-taking or never not pay attention to the lectures.
prestigious man that made sure his university sweater was tucked neatly into his khakis every single time he got ready for classes or done using the restroom. his hair was styled gorgeously with light gel. (a gel with aloe vera and pomades because mama ximena told him not to use those awful chemical gels).
many other students that have classes with him find it difficult to gain any of his attention. they are always making advances but he never bothered to entertain it. jayce was trying to study to become an engineer or even an instructor of sorts; ‘he didn’t have the time’, he thought.
that was until he noticed you.
his demeanor had changed from the intimating gaze and nonchalant face he made in his classes, to a looser expression; he was more relaxed yet tense; seemingly brighter but he forbid making it known.
you also thought jayce was handsome; a smart man with a different personality that was vibrant but not common amongst other men at your college. you always snuck glances at him in your engineering class and it wasn't often that he caught you. (he definitely noticed but could not lock eye contact).
nothing too big ever started until when you started struggling in the class, and the professor was displeased to let you know that his office hours were booked solid and he could not fit you in. his alternative was to have you work with his top student, which was jayce.
jayce was not overwhelmed with joy- though he was extremely grateful. his mind was a jungle of emotions which were all unclear.
part of him loved to imagine tutoring you; that ending in ways not so pg. part of him always fret meeting you, knowing he wouldn’t know how to truly act around you.
would you find it weird that he sweats so much when he’s nervous? or that he stutters his sentences when he feels like he can hear himself talk in the third-person.
the professor would introduce the two of you and jayce would keep the conversation surprisingly cordial. he was pissing his pants the whole time however.
he tutored you every thursday for at least a month before things did not feel exceedingly awkward. jayce always worried he was being too obvious about how he felt about you, but if anything, you thought he couldn’t less care for you. you believed he was only tutoring you to get on the professors' good side, or simply because he asked.
when you stop showing up to tutoring (knowing that going hurt you more than not seeing his pretty face at all), jayce would text you and ask when a better time would be to which you reply a quick:
“don’t worry! it all is starting to make sense. you don’t have to tutor me anymore!”
jayce would stare at his phone for a few moments, knowing that you were lying straight through your teeth. the last lesson he tutored you on, you stared at the book blankly every-time he tried to re-explain the material. you finally did understand it and he could tell you felt embarrassed at how lon-
‘that had to be why.’ jayce would think.
he didn’t reply to the text, just knowing he would see you the next day. it's not like he had much to say, anyways. he was upset that you were not comfortable enough around him to know it was okay to be confused.
you started at the ‘read at 4:37pm’ under your message and sighed. you never wanted to stop going to tutoring with jayce but you heart could no longer handle his demeanor.
the next morning, walking into class but not noticing a tall figure and almost running into jayce’s figure starting right next to your desk. you smile at him warmly, enough to make him feel his heart flutter, yet he held an emotionless face. “i hope you aren’t coming to tutoring because of the material? you’re so much smarter than you think.” he would announce, holding steady but intimating eye with yours.
you would look up from setting your notebook down to the desk. ‘did he just.. compliment me..’ you pick your brain mentally to find a response.
“no.. jayce-“
he stares down at you; he is at a towering height, standing so close. you move you head to keep your eyes from lingering to places other than his gorgeous face. “-that’s not why..”
he just stares now, and his anxiety was through the roof. ‘shit.. she knows. i made her uncomfortable.’ his worst fear. the whole reason he was scared to tutor you.
he sighs before sitting in the desk next to you, putting his head in his hands.. his legs were usually bigger than the silly desk chair could handle so he slouches, man-spreading slightly under the desk-top. “i’m sorry.. i’m really sorry.”
you looked at him in complete confusion, contemplating stopping whatever it was he was doing but keeping quiet upon noticing the auditable and visible dismay in his expression. “i never wanted to make you uncomfortable.. i just- i don’t know how to act around you-“
your eyes widened slightly at his confession, since you both had an extremely different version of what was happening. “-you’re so attractive.. it’s very hard to tutor you but.. i knew you needed help.”
jayce had whispered that last part, but you heard it all. you smiled at his words, taking a breath before planting a kiss to his cheek. “that’s not why i wanted to stop tutoring but.. i like your version more.”
short circuit btw.
after that event, you both became very close, started dating and he was your personal tutor. (thank god)
neither of you mentioned anything particular about sex, though jayce was not a virgin. he had experience from previous years in college. he was a beauty of a man: would could blame anyone for that?
you had your own experiences as well, but had never gone the full way with anyone just yet. you and jayce had been together for around five months but you knew since the first week that jayce was the man you wanted to lose it to.
when the conversation came up, it was nerve-wracking for the both of you. more likely jayce, since he could hold your waist without the shaking of his wrists and hands. he knew you could feel it but he couldn't stop.
“you want- your first time to be with me?”
“yes jayce.. is that alright?”
he nods his head like there wasn’t a thought in his brain besides you; he was hypnotized by you, he always had been but now he knew you wanted him; it was too much for him.
even after weeks since that conversation, neither of you made an attempt at anything sexual. it wasn’t until he had enough. you came into his dorm while he worked on his midterm essay after your last class.
you came up behind him and pecked him lightly all over his face, jayce would smile cheekily at you while still looking at his screen. “how was school, lovey?”
“it was okay! super boring last lecture.” you said with a frown. you laid on his bed and turned to wrap you body around one of his pillows. his eyes went to lock with your face but he was only met with your body in a questionable manner. your bottoms looked perfect on your ass, in way that jayce couldn’t fathom. he signed before leaning back in his chair.
he had been debating making a move since the previous conversation but with the erection he had, it was making him feel less respectful.
he got up from his chair, walking over to you before leaning over your frame on the bed and kissing your face, “you’re so perfect.”
you blush at his words, turning your body until your faces were lined. his eyes were dark with desire and you noticed a confidence that was hidden beneath his nervous exterior.
“need you, can i have you now?” he mutters into your neck
you chuckle and nod, “take me, my love. need you too.”
victor: the introverted music- loving zaunite
artistic: both art wise and music wise. you met him in either one of the classes. he’s more into music, he loves the classical or piano type of music, but truly listens to any kind; he’s very diverse. art, he mostly enjoys the shaded art schemes and doodles he makes. doesn’t know an extreme amount.
viktor is not shy by any means, though he is an introvert. he does not have a hard time speaking to others, though he has a small group of friends and does not care to venture out past that.
he finds comfort in quality over quantity.
viktor went upon meeting you in between his classes in the lounge area. he was doodling in his notebook while taking to a friend. his eyes always snapped at the door when it opened and closed, since it was so close and loud. he was astounded by your beauty, could not draw his eyes away when he saw you walk through the doors to the corridor.
you walked your obviously stressed demeanor to the vending machines and pull the quarters out of your bag. viktor watched as you put the three quarters into the machine and type the command, A18.
he also watched as the bag that contained stale chips got stuck on the hoop that held them. and then your face when the anger built up. you hit the machine twice to hopefully release the bag, but to no avail.
you would lean against the wall next to the vending machine, waiting or more debating if you had any energy to be angry.
viktor’s friend also watched the exchange before noticing viktor had now stood with his cane as support and was now there with you, making you watch him as he approached the vending machine. putting his cane in his reach and leaning on a wall, he would grab the front of it, looking over at you which caused you gaze to shift slightly.
“a little help?” he said with a slight smile. your ears almost physically twitched at hearing his somewhat different tone of his voice.
you chucked a light “oh.” and helped him tip the boxy machine, making your chip bag fall over and into the grab-able compartment. you muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to his help. he smiles again softly before leaning down and grabbing the chips. he held them out for you, “always willing to help.”
you knew you would be crushing after the event transpired, though viktor had already decided the moment you walking into the room that he had his sights set on you.
you had reminded him of himself. you were not quiet, yet you kept to your self. part of him felt like a stalker now since he had noticed you were around more than before. you sat alone in the lunge area most of the time. you would exchange 'hello's' with some professors and students but no one really ever sat down with you.
he could not understand for the life of him how someone as sweet as you had no one trying to advance but he figured you enjoyed the solitude while in classes and while studying.
viktor also always wondered what you were listening to when you popped those headphones in. when you looked like you were mercilessly typing, what seemed like an essay, were you listening to a piano chorus or soft lofi?
what if it was neither, and you liked listening to some heavy metal for inspiration? he was so intrigued, but felt somewhat awkward asking you straight up "what music are you listening to?"
he did anyways. he steady himself and he walked, heart softly but loudly beating against his ribs as he walked up to you. he could tell you were in a trance of writing so he decided to simply sit in the open chair across from you.
it took a while to whip you out of the trance too, with you mind running a mile every second. you were writing in your notes different ideas for you upcoming essay and when you noticed his presence, it shook you. you ripped the headphone out of you left ear and smiled, slightly embarrassed. "oh- hi! sorry i was totally distracted."
"you are perfectly fine. i am simply the one intruding your space." he spoke and chuckled. you shook your head. "you're not at all. it was calming."
he nods, before nodding his head in the direction of your headphones plugged into your cell phone. "i was curious to what you were listening to." you look down to your phone and then back at him, "oh, just *insert band name*. i love *type of music*."
it was something of how simple it was for you to tell him without question and how your eyes lit up at mentioning your favorite band. he knew he did not care to cower any longer behind a fear of rejection. even though as he debated, he just stared at you, which scared you tremendously that he was judging you for what you thought was not a niche interest.
you looked at him with concern for a minute before he realized. "sorry. you are just very attractive. i fear i did not know how to respond respectfully."
you looked him slightly surprised; your eyes and mouth slightly gaped at his truth before looking back down to your computer screen and clearing your throat, "you.. look very great yourself..."
"viktor." he spoke with a sly smile. he puts out a hand before meeting yours.
upon much flirting and spending more times together, you and viktor became close and he had asked you on a date to a musical venue on campus that played a range of your favorite type of music. viktor was astonished at how he had never took the time to listen to that type before but he did learn to love it.
his highest enjoyment came when he would watch your eyes glow the very similar glint they had when you both met the second time and he loved it. viktor did not pay much attention to the actual artists at all.
viktor is by no means inexperienced. he was in his third year of college when you met him and he was attentive to say the least, meaning he knew you were not completely a virgin. it never bothered him since he would never care about something a s superficial as body count.
upon finding out you were still technically a virgin, he had no problem letting the relation wait for more of a consistency before jumping into anything. moments got heated, but he was respectful and hide his burning desire, though your whine of desperation was killing him.
"i swear on everything i will take you my sweet, but not today. i will help you in other ways."
after a few more months of dating, it was your birthday. you were mostly excited to spend it with viktor since he said he planned the whole day for you. couple massages, dinner and desert at his house. nothing topped spending time with him for your birthday, except for the fact that he had got you a signed record of your favorite band.
you cried at his kind gesture knowing that getting it signed was the hardest thing he could have done for you. you jumped into his arms, straddling him before pulling back and kissing him harder than you had ever kissed anyone. he groaned from the impact and found his hands lost in your clothes.
"im ready vik, please make me yours." you would beg him with your mouth breathing heavy against his own.
he would simply smile, "you are already mine, as i am yours but, how could i ever say no to that?"
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trippinsorrows · 7 months ago
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looking through your eyes + twenty eight
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authors note: the infamous "discussion" has arrived.....
cw/tw: angst, graphic scenes depicting pregnancy complications
song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
***gif courtesy of the lovely @dejameflorecer ***
masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form
words: 10k
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There are a couple different ways Solana played out the moment she would tell Roman about her pregnancy. Several cute ideas she entertained to break the news him. A cake that was half pink, half blue. Taking drugstore pregnancy tests and presenting them to him. She even considered coming up with a drawing of some sort. Regardless, with all of her ideas, there was a major theme of happiness.
And special.
She wanted it to be special. 
However, there’s absolutely nothing special about how this has played out. Nothing happy about it. 
She feels awful.
Because not only has he found out about her pregnancy in the most inconvenient way, he's found the letter too.
It couldn't have gone any worse than this.
Sniffling, Solana struggles with just how to respond to his question. “Roman, I—” 
He lifts the papers, asking in a steel voice, “where did you get this?”
Silence.
For some reason, speaking is a difficult, tricky task that has her trembling and stammering. “I—” Pause. “I—” Another pause. “She—” Another pause followed by her shutting down altogether, eyes closing. 
“Solana.” Hate. She hates the way he’s saying her name right now, the almost distaste present in his voice and painted on his face. “I asked you a question.”
And, he deserves an answer. He deserves a lot of answers right now. Taking a deep breath, she manages to pull it together just enough to finally answer him. “Fetu…..she…..she gave it to me.”
“When?”
Eyes closing once more, Solana responds in that same, small voice, “when you took me to meet her…..”
It’s an answer, the truth, but it’s not anything that seems to chunk away at his anger. “You’ve had this that long?” Closing the door behind her, she finds herself moving towards him. “You kept this from me—”
She sniffles, stopping in the middle of the room. “Roman, please—I—I can explain.”
“Explain? What the fuck is there to explain, Solana?” He snaps, and she finds herself jumping as he throws the papers onto the floor. “You had no right to keep this from me!”
“I was worried about you, okay!” She cries, trying to find her own voice and way to explain her thought process. “You were in such a bad place, Roman. I didn’t know if—if it would make things worse!”
His eyes widen ever so slightly. “How the fuck could a letter from my aunt who I just lost and didn’t get to say goodbye to make things worse?”
“Because I didn’t know what was in it!” She matches his tone and volume, unwilling to just let him explode on her without her even having a chance to explain. “Because Fetu gave it to me. Not you. She gave it to me and asked me to give it to you when I felt the time was right.”
“Yeah, because your judgment is so fucking good.”
Another pause. Hurt. She’s hurt by his cruelty in this moment. “That’s not fair.” Because it isn’t. Because she understands his emotions, but the way he’s expressing himself, the hurtful things that he’s saying are uncalled for. “That’s not fair at all, Roman. And you know it.” She shakes her head and gestures to herself. “I did what I did out of love and concern.”
“And this?” Solana stills as he reaches for the sonogram, holding it up between them. “Was keeping this from me out of love and concern?” Her eyes shut once more, emotion building, tears brewing. “I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only.” It’s just a second of a delay, but it feels like an eternity. “Are you pregnant?”
Excited. Nervous. Relieved. Happy.
These are just a several of the emotions Solana expected to feel in the moment and space where she shared this life changing news with her husband. There was even a part of her that anticipated him having not much of a reaction, because she knows feelings are hard for Roman. Knows that him learning to love and be okay with loving her took some time. Thus, him needing time to process this news was also a potential outcome. So, yes, she didn’t have this fantasy of this being the perfect moment.
But, this……this moment is the last thing she expected.
The last thing she ever wanted. 
Eyes closed, heart breaking, Solana answers, “yes.” Her chest feels tight, her stomach in all kind of knots. “I’m—I’m ten weeks.”
Silence
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t necessarily have to because the moment Solana reopens her eyes and sees him, that’s all she needs to see.
He looks gutted.
It must be a good minute or two before he asks in a low voice. “How long?” Her lack of an immediate response prompts him to ask again. “How long have you known, Solana?”
God, she feels miserable. Fingers grasping with the material of her dress, she stammers, “I–I started to suspect a couple weeks—”
“Weeks?” Again, another wide eyed, floored expression. “You’ve known about this for weeks and you didn’t say anything?”
“I—I went to Dr. Michaels and asked for a pregnancy test, because I didn’t—I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.” She adds on, almost desperately, “because I know how hard it must have been for you justifying and defending me not being pregnant yet.” Sniffling, her mind goes back to that night that was the perfect, heartbreaking combination of joy and devastation. “But, the same night I got the results back was the same night I got the call about Fetu, and it just—it was all just so much.” Because it was and still is. Solana’s voice cracks as she shares, “it felt wrong to tell you we've created life when you just lost it, Roman.”
The shattered expression on her husband’s face, however, is unchanging as he asks, “you told my doctor before you told me?” For all her efforts to be completely honest and forthcoming with him in this moment, it seems like every response she gives only digs the hole deeper. “Who else have you told?”
“Nobody!” She answers, desperate for him to know that despite how bad this situation is, this isn’t something that she’s been spreading and sharing freely. “I told your doctor, and he gave me the referral to the OB. And……and I had to tell Dr. Stratus—”
Roman stands up from the bed, his back toward her as he paces in a focused area of the room. “All these fucking people…..”
Solana hugs herself tighter, a slight attempt to self-soothe as she can feel her anxiety increasing by the second. “It’s only been the medical professionals, Roman. I haven’t said anything to Bayley, to Naomi. I just—I wanted to tell you first!”
“But, you didn’t, Solana.” He snaps, piercing gaze on her. “You kept me in the dark!” It’s taking everything in her to not break down in front of him, to not let the weight of the situation overwhelm her, because again, his emotions are valid. But his communication, so harsh, is crushing. “You kept the letter from me, you kept your pregnancy from me, what the fuck else have you been keeping from me!”
“Nothing!” She shouts back, her feelings shifting yet again from hurt to angry. Frustrated. Solana feels so damn frustrated. They can talk, they can argue, but she cannot handle this accusatory tone he’s taken. “You get to be angry with me. You have a right to be angry with me. But, you don’t have the right to yell at me and act like I did what I did out of spite. I was worried sick about you and didn’t know what else to do, okay?”
And that, along with everything else she’s said thus far is the God’s honest truth. She didn’t know what the hell to do, so she did her best and what felt the best option in the moment. 
Clearly…..very clearly, she was wrong.
“Ro…..” Solana continues, pleading almost, “you were in such a bad place, I felt like I had no other options.”
His eyes tell all the story. “And what do you think this puts me in, huh?” He looks just as frustrated as he speaks more to himself than her. “I started…..started to suspect that you were, but I pushed it away, because I knew—I thought you would tell me.” Another look of disdain and disgust. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
There’s something about his words, about all of the words and statements and accusations that causes Solana to lose the already grip she had on her emotions. It’s not really until this second that she allows herself to freely express how she feels versus focusing on helping him understand. 
“Do you think I liked keeping this from you?” A whispered, rhetorical thing weighed down by weeks of pent up emotions and hidden struggles. “Do you think I liked hiding the fact that while you’re working out or handling business or sleeping, I’m hunched over a toilet puking my brains out because I’ve had terrible morning sickness? Or the fact that I had less than an hour to be happy about my pregnancy because right after I found out Fetu was dying? That I liked being alone at our babies’ first appointment?” At this point, she’s no longer focused on him, on his reaction, because this is her space to now to speak freely and openly about all the things she’s been experiencing the past few weeks. “I’ve hated every second of this, Roman! The lying, the secrets, all of it! It’s not me, and you know it, but I did it because I was looking out for you! Because I was trying to do what’s best for you, because I fucking love you! Sometimes more than I love myself!” She throws her hands up, tears flowing freely. “And you want to talk about keeping things from people?” Anger is imbued in her voice as she demands. “Roman, how many things have you kept from me? Huh? How many times have you lied to me?”
His voice is slightly calmer and quieter than it’s been the entire conversation. “That’s different, and you know it.”
“No, it’s not!” Scoffing, Solana is no longer interested in trying to explain her reasons when it’s obvious he’s not interested in listening to her. “You keep things from me all the time because you think you’re protecting me, like—like I can’t handle it!”
“Because you can’t, Solana!”
“That’s not for you to decide!” It never was. “Don’t you realize that the more you hide from me, the more I worry? Like your blood pressure. Roman, I asked you about that, and you lied to my face. You lied to me.”
A slight pause. “How the hell do you know about that?”
“Why does that matter?” Her eyes widen at the fact that that is the question he decided to ask versus focusing on the issue at hand. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
He runs his hand through his hair that’s down and hanging as he shouts, “I didn’t want you to worry!” His voice is slightly lowered as he adds, “I had it handled.”
“No, you didn’t, and that was the problem!” Her volume increases as she covers her face with her hands, feeling so overwhelmed by all of this. “You try to handle everything on your own, and you can’t and that’s okay, because you’re just a human being, Roman. But, what’s not okay is to keep lying to me. Yes, I kept these things from you, but I’ve been honest about everything else. You have a pattern of lying and not telling me things not just because you don’t want to worry me, you do it because you don’t trust me!”
“That’s not—”
“Why don’t I know where my own medicine is, huh?” Because the minute they returned home from Fetu’s place, the medicine, her medicine, that she’d been administering to herself the whole week they were gone was now nowhere to be found. Only for it, her exact morning dosages, to be ready and waiting on her nightstand the next day. “Why have I never been able to drive myself to my own therapy appointments? Why did my husband’s doctor have to tell me the truth about your blood pressure before you did?”
He closes his eyes, fingers pressed to his temple, “Solana, stop.”
“Just admit it!” She can’t be quiet, even if she wanted to, because it’s all just too much. It’s all come to this very moment where everything is laid out on the table. Where all of the feelings, both pregnancy and life fueled, cause her cup to spill over. “You don’t trust me, Roman, and you can say it’s because of the pregnancy and Fetu’s letter, but we both know the truth. What it really is.”
And, it’s the flash in his eyes, something a mixture of something she can’t identify but understands that is her confirmation. “Just—just say it!” She’s a crying, shouting mess, a perfect correspondence to the weight of the tension that fills the room right now. “Say—”
“Fine! You want me to say it, I’ll fucking say it!” He finally breaks, voicing the words he’s clearly been suppressing for months. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you tried to kill yourself! When you tried to leave me!”
Silence.
It’s that piece. That one piece that’s needed to complete the puzzle, to finalize the picture, to fill in the blank. But, it’s a completion that crushes her. The fact that he’s finally acknowledged it, the pain in his voice, the hurt on his face. 
Nodding to herself, Solana is finding it even harder to put words together that accurately describe what she’s feeling in this moment. “It always—” Her voice cracks, crumbling under the tonnage of devastation. “It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?” He says nothing nor is he looking at her, his gaze instead focused on the ground. “It doesn't….it doesn’t matter what I do, the work I’ve put in, how many times I’ve apol—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob. A deep, heavy breath followed by a heartbreaking question. “Roman…..what kind of marriage can we have if you don’t trust me?”
To be fair, she’s not sure what kind of response she was wanting from him. What would have been comforting or even helpful for her to hear. But, that’s irrelevant and immaterial. 
It’s irrelevant and immaterial because he doesn’t say anything.
And that….that has to be the most heartbreaking thing to come out of all of this.
Wordlessly, Solana turns away to walk out the room, silently hoping—praying—he calls after her, that he moves quick enough to gently grab and turn her around. That he so tenderly cups her face and kisses her forehead, telling her that they can figure this out, that they can work through this. 
But, none of that happens. 
He says and does nothing. 
Just lets her walk out.
————
Years.
It’s been years since Roman has felt this overwhelmed. Since he’s felt so out of control. 
Since he’s felt lost.
And it’s the first time in a long time he’s not been able to go to his aunt for advice.
Fingers gripping the steering wheel, he easily switches from one lane to another, speeding past the fucking Honda in front of him that doesn’t seem to understand what a fast lane is.
It’s a silly, minimal thing to be irritated over, but he’s him, and he’d gladly welcome anything other than what he’s feeling right now. 
To push away the sight of Solana’s devastated expression when he finally admitted his not trusting her. 
A surprise to himself, in some ways.
He’s always thought his refusing to allow her access to medication, not letting her drive herself to therapy and other acts were done out of love. Came from a place of protection and rightful due diligence. And all of that can be true along with the fact that, again, in some ways, he doesn’t trust her.
Doesn’t trust that she won’t try to hurt herself again.
That she won’t try to leave him again. 
Arriving at his destination, a lookoff about twenty minutes from the house, a secluded place that allows for a safe sorting of all his thoughts and feelings. Roman puts the car in park and hits the lights before shutting off the engine. 
Eyes closed, head back against the headrest, only one word comes to his mind: fuck. 
The past two weeks have been some of the hardest of his life, and the fact that losing the person he’d normally confide in about how fucked up he feels just makes things infinitely harder.
He hates every single part of this.
Hates how hard he came at Solana, how she kept these things from him, how he has been keeping things from her.
It’s all just so messy and complicated. Some of it of his doing, some of it of hers.
But, what he’s realizing he hates even more is not knowing everything that she’s been dealing with while pregnant. 
She was pregnant when he hit her.
She was pregnant when he left her to go to Italy, even after she begged him to stay and work things out.
She was pregnant when he destroyed Fetu’s house in his state of grief and rage, a mess she had to clean up.
She’s been pregnant and apparently sick from said pregnancy while comforting and taking care of him.
It’s all been on her, and she hasn’t said a word because she’s been trying to protect him.
Yet despite all that, he’s still hurt. Hurt that he wasn’t the first person she told about them expecting. And logically, it makes no sense. He knows his wife. Knows why she made the decision she made, even with the letter.
Fetu giving it to her, leaving it up to her to decide when to give it to him, makes all the sense in the world.
Especially given the content in said letter.
But, it still fucking hurts.
Hurts that she’s been going through all of this alone. Because he’s only ever wanted to help and support her, and in a time where she’s probably needed it more than ever, he’s been MIA.
Too lost in his own feelings and grief to pay attention to what was happening before his very eyes. 
And then brings on the guilt. The guilt of not supporting her the way she’s been supporting him, of not trusting her the way that she trusts him.
That’s something else he can’t not think about and focus on.
Trust.
Up until this point, he thought he’d “moved past” her suicide attempt. Thought whatever feelings that still lingered there were inconsequential. Though that is clearly not the case.
He still very much has not fully processed it, and it’s been prevalent in all the ways Solana pointed out.
He does hide her medication from her, hides all the pills in the house, and he doesn’t allow her to take herself to her own therapy and psychiatrist appointments. And to some extent, administering her pills came less from a place of what he was told by Stratus and more from a place of his comfort.
The same way counting her pills does.
And all of that very much does come from a place of trust. A lack of trust. 
A lack of trusting her to not try to take her life again.
To not leave him. 
Because that’s what it boils down to. His fear not just of losing her, but of her leaving him.
The same way his family did.
But, in a cruel twist of fate and potentially irony, as he sits in the car instead of being at the house with his wife trying to actually talk through these things, Roman realizes he does the same thing.
He leaves.
He left he when he was trying to figure out whether to tell her about Xavier being behind her rape and her mother’s murder.
He left when he accidentally hit her and couldn’t stand to be around her, to be reminded of the pain he’d inflicted on her even when she tried her damn hardest to help him not feel so guilty.
He tried to leave, in a sense, when he kept pushing her away in her attempts to help him process Fetu’s death.
And he’s left just now when the very thing he should have done is stayed.
Sure, in one of those examples, he left to receive clarity. To pick his aunt’s brain over what he should do, but in the rest, he left because he was avoiding things.
The same way he’s avoiding things now. 
And it doesn’t work. 
It never has, and it never will.
Beyond that, it’s messing with his marriage, forming cracks that will continue to grow until it all comes down, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.
Roman can’t have that.
He won’t.
Because as fucked up and confused as he feels right now, it won’t get better by sitting in this fucking car. 
This can only be fixed by talking with and to the one person he keeps walking away from.
His wife.
Roman doesn’t hesitate to start the car back up and get right back on the route that took him to where he ran away to in the first place. The drive back to the house consists of him mentally going over what he wants to say, how he wants to say and what he wants to tackle.
And at the top of all that is an apology. 
She deserves that and so much more.
But, the minute he steps into the house, the plan is shelved. Tossed to the back of the line, because he’s barely in the doorway when Dulce is moving her little self down the steps, whimpering along the way. 
Roman frowns. “What’s wrong?”
She reaches the floor and runs up to him, hitting his legs, barking at him followed by more whimpering. And when she turns around to return up the steps, looking back at him as if to make sure she’s following him, he knows.
Knows that something is wrong. 
“Solana.”
And just like that, Roman is following this little dog who is clearly hellbent on guiding him somewhere.
Or to someone. 
On the second floor, Dulce is panting as she runs down the hall to the master bedroom, Roman right behind her as she rushes into the room and makes a right for the master bathroom where she stops. 
Roman is standing in the doorway of the bathroom when he freezes, partially incapable of processing the scene before him.
“No….”
Solana is on her knees on the bathroom floor, hunched over, dressed in only her bra and underwear. She’s trembling, one hand on her stomach, the other hand planted on the natural stone flooring. Flooring that has bright red liquid glistening off of it, liquid that’s dripping down her inner thighs, a large splotch of red covering the crotch of her underwear. 
She’s bleeding.
Dulce sits besides her, whimpering and attempting to lick her arm. 
It’s only when the shock of the visuals wear off that he becomes tuned to the fact that she’s crying and hyperventilating, stammering, “I can’t—I can’t lose them.”
Them
The babies. 
Roman takes a few steps back into the room to shout out the open door, “get the car ready!” He grabs a random jacket out of his closet and moves back over to the bathroom.
Placing the jacket to the side, he’s on the floor, by her side, “Solana—”
Gasping, she shakes her head, looking at him with puffy, teary eyes. She's a mess. “I’m—I’m s–sorry. I—” 
“Shhhh,” he comforts her, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be alright, okay?” 
She’s crying even harder as he moves to stand her up, but she’s shaking her head, clearly not thinking straight, as she seemingly protests. “I—I can’t—please—” She cries out in pain again, almost falling over, but he’s quick and has her in his arms. Solana’s head is against his shoulder as she grasps at his arm. Roman is uncaring of the blood on her palm that’s now on him. 
It’s not important.
What’s important is getting her help.
And fast.
“Solana, listen to me, I’ve gotta get you to the hospital, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she cries into him, Roman suddenly having the hardest fucking time holding it together in a moment where he absolutely has to be the sound one here. “I’m sorry.”
Roman kisses her temple. “You’re gonna be fine.” One arm supporting her, the other reaches for the jacket to place it around her. Once she’s covered up well enough, he’s gentle and careful in the way he helps her stand only to quickly pick her up bridal style. 
“Stay,” he directs the command to Dulce who lays on the bathroom floor with her ears down, still whimpering. 
He’s carrying her out the room and down the steps to the SUV that’s already waiting for them. Bautista opens the back door, concern in his brown eyes as Roman instructs, “get in touch with the Bloodline OB. Have her meet us at the hospital.”’
There’s questions Roman didn’t get the chance to ask, questions such as the name of the doctor that Solana saw, but given that he does know she went to and received the referral from Michaels, there’s no doubt in his mind he sent her to the Bloodline’s OB.
He just hopes the woman can get there in time.
Roman doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything except his wife who clings to him, silently crying into his chest, continuing to murmur apologies and sayings in Spanish. 
A prayer, it sounds like.
And for the first time in a long time, he closes his eyes and mentally does the same.
————
Solana is taken back immediately, largely because Roman demands as such, and one only needs an order barked at them once from the Tribal Chief to know he means business. 
“Mrs. Reigns, can you tell us what’s going on?” Someone asks as he carefully lays Solana down on the medical bed, and the question instantly has him scowling.
“Isn’t it fucking obvious?” He snaps, cognizant of how Solana instantly reaches for his hand, holding it tightly. 
“I’m—I’m cramping bad and—and bleeding,” she answers through her tears, Roman unaware why hearing her state as such hits him so hard. It’s not like he can’t see what’s going on, but there’s just something significantly worse about her actually saying it.
It makes it that much more real.
“When did this start?” Another nurse or maybe doctor, shit should he know, asks as they start rolling her back. 
“Half–half an hour ago. I was going to take a shower when I first felt the cramps and then I saw that—that I was a bleeding—” She starts hyperventilating again, asking through infrequent breaths, “am I—am I having a miscarriage?”
Of all the things said and heard tonight, that…..that has to be the hardest of them all.
Roman doesn’t…..he can’t allow himself to imagine that could be what’s occurring, even if….if that’s what the signs point to.
An older nurse is the one to speak up, “let’s not go there just yet, okay, honey? Bleeding and cramping during a pregnancy doesn’t always mean a worst case scenario.”
The words are objectively reassuring but do little to abate the anxiety he’s masterfully hiding for a variety of reasons with the main one being he needs to maintain his composure for his wife’s sake.
Finally in the room, Roman watches closely as they work to change her into a hospital gown, hook her to an IV, and take her blood pressure, one of the nurses calling out, “140 over 90” followed by the older one advising, “Mrs. Reigns, your blood pressure is considered high for a pregnant woman. I know you’re scared and upset, but I need you to take some deep breaths for me, alright?”
And then someone has the fucking audacity to say to Roman, “would you like to wait for her in—”
Roman is briefly considering murder, on the verge of a vicious, verbal assault when Solana is the one to protest. Shaking her head, she squeezes his hand even tighter. “No! I need him!” Terrified gaze falling on him, she begs, “please—please don’t leave me.”
Moving his free hand to her forehead, he vows, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He’s partially relieved to see her relieved by this. Roman lifts his now hardened gaze to the staff, “where the fuck is her doctor?”
Because he’s almost certain, if the doctor who Solana saw earlier that day was present, his wife would have had a reaction of some sort. Or, at least the doctor would have addressed her differently.
And none of that has happened, so Roman is livid.
A brave—or stupid—nurse speaks up, “Dr. Sharmell is coming. She was in the middle of a del—”
“Do you think I give a fuck about that?” His voice is filled with disgust that matches the disdain written all over his face. “I want her here now.”
Another nervous clearing of a voice. “Sir, there is another OB on staff, Dr. Miz, but your wife’s chart says no men on her care team, unless—”
“No,” Roman shoots that down instantly. 
To be fair, if this was any other type of medical emergency, Roman might agree, might work to help Solana understand this is a necessity. And it’s not that they’re not currently in the midst of a medical emergency, because they clearly are. But, he knows his wife. She’s already freaking out, her blood pressure raised which is exacerbating the situation, and having a man evaluate her in that manner is only bound to make things significantly worse.
“Solana.”
A new voice enters the conversation, a middle aged black woman walking in, the group almost naturally clearing a path as she walks over to the bed. “It’s Dr. Sharmell.”
And the reaction Roman was anticipating finally occurs, Solana turning to her and crying again. “Something’s wrong with the babies.”
It’s this, this heartbreaking statement that confirms what Roman thought he saw in her sonogram photo but wasn’t entirely sure. What he heard Solana say just earlier.
Two.
There’s two babies.
She’s pregnant with twins. 
This….this just got infinitely worse. 
“That’s what I’m here to see about,” this doctor says in a calming voice, glancing at the machines that his wife is plugged up to. “Her BP is too high. Give her 5mg of diazepam and 400mg of acetaminophen for the pain.”
“Sweetie, I need you to listen to me.” Dr. Sharmell’s voice is somehow the perfect combination of pressing and comforting. “I need to examine you, and I know you’re uncomfortable with a transvaginal ultrasound, but for me to get the best look, I need—”
“It’s okay,” Solana interrupts, shaking her head and squeezing his hand again. “Just—just do it.”
Dr. Sharmell doesn’t seem to question it, just nods and goes to pull a machine over as she moves to get started. 
Roman doesn’t leave his wife’s side, thumb gently caressing her knuckles as he watches her close her eyes and lean her head back. Her discomfort is palpable and blaring, and it kills him to not be able to take away her pain.
It kills him to see her like this. 
“What are you doing to her?” Because she’s already in pain, and if this woman is about to do anything to make that shit worse, he’s about to cause a ruckus.
The doctor continues to prepare for whatever she’s about to do while explaining said procedure. “It’s an ultrasound done through the vaginal canal.” 
It’s that explanation along with seeing the probe Dr. Sharmell is holding that helps Roman understand why Solana was uncomfortable with this. 
He moves his hand back to her forehead, murmuring, “it’s okay.”
It’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to do. How else to make the ‘best’ of this nightmare of a situation. He’s observant of the moment Solana is “penetrated,” seeing the small wince on her face and the way she tenses. 
Fuck. He hates this. 
Hates it with everything in him.
“There it is….” Dr. Sharmell speaks to herself, looking over at the screen.
Roman immediately asks, “what’s wrong?”
The word ‘wrong’ is clearly not the best choice because Solana is sniffling again, asking that devastating question, “am—am I having a mis–miscarriage?”
The answer comes relatively quickly but feels like it’s taken an eternity to arrive. “No, Solana, you’re not having a miscarriage.”
Roman’s eyes shut as he takes in the powerful and borderline overwhelming relief he feels at hearing those words. At hearing that this isn’t that. In a situation that’s arguably one of the worst he’s been in, that response is one of the best he’s ever received.
“What you are having is what we call a Subchorionic Hemorrhage. It means there’s blood forming between your babies’ amniotic sac and the uterine wall, which is why you’re bleeding. Cramping isn’t as common of a symptom, but it can happen. This obviously isn’t anything any pregnant woman would want to experience, but it happens more than people realize. And listen—” She gestures to the monitor, both Roman and Solana focusing on the screen and the sound.
A rhythmic beating.
Roman is the first to speak. “Is that….”
Dr. Sharmell nods. “That’s the sound of your babies’ heartbeats. Strong as ever.”
And it’s that last sentence that seems to provide Solana an abundance of relief, as she takes a deep, shaky breath covering her mouth to conceal a sob that comes from a place of joy versus despair.
Roman has so much to take in in this moment. 
She’s not miscarrying.
She’s pregnant with twins.
Twins whose heartbeats he’s currently listening to.
It’s all so….strange and unbelievable and stirring up a new cocktail of emotions he manages to push back. For now….at least.
Because pushing shit back, avoiding shit….it’s partially why they’re here right now.
Clearing his throat, he asks, “so how do we fix it?”
Shaking her head, she removes the probe, a nurse taking it from her while she takes off her gloves. “Unfortunately, there is no cure, but these things usually go away on their own. Typically in a matter of weeks. What we do recommend is bedrest, pelvic rest specifically, so no sex, no heavy lifting. Lots of fluids, and I’ve already scheduled your wife for appointments every two weeks given it’s a multiples pregnancies, so I’ll already be monitoring her closely.”
It makes sense, but it’s also not the type of answer he was hoping for. Nevertheless, it’s a much better outcome than the grim alternative.
She moves to the side of the bed, speaking directly to Solana, “now you might start bleeding again, though judging by the size of the hematoma, I wouldn’t anticipate as much as you’ve experienced this time. Just treat it like you would a menstrual cycle, pads only, no tampons, and make sure to call me and let me know if it’s happening again, alright?” Solana nods, a sudden quietness about her that Roman would guess is one of the medications she was given kicking in. “I’m gonna keep you here overnight for observation, but I have no doubt you’ll be ready to be discharged come morning."
“Thank you,” Solana whispers, voice laden with appreciation and comfort. “Thank you so much.”
Roman looks at his wife, informing, “I’ll be right back, okay?” He waits for her to nod, to show confirmation before he looks over at the doctor and gestures to the door.
Dr. Sharmell gives a small nod and makes a few comments to the remaining nurses before heading in that direction.
It’s once they’re outside the room, Roman crosses his arms, asking in a low, pained voice, “can stress cause this?”
It’s a question he’s been sitting on since finding his wife, crying and bleeding on the bathroom floor. His knowledge base is large and broad, but medical shit is where it’s relatively limited. Not limited enough to not know stress can cause pregnancy complications.
And Solana has had no shortage of that the past few weeks, this evening specifically.
Because of him.
But, he’s taken a bit by surprise when she answers with a simple, “no.” She mimics his stance, also crossing her arms while explaining, “but we’re also still not sure specifically what causes them. There are some guesses that a history of miscarriages, high blood pressure, and early onset of preeclampsia are precursors but nothing we can prove.” Dr. Sharmell lowers her voice, clearly wanting this conversation to remain between the two of them. “I did notice in her medical records an extensive amount of hospital visits for accidents indicating severe physical abuse when your wife was younger, and she also disclosed childhood sexual assault.”
Roman straightens his posture, voice even. “Yes.” Nothing more. Nothing less.
The older woman sighs. “There’s a possibility that your wife has some form of uterine trauma from her prolonged abuse and/or the sexual assault that could have contributed, but it’s nothing I can confirm medically.”
There’s slight relief at knowing that…..that he didn’t play a role in what happened is helpful, sure, but hearing that all of the other horrific things done to his wife may be the cause is the opposite of helpful.
It just pisses him the fuck off. 
Fist forming at his side, Roman has to remind himself where he is. Hearing about Solana’s abuse never fails to put him in a position where his minimal resolve is always tested. Unbridled rage with nowhere to go except inward.
“She’s going to be okay though, right?” Focusing on the most important topic at hand, he asks in an even quieter voice, “the babies….they’re going to be alright?”
Her smile is amenable. “They’re gonna be fine.”
Roman won’t outwardly express and show how comforting her words are, because a part of him was wondering if she was just saying what she knew Solana needed to hear to calm her down. But, away from his wife’s sight and auditory range, hearing the same positive prediction is beyond reassuring.
Nodding to himself, Roman finds himself uttering, “thank you.”
Words few are privy to hearing from the Mafia head but deserved giving what she’s done and what she’ll continue to do for his wife.
And his children.
She maintains her smile. “Of course.” Stepping back, she informs, “I’ll check back on her in a little bit.”
Roman doesn’t say anything, just watches her move down the hall. Blowing out a deep breath, he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. 
Heavy footsteps precede a deep voice asking, “is everything alright, sir?” Roman is leaning against the wall, next to the door where he overhears the nurses asking Solana questions about her comfort. Bautista stands before him, still looking slightly concerned. “With….Mrs. Reigns and…..?”
There seems to be some sense of duty and loyalty to Solana in the man, traits that Roman didn’t quite recognize until just now. It’s appreciated and why he answers honestly. 
“She’s going to be fine,” Roman mutters. “They all are.” Bautista’s expression shifts to something akin to shock. “It’s…..it’s twins.”
Breaking the news of not only a pregnancy but a pregnancy involving twins to his wife’s bodyguard is just another twist in this story that he could have never anticipated. And yet, here he is.
But, it’s also something that would be stupid for Roman to try to hide. He knows the guard isn’t stupid. Calling for an OB-GYN in the middle of the night, rushing her to the ER, it all points to the obvious. 
“I need you to go to the house,” Roman changes subjects, not willing to disclose anything more. “Check on Dulce.”
Because as traumatic this has been for him and Solana, their puppy finding her "mom" in a dire state yet again has to be difficult for her too.
“Of course,” Bautista nods, moving to walk away when he stops, turning to Roman to simply say, “Congratulations, Sir.”
Roman offers no visible response. 
Ignoring the small trace of pride at such an acknowledgment. 
————
By the time Roman re-entered the room and the rest of the staff dispersed, Solana was already falling asleep, something he did nothing to interfere with. A necessity. It’s been a long ass day. 
For them both.
But especially her. 
For obvious reasons.
Pulling the chair to the side of the bed, Roman doesn’t use the time to get in some much needed sleep of his own. He’s far too wired for that. Besides, he needs to be up and awake in case she awakes and needs something. 
He spends time making adjustments, sending off texts and emails to the appropriate parties. Though the main ones are sent to Paul, Roman informing his Wise Man that he’ll be working from home the next couple days. Maybe a pop in at Bloodline HQ here and there, but nothing consistent like usual.
Roman needs to be home with his wife.
His pregnant wife.
There’s still something so strange about that, something that feels a bit unreal to be true. But, it is. He saw the sonogram, heard the confirmation, heard their heartbeats.
This is real and happening. 
Roman’s hand reaches and settles on Solana’s stomach as she continues to sleep, a peaceful expression on her pretty face. Emotions start to stir once more as he takes in the fact that she’s with not just one child but two. Two children that they created.
His children.
He’s never really given fatherhood much thought, maybe some deeper level of consideration from time to time but never to the point where it could become an actuality. 
Sure, he knew he’d eventually have a kid, but not even a year ago, he’d imagined it under very different circumstances. A marriage that simply allowed him to create an heir with a woman who would understand that there would never be any significance or sincerity behind their union. Truly, in every sense of the word, an arrangement. One where he has his on the side, she could have hers, and they’d come together when necessary for the sake of offspring. 
That’s exactly what he thought it would be. 
It couldn’t be farther from that. 
Because Solana is every good, redeemable part of him that exists. There is no life that could exist for him without her in it.
She is his better half in every sense of the word.
She completes him in a way he didn’t know he needed to be completed.
And now….now she’s carrying his babies.
Their babies.
Because he wants them to have every bit of goodness that fills her and none of his darkness that weighs him. It’s truly his hope and prayer that they take every bit from her and very little from him.
It’s just better that way. 
It’s a few hours into their admission and Solana’s sleep that she begins to stir. Roman easily sits up in the chair and pockets his phone as her eyes blink open.
She whines quietly, a small smile setting on her sleepy face as she focuses on him. “You’re still here….”
“Of course, I’m here.” There’s not a single place in this world he’d rather be than sitting here beside her. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.” And he meant it. Moving his hand from her stomach to atop hers, he asks, “how you feeling?”
“Better.” She looks and sounds it, too. He finds immense solace in that. Eyes squinting, she asks, “what time is it?”
A quick glance at the Hublot watch on his wrist. “Quarter to five.”
And just like that, her smile shifts into a bit of a frown. “You’ve been up this whole time?”
Knowing where she’s going, he moves to assure her. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.” There’s a teasing note to her single word response, the smallest smirk on her full lips. 
Chuckling, he quiets down, his own mouth shifting into a frown. “Solana….”
“We were both wrong,” she interrupts. Roman doesn’t try to hide his surprise at her jumping right into what he planned to ease into, borderline tap dance around to take accountability but not bombard her with a conversation that’s better served when they’re home and not in a hospital. “I shouldn’t have kept the letter or my pregnancy from you, and you’ve been wrong for keeping things from me.”
“Yes.” Because there’s no disagreement to that simplified assessment of the issue from earlier. “But, Sol, we don’t need to discuss this right now….”
“Yes, we do.” Once again, she has him taken back by her borderline assertiveness in this moment. “We….we push things off because we think we’re protecting each other, but….but we’re not. We….we only make things worse.”
She won’t find any disagreement from him. “You’re right.” He closes his eyes, admitting, “you were right. About everything.”
Roman still believes this isn’t the time or place to be having this conversation, but he also recognizes ideal circumstances have escaped them almost entirely the past few weeks. If not longer.
It’s time to stop pushing things off. 
“Solana, I met with Gail virtually while I was in Italy, because hitting you really fucked with my head, and I thought….I’d convinced myself that you being with me was dangerous. That you’d…..you’d be better off if we weren’t together.”
And if he hadn’t realized before that was probably one of the worse ideas he’s ever had in his fucking life, Solana’s devastated expression is all the confirmation and more that he couldn’t have been more wrong.
Her voice is heavy as she starts to ask, “how you ever think—”
“I wasn’t in a good place.” He knew it then but can only openly acknowledge it now. And in some ways, he still isn’t. “I asked her to work with you on not being so attached to me, so that a divorce wouldn't be as hard on you, and she asked me something in return that I didn’t know how to answer.” Roman can still vividly recall and hear the sound of her voice, understanding but challenging. “She asked me how I planned to not be as attached to you, and it made me realize that I really do need you, Solana.”
“I told you before the only thing I fear in this life is losing you, but I think….I think it goes deeper than that.” He looks away, partially uncomfortable with this conversation, with having to acknowledge things he’s pushed away for so long. “I think….I think that there’s a lot of things I’ve avoided over the years, but I can’t….I can’t avoid them anymore.”
Not when he doesn’t have Fetu to go to anymore. And, he can’t put this on his wife.
“I—I started therapy, and I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it either. But, I know….I’ve realized that I need to do it for you, for us, but mainly for myself.” Because as much or maybe even as well as suppressing and repressing shit has “worked” for him over the years, it’s not sustainable, and he can see the strain it’s causing in his marriage.  
Roman can’t have that shit.
He’ll do anything to make this work.
To not lose his wife.
A glance at Solana reveals her small smile. “It’s not easy.” Roman won’t disagree. He hasn’t even started talking about actual shit, but even bringing himself to attend that first appointment was difficult. Her hand tightens around his. “I’m proud of you, Ro.” Roman can’t remember the last time commendation affected him as deeply as her kind words do. Solana smiles wryly, “I’m gonna have to make you a therapy journal.”
He can’t help the scowl on his face. “I’m not doing that.”
Her light giggle lifts his spirits and warms his soul before she softly murmurs, “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”
He swallows. “Solana—”
“I hurt you by not telling you. About the letter and the pregnancy. I see that, and I’m sorry. Regardless of my intentions, it was….it was wrong to keep you in the dark.” Her apology is appreciated and while a part of him wants to tell her she doesn’t need to do so, a larger part of him appreciates hearing as such. Appreciates having his feelings validated. 
It’s….different.
“I don’t wanna tell anybody about the pregnancy. Not….not yet.” Roman wants to ask why, not in disagreement per se, but curious about her thought process. If it’s based off what happened this evening. “I just want to keep it between us. At least until I start showing.” She lifts her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “I wanna just focus on me, you and the babies, okay?”
He nods against her, more than okay with this arrangement, because it’s similar to what he was going to tell her. Her pregnancy is on a need to know basis moving forward, her security is getting increased, and her training is on pause until further notice.
He’s not taking any chances whatsoever moving forward. 
“There’s….there’s more I need to tell you.” His gaze is focused on her as she breaks eye contact, focusing on her stomach instead. “I—I found an old letter my mom wrote me, and….there’s a lot to unpack there but….that needs to wait until we get home, because I want to let you read it yourself.”
“Solana, you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she interrupts, softly. “Plus it’s…..it’s a lot to explain, and I think it’d be better if you just saw it for yourself.”
He nods. Roman was already planning to share the contents of Fetu’s letter with his wife, so her offering to let him read her own “message from beyond” just affirms that decision. Affirms that they both are trying to do better.
“Roman…..” She’s looking back at him, eyes watering. “I need you to know that I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I could never do that to you.” She moves her hand to her stomach. “I could never do that to them.” His eyes close as he takes in her sentimental, vulnerable disclosure. “I want to be a mom. I want to be with you. I want to live, and I know that my attempt is something that may take longer for you to process, but I just….I just need you to know that.”
And on some level, he does. He knows that Solana has shown no indication whatsoever of falling back into that dark headspace. As she pointed out earlier, she’s put in so much work and continues to do so. She’s done everything right since then.
It’s just that what if that he can’t seem to pull away from.
“I know,” he finally responds, opening his eyes and reaching to wipe away her tears. “I’m gonna work on it, alright?”
He will. 
He has to.
She nods. “Thank you.” 
She sounds immensely appreciative and hopeful, the same type of feelings gradually starting to fill within him. They’re gonna figure this shit out. 
One way or another.
Roman drops his hand and gaze from her face, moving it to her stomach. He swallows, murmuring, “twins….”
Moving her hand on top of his, she echoes, “twins…..” Roman chuckles to himself. Their first pregnancy would be twins. “Dr. Sharmell ran a blood test that will check for any chromosomal disorders, but it will also…..it’s gonna tell us the sexes.”
His eyes lift back to her. “Already?”
Her small smile is back. “She said we should get the results in two weeks or so.” Roman doesn’t know a lot about pregnancy in general, but he was always under the impression that they wouldn’t know what they’re having until later on. A few more months, so to know he’ll know the sexes of their babies by the end of the month….it’s something.
“I’m really hoping at least one is a boy…..” Her voice shifting into something almost nervous makes him frown. Solana adds in a low voice, “I need to give you an heir…..”
Instantly, Roman is shaking his head. “You don’t need to do anything.” For the sake of openness, he opts to continue on the path of honesty with her. “Apparently the Elders have decided to put a timeline on things.” Roman has to contain his irritation at just the thought of them trying to put pressure on his wife. Trying to dictate his marriage. “Either we conceive by the end of the year, or they want us to divorce and they’ll pick a new wife for me.”
Solana’s eyes widen, anxiety ready to build. “Roman—”
“Whether you were already pregnant or not, over my dead fucking body would I ever let that happen.” His voice is pure steel, his determination indisputable. “I told you before. Nothing and no one can take you from me. I’d walk away from all this shit before I lose you.” Her face lights up in surprise, some of which is felt by even Roman at his admission. It’s not a lie though.
He’d rather step down as Tribal Chief and Capo before losing her. 
Solana is everything to him. 
And more.
Her voice is bristled with nervousness. “You have to tell them about the pregnancy then.”
“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “They don’t run this shit. I do. I’ll tell them when I want to.” I.e. not until the end of the year. He’ll allow them to do their plotting and planning behind the scenes, let them believe that they’ll have ‘won’ this. And only then will he tell them about the babies. 
Until then, they can fuck off. 
She seems unconvinced and still worried. “I just don’t want you to have to deal with unnecessary problems….”
Roman’s life is filled with as such, many of them he has to tackle and deal with on a daily basis. This is most definitely not one of them. “It’s not a problem. Trust me.”
His simple sentence of reassurance seems to chip away some of her anxiety as she asks, “can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything, Sol.” 
Always could. 
Always will.
Roman is happy to see her smile return. “I’ve been having….dreams the past couple months.”
Utterly curious and focused, he presses, “about?”
A brief hesitation followed up with an emotional, “us as parents.” Roman tenses, doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. “We have….we have twins in the dreams. Twin girls. Li—”
“Lina and Leya,” he finishes for her in a quiet voice. Roman is very much cognizant of the floored look on Solana’s face. 
She’s just as taken back by his knowing as he is about what this means. “How—how did you know that?”
A simple question with a layered answer that takes a minute for Roman to supply. Scoffing with disbelief, he responds calmly, “because I think we’ve been having the same dreams.”
Solana continues to be filled with shock as she moves around on the bed, turning on her side, shifting their still conjoined hands. “Wh—what?”
He closes his eyes, partially unsure of what to make of this. Of what it could mean, some deeper, higher power that’s just furthered and deepened the connection between himself and his wife. “I started having the dreams when we were in Mexico, and I’ve had them intermittently since then.” Swallowing, he shares, recalling from said dreams. “Leya is…..she’s like you. Quiet. Soft. A big heart.”
“And Lina is like you,” Solana adds, watery eyes reappearing from the emotionality of it all. “Protective. Outspoken. Also a big heart.” Her smile deepens as she wonders aloud, “do you think….do you think that’s what we’re having….them?”
Roman sits on her question for a good minute. “I think it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Because with all his intelligence and knowledge, Roman can’t for the life of him think of any reason why he and his wife would have shared dreams of the same future. 
A future that seems to be playing out before them.
Solana chuckles, sharing, “you know those are nicknames, right? Lina and Leya?” He nods. Up until this point, Roman hasn’t had a dream that included the full first names, but based on the look on Solana’s face, he’d bet she has. “They’re short for Catalina and Cataleya.”
Catalina 
Cataleya 
That emotion is climbing again, the awe and wonder of the shifting of fantasy to reality stirring up all sorts of feelings. 
“That’s what we’ll name them then,” he finally announces, moving his hand around her stomach. “Catalina and Cataleya.”
And the emotion he feels in said emotion is written all over his wife’s face as she asks, almost nervously, “so….so you’d be okay if….if they were both girls?” A part of him hates that she even has to ask that, that there’s any part of her that may wonder if he’d somehow be upset with the babies being girls versus at least one being a boy.
“Of course.” Because while there’s still a part of him that is nervous, unsure of what this new role of fatherhood will entail and look like for him, one thing is for certain. He’ll love, care, and protect them just the same as he loves, cares for and protects their mother. 
Solana is visibly relieved and comforted by his confirming answer. “And if they are girls—”
“They are,” he supplies. He’d almost bet his life on that. Too many coincidences for them to not be.
Solana grins. “Then we’ll try for a boy as soon as we can.”
“Solana, we don’t—”
“Yes, we do,” she sighs, sharing so calmly. “I want more kids with you. As many as we can have.”
On top of the fact that the first set haven’t even been born yet, it's the as many for Roman that has him straightening up in the chair. “Baby, you know I’m almost 40, right?” She rolls her pretty eyes, forcing him to straight up ask, “how many kids you trying to have?”
Solana shrugs as best she can from laying on her side. “The girls will have each other. We’ll still need a son, and he’ll need a sibling too around his age—”
Roman’s eyes widen a bit as he points out, “Solana, that’s four kids you talking about.”
He loves this girl with everything in him, but four children? 
He briefly recalls one of his dreams, a dream in which she disclosed her third pregnancy, a pregnancy that included another set of twins following the three children they already had.
Roman shakes his head, not even allowing himself to share that dream with her.
Nor will he even allow himself to consider if she had the same dream.
All them damn kids…..
He’d never know another day of peace again.
And yet…..
A small, minimal part of him wonders. Wonders what it might be like to have a big family of his own, to have several children, the perfect physical combination of himself and Solana. For their large home to be filled with laughter and happiness they were both deprived of. 
A chance to give said children the childhood they never had.
Solana’s smile deepens as she bites down on her bottom lip. “I know.” The almost playful smile shifts into something serious and poignant. “Roman, you lost your family as a child. So did I.” Solana swallows, shaking her head. “We can’t get back what we lost, but we can….we can start our own. We have.” Voice dripping with determination and conviction, she vows, “and no one is going to take that from us this time.”
Up until this point, Roman hadn’t considered that. Not in that specific way. They’ve both lost so much over the years, experienced immense loss and trauma. Having and starting a family of their own could be…it could be a fresh start.
A new beginning. 
“I love you.” In every sense of the word, with a depth that rivals the ocean and duty that defies logic. 
Solana doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the words he’ll never get tired of hearing from her. “I love you, too.”
Roman still has so many doubts, so many insecurities, things he’s unsure of. He doesn’t know the first thing about fatherhood. Doesn’t have that nurturing, loving instinct that Solana has. Her ability to comfort and love so naturally. 
He’s….he’s going to need her help with this, and he’s not afraid to acknowledge as such.
What he does know is that he’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out, to be the best husband, the best father he can be. 
For himself. 
For Solana. 
For Fetu.
For his daughters.
Cataleya and Catalina Reigns.
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midgardian-witch · 5 months ago
Text
The Gentleman Cabbie
Jake seemed to have a tendency to always be there when you needed a ride or a quick getaway. Who knows, maybe the man was magic in some way.
AO3
tags: meet cute (ish) | cab driver!Jake | can be read as platonic or potentially romantic | gender-neutral Reader
ships: Jake Lockley & Reader
word count: 1.1k
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“Either I am extremely lucky or you're following me, Mr. Lockley,” you joke as you fasten your seatbelt, your clothes soaked through by the rain. This must have been the third time this month that you found yourself in his cab. An unlikely coincidence since you got in at a completely different part of the city each and every time. 
“I'm the lucky one. Difficult to have a nice conversation with the clientele these days,” he responds with a cheeky grin, his eyes fixed on you through the rearview mirror, “And I told you last time: call me Jake.” Jake seemed to have a tendency to always be there when you needed a ride or a quick getaway. Two times could have been a coincidence but three? Who knows, maybe the man was magic in some way. 
Or a creepy stalker who put a tracker on you. 
But you're less inclined to believe either. From what you had learned about him the last two times you found yourself in his cab Jake is just a normal guy who cares a lot about people. He even lets his passengers pay him in little trinkets sometimes when their money is tight. “Some people are too proud to accept a free ride even if there is no way they can pay for it,” he had explained. That's why there is a broken pocket watch in his glove compartment, an old necklace, oxidized in parts, dangling from the rearview mirror and a tarot card stuck to the visor.
Despite his unflappable demeanor Jake had shown himself to be a kind soul. A kind soul who cursed like a sailor and flirted like it was breathing but kind-hearted nonetheless. 
“So, where to this time?”
“Surprise me,” you answer without thinking. You don't really know where to go, just that you don't want to be here anymore. But you don't feel like going home either. Jake raises an eyebrow, his lips slowly spreading into a wide grin. “Alright, I can work with that,” he chuckles. With practiced motions he starts the car and drives off. 
You stay silent for a while, watching the world pass by through the window. You feel oddly at peace. For all intents and purposes you're in a car with a stranger (who's slowly becoming an acquaintance) and yet you feel safer than ever. Maybe it’s just Jake’s general demeanor that puts you at ease so easily. Or maybe it’s the comforting sound of rain hitting the car window mixed with Frank Sinatra playing on the radio. 
It’s only then that you notice how truly exhausted you are. You could fall asleep like this, sitting in the back of Jake's car. You could just rest your eyes for a moment, you think as you lean your head against the window. 
.
Your body jolts forward and you wake from your sudden nap as the car stops. Bleary-eyed you look outside the car window but the area is unfamiliar to you. 
“Sleep well?”
You jump a little, surprised by the sudden voice. You turn towards the sound, Jake looking at you over the rearview mirror. You blink at him, confused for a moment, before your brain decides to restart and you remember where you fell asleep.
“Surprisingly well,” you answer, a little perplexed, “Where are we?”
Jake gives you an easy smile. “You told me to surprise you. I hope you're hungry.” As the universe would have it your stomach picks exactly this moment to growl. You can't help but laugh and nod.
Jake steps out of the cab and walks around it to open the door for you. “Didn't know you're a gentleman too,” you quip as you let him help you out of the car. He gives you a cheeky wink. “That's what they call me: The Gentleman Cabbie.” 
You let him lead you into a small 24/7 diner, a cozy place where a cheery waiter welcomes you. Jake picks a booth and you start browsing the menu. 
“So, which one are you: superhero or villain?”
Jake freezes for a moment, his eyes widening for just a second. “What do you mean?”
You give him a sly grin. “You said they call you The Gentleman Cabbie. So is that your superhero name or are you more of a villain?”
You're worried your joke fell completely flat before he starts laughing, his hand clutching his chest. He smirks at you once he calmed down, shaking his head. “You got me there. Uh, I don't know. Not sure either fits.”
You think for a moment before you counter, “Anti-Hero then?” He only shrugs, his smile not fading. “Works for me.”
You each pick out something to eat from the menu and give your order to the charming waiter from earlier. Soon you two are engaged in a conversation about your lives, all while Jake seems to be a bit more reserved in sharing personal things. Which is alright with you. Even with the three times Jake has been your accidental getaway driver, you are still strangers. Even if it doesn't feel like it with how easily conversation flows between you two.
You could get used to this: idle chatter with Jake over cheap coffee and delicious fried food. But all good things must come to an end. You pay for the meal, both his and yours even if Jake is putting up a valiant effort to refuse you, and you make your way back to his cab. 
“I’ll drive you home, free of charge, since you paid for the food,” he states once you’re back in the car, not leaving room for argument. 
The drive home is uneventful and once he parks in front of your building you’re almost disappointed. “Thank you, Jake. For the drive, the food and the company,” you say with a smile, feeling lighter than you did when you got into his car earlier. 
He leans over the gear shift and turns back to you. Jake reaches his arm out to you, a small piece of paper in his hand. “Take this. If you ever need a ride just call me directly,” he says as you take the crumpled paper from him. As you open it you see a phone number written down with a fountain pen. 
A warmth spreads through your chest and you smile at him softly. “Thank you. I will,” you reply, putting the piece of paper in your pocket, “Until next time then?”
“Until next time.”
You step out of his cab and close the car door behind you. Once you're at your front door you hear the car start up again. Only once you're inside does Jake finally drive off.
His phone number is burning a hole into your pocket and you hope next time comes sooner rather than later.
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joedirtymadre · 1 year ago
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argument with satoru?
Respect
GOJO X READER! ANGST! (Send more requests 🫶)
Respect - Part 2
You wouldn’t normally consider yourself the jealous type, but lately it’s been difficult to just sit back and allow a bunch of random girls flirt with Satoru. No matter where you two go, there’s always some random girl popping up to flirt with him.
You’ve tried to talk to Satoru, but he always brushes it off. Explaining how he’d never choose those girls over you, and how he would feel bad ignoring them. But in the end you’re the one being ignored…
You groaned and ruffled up your hair as you headed to the mall. You guys planned a little shopping date to help you pick a dress for a family member’s wedding coming up. You made it to the entrance of the mall and scanned around, you received a text that your boyfriend was already inside waiting by the water fountain.
You made it to the fountain and instantly found him… along with the small crowd of 4 or 5 girls surrounding him. You slowly walked up, coughing loudly. You were then faced with 5 ugly stares, “Hey Satoru,” you smiled nervously. “Hey babe, I’ve been waiting for you,” he smiled as he politely walked past the group of girls. “Ready to go?” He asked. You nodded and you both headed towards the clothing store, you slowly turned your head back towards the group of girls. Seeing each one with a nasty glare.
… The Shop…
“Try this one (Y/N)!” He smiled as he handed you a light blue dress with a thigh high slit, and an extremely low v-cut. “I don't think that’s appropriate for a wedding,” you pointed out. “Probably not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you wear it,” he winked. You felt your face heat up, “Stop messing around,” you frowned. “Oh come on~” he smiled slyly. “If I try it will you start looking more seriously?” You asked. “Yes ma’am!” He said as he saluted. “Ok, ok, hand me the dress. I’m also going to try these other 2 I found, ok?” You shared. “Alright I’ll be waiting out here,” he said as he sat on some waiting couches outside the wardrobe.
You quickly changed into your first dress, a dark plum dress with a sweetheart neckline and off shoulder sleeves. “This is nice,” you smiled as you spun around in front of the mirror. You slowly stepped out in order for Satoru to see it. “Oh wow!” He smiled as he sat up. “It’s nice huh?” You asked excitedly. “Yeah you look really cute,” he said. You smiled at his compliment, “Ok I’m gonna try on the other ones. Your boyfriend nodded and sat back on the couch.
You tried on an emerald green dress next, but you realized it was too baggy. So you quickly took it off. You then slowly put on Satoru’s pick. Once it was on you stared into the mirror, “I don’t think this dress fits me too well,” you frowned. “But let’s see what Satoru thinks,” you shrugged and slowly opened the wardrobe door.
You were met with an empty couch chair. “Satoru?” You softly called out, wondering if he got tired of waiting and went to look at some more dresses. You decided to go back and change into your clothes to go look for him, until you heard some laughs. “That sounds like…” you trailed off as you walked to the other side of the wardrobes and noticed your boyfriend laughing with another girl.
She was in the same dress you were in, but she filled it out much more than you did. You stood there awkwardly, hoping he would notice you… “S-Satoru…” you called out. He finally turned his attention towards you, “Oh hey (Y/N),” he smiled. “Hey…” you replied. “Sorry about that, she asked me if I could help pick which dress looked better,” he explained as he walked over to you. “O-Oh… but that’s what you’re doing for me,” you replied. “Yeah but… I mean I can do both,” he said.
You looked over to the other girl, who had a smug expression on her face. “Yeah, sorry for stealing him for a bit. But you never got to tell me how this dress looks on me,” she smiled as she walked over to you two. “Oh that’s right! Well… I’d have to say that one looks really good on you. You look beautiful,” he smiled. You stood there, crushed. “Wow, thank you,” she smiled, as she looked at you through narrow eyes.
“Oh and honey, from one girl to another… you don’t fill that dress out at all… it doesn’t suit you or your complexion,” she said. You hugged yourself, trying to hide yourself from your judging eyes, you looked over to your boyfriend hoping he had something positive to say. “Yeahh… seeing it on you I guess it doesn’t suit you that much,” he said. Crushed. You slowly nodded and headed back to your wardrobe.
Inside, you ripped the dress off of you and tossed it on the floor. Throwing your clothes on as quickly as you could. You occasionally wiped the hot tears that ran down your face. Fuck dress shopping, fuck girls, and fuck Satoru. You were embarrassed, humiliated, and felt unloved. As soon as you had your clothes back on, you busted out of the wardrobe room and towards the exit.
Once stepping outside of the dress shop, you heard your name being called. “Hey! (Y/N)!” You heard, but that only made your pace move faster towards the mall’s exit doors. “Wait! Where are you going?” You heard, with footsteps close behind you.
You finally made it out of the mall, but was quickly grabbed. You ripped yourself out of their grasp. “What?!” You asked, as you let the hot tears run down your face. “Woah… What happened? Are you ok?” He asked as he moved closer, causing you to step back. “(Y/N)?” He asked, confused by your behavior. “D-Don’t touch me,” you stuttered.
“What? Why, what’s wrong?” He asked. “Just get away from me!” You yelled. “Why? What did I do?” He asked, visibly getting upset. “Are you fucking kidding me? First, I tell you to stop engaging with so many girls, and when I get here you have a whole crowd of them around you. Next, you went off to help another girl, and when I pointed out how you came here to do that for me, your girlfriend, you go off telling me how you can do that for the both of us? Are you serious?! And then…” you trailed off, feeling a massive lump in your throat. “And then… your girlfriend gets humiliated by someone else, and you stand there and agree with her…” you cried. “Why wouldn’t I be upset?” You asked as you rubbed your eyes.
“I keep telling you how you allow so many girls to actively flirt with you makes me uncomfortable. But then you go off and agree with one when she says I don’t look nice in a dress? A dress you chose?” You asked. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“ you interrupted him. “Yeah because you don’t think, you never think about me and my feelings. Only about yourself,” you glared. “How would you feel if you allowed a group of guys to come up to me and flirt with me all the time. Or go off with another guy when we’re supposed to be spending time together, because ‘I can help everyone’?” You asked.
“It’s like you’re just giving me more and more reasons to just leave…” you sighed. “No! That wasn’t my intention!” He said as he grabbed your shoulders. You noticed his eyes, how terrified they looked. “Well that’s how it looks to me, and… good job. You succeeded, because I don’t want anything to do with you after today,” you glared as you pulled yourself away from him. You turned to walk away, but was pulled from behind into a hug.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I didn’t take your feelings seriously. I didn’t think it was a big deal, I thought you knew how much I care about you. How I would always choose you over any other girl,” he said as he tightened his hug. “That’s not what you showed me today, and I’m tired of having to sit back and take all their hurtful glares and judgment looks towards me… because of you,” you said softly. “I can’t be with you anymore,” you cried.
“No! (Y/N) please listen to me, I love you. So please don’t leave me, I’ll stop messing around with those girls. If it’ll make you happy,” he said. Those words… you finally snapped. “Well I would’ve been a lot happier if you would have stopped the first time I told you, but no… you don’t want to be ‘mean’. And what do you mean, make me happy?? Why aren’t you doing it out of respect for our relationship, the fact that you allowed them to flirt with you shows how little respect you had for me,” you yelled at his face. “I’m done, I’m over this,” you said as you spun around.
“Don’t talk to me outside of special assignments or class,” you glared. “(Y/N)…” you heard as you walked off towards the train station. Wanting him to be out of your sight, maybe even out of your life…
You sat down once inside the train… if only I could disappear… go away so I’d never have to see him and that stupid face again. You were pulled out of your thoughts as your Blackberry rang in your pocket (2006 phone 😎). You pulled it out and saw ‘Sensei Yaga’ on the cover. You quickly picked up the phone.
“(Y/N), are you busy?” He asked. “No…” you sniffled. “I see, well I was planning to wait until you arrived back at school, but… there’s no time. I need an answer within the next few seconds,” he started. “Ok?” You replied, confused. “We received a call from the states, they would like to receive a student. In hopes to train and mentor other sorcerers over there, and I recommended you,” he explained.
“America? Oh wow, thank you sensei… but…” you trailed off. America? That’s so far, and that means you’d have to leave your home, your friends, your… Your mind quickly flashed to Satoru. “I-I… I accept,” you said, determined. This is your opportunity to leave, to move on and find something new and better. “Very well then. By the time you arrive back to the school we’ll have your necessities packed and ready to go,” Mr. Yaga said. “Ok, I’ll be right there,” you replied. You quickly hung up the phone and leant back in your seat and let out a deep sigh.
Who knows if you’re making a huge mistake in leaving, but… you can’t stay here, not if he’s around you all the time…
“I’m off to the states…” you whispered to yourself and you sat patiently for your stop.
Maybe part 2? 👀
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kanmom51 · 7 months ago
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Jikook came home
God, how I missed this.
How I miss them!!
Before getting into the whole JM post followed by the cute-flirty interaction that followed, I will take this opportunity in congratulating both JM and JK for their MAMA awards achievements.
JM winning Daesang fans choice of the year.🎉🎉
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JK winning top 10 fans choice, best male artist and best dance performance (SNTY).🎉🎉
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JM being the sweetheart that he is came to us with a lengthy post to thank Army for voting and receiving a Daesang.
There are a couple of nuanced differences in some of the translations, but all in all, they are pretty much on the same page.
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The main difference I've seen is the translation of this part:
벙벙 벙벙 벙벙벙벙벙
Being it "dumbfounded" or "stunned" or "bemused".
I think this probably captures it best:
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And then we had JK....
Who was most likely sitting there right by JM's side, the speed of their back and forth being one of the indications to that (we are talking within seconds here), not to mention patterns of past behaviour with those two.
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Do we discuss for a second the Weverse translation of the discussion?
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Like wtf? 🤣🤣
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Ok, so the actual translation would be:
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Insert the word of bemusement of your choice I guess, lol. But basically we have JM telling us he's stunned/dumbfounded and mainly happy and then that back and forth between those two right in front of our salads.
Oh, and can someone explain the @JK to me please? I mean, I get JM @JK -ing when posting his replies, but why the hell is JK @JK -ing when posting his replies to JM?🤣🤣
The way those two keep doing this shit (in such a good way, may I add) is just absolutely and utterly hilarious.
This whole exchange gives me these vibes:
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And Idk why, but this interaction came straight to mind as well when I saw this back and forth between them...
Take those two and combine them and then picture that in mind with this back and forth going on:
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Oh, and do I mention that obviously they had access to Internet, enough to have this back and forth between them, while both in the same place, and JK preferring to flirt in our faces with JM rather than post himself about his wins, which I can assure you he knew of. You know how it is when you don't want to take away from your boyfriend's thunder...
Maybe we'll hear from him later on maybe not, but this was about JM, his win, his moment, his post, his excitement.
And JK CANNOT miss out on a little teasing-flirtatious banter with his man, now can he?
Let's back track for one moment, because I do want to talk about JM inserting JK into his post. I do believe this is going to be a new standard/constant/reality. You know, the "me and JK"/ "JK and I" or "me and JM"/"JM and I". That very natural way of inserting one another in their interactions/conversations with us. Now, don't get me wrong, this is not a new thing what so ever. They have been doing this since forever. But I do think that it's going to become more of a constant and less of a "OMG, he mentioned JK/JM" moment for us. They have shown us for years, but more so over the past year, just how important they are to each other, but even more so, just how intertwined their lives are with one another. They literally could not even part ways to do their military service!! Choosing to spend those 18 months together, even if it meant having to endure much harsher conditions and a much more difficult service as a whole. All to be able to be together. With each other. What I'm saying is that I do think we will be getting so much more of "US" from those two.
Openly and proudly.
US.
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One last thing, and again this is either Jikook coincidence or kismet or maybe not too much of a coincidence and more of a conscious decision, but JM's post yesterday, 23 Nov 2024, was posted on the year mark of Jikook leaving for their oh so very special and emotionally charged Japan trip, 23 Nov 2023.
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💜💜💜
Coincidence or not, we got Jikook back then, and after radio silence from those two for such a long time, we got Jikook yesterday again!!!
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mochinomnoms · 1 year ago
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Wondering if MC and Jade marrying each other and have children, will that child have MC ability to read people mind? And If so, imagine that MC didn't tell jade about her ability only for her child casually told their father about it Infront of MC, MC be like:
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I am currently leaning to having Jade find out about Yuu's telepathy in PTM, but this scenario is also incredibly funny as hell.
I can't go into why Yuu got magic, as it's a very large spoiler, but I can say that no one is quite sure if their abilities are hereditary or not due to the nature in which they were gained.
Assuming these are biological children, it's a delightful surprise for Yuu when they find out that their little one can also read minds! How nice, to have someone just like you! Yuu is excitedly telling them all the ways in which they can overcome the difficult parts of being a telepath, how to try and not be too invasive, and how to be sneaky about it with others.
Yuu, however, forgets to tell their kid that their dad isn't exactly privy to their telepathy. So they're sweating just an itty bitty bit when their kid's big mouth goes off on it with their dad, saying:
“It's so weird, Papa! This one girl at school likes me, I can hear her head, but she's always so mean to me. But Ama says that it's not too bad once you get used to it, like they did with you in school! Ama said that you had a buncha thoughts about them in school all the time, like my classmate did. Oh! Do you think I'll get to marry her too, like you and Ama?”
Jade is staring at you with a pleasant smile, chin in his hand, as he hums along to his child's talking. “Why, of course!” He tells them, still staring at you with mischievous eyes and an even more mischievous smile.
“I think you like this girl too, or else you wouldn't be thinking about marrying her. Now, why don't you go off and play with your friend next door, we'll clean up.”
Your kid, none the wiser and not really trying to process whatever thoughts are going through your heads, nods and runs off to play. You two stay in the kitchen as you take the dishes to be washed, and Jade puts the leftovers away to take for lunch tomorrow. As you wash the dishes, Jade spooks you by wrapping his arms around your midsection and kissing your left temple.
After years of marriage, you'd become less aware of Jade's presence around you, it was becoming second nature. Like his mind was just another part of your own. So, when you were distracted like times like this, Jade reveled in being able to spook you, just a bit.
“So, telepathy, hmm?” Jade sighed, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “That would certainly explain a few things. Though, that does bring up a question…”
Jade pushed you against the sink, tightening his hold around you and he hummed against your neck. His thoughts were busy with ideas of taking you against the sink, of covering your mouth to keep you quiet, of littering bites along your collarbone like a pretty red necklace.
“Did you like hearing all my dirty thoughts about you? About the ways I wanted to take you? Use you? Make you my own?”
The front of your shirt was getting wet, the plate in your hands dropping into the soapy hot water as you grabbed his hands, wandering under your shirt and into your pants.
“J-Jade, not here, it's embarrassing—”
“Oh, but you like that, why else would you let me pursue you? You knew how I felt, and yet never shut me down. Why? Because you wanted me too? You can admit it my pearl, it's okay, I like it when you get flustered~ You're so cute when you are, no wonder you had me wrapped around your finger~”
Jade began moving his hips against yours, his breath becoming heavy as you moved against him despite your earlier remarks. Because yes, you really did like the way he made you hot and bothered. You liked that he desired you so reverently, even now, after years of being together. It was like you two never really left your honeymoon phase.
“Our little one will be at their playmate's for a while, why don't you read my mind and tell me about all the things I want to do to you?”
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